[i]The cherry trees are blossoming on the streets, petals strewn under my feet. 

Smiling isn’t as strenuous anymore. 

A month has passed since my sojourn at Cornwall. I walk now with purpose.The spirit is more whole than ever.

And yet, the quest has only begun. 

Dreams call to me now instead of nightmares. They are scattered, grainy. I can barely recall them.

What purpose are they guiding me towards? Why am I still stricken with them? 

Perhaps, I must learn to listen more carefully. 
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SHINING KNIGHT - FRAGMENT 1 

FELLOWSHIP 2.1.1 
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Those were the first words imparted to him by his first master at arms when he first began training as a squire in Arthur’s court. Other maxims were forgotten and shed as technology progressed and the sword was forgotten in favor of new ways of bloodshed but Justin held onto that lesson. Rage was easier than calm, more addicting than the foulest spirits that he could imbibed in any tavern.  To draw from calm required focus and most men didn’t have the luxury of honing the will of their minds in the heat of battle. To kill was easy but to kill for a living was the occupation of a knight. Dealing with the toll of killing was an art itself; to walk a fine balance between numbing yourself to the wanton slaughter and being aware that your life was on a fine thread with each passing moment. 

The fashion store mannequin shook from Justin’s blow, swaying on its pole. With a pull, he dislodged his weapon and took a breath, spinning it slowly in his hand. Readying himself, he began slashing away again at the dummy at various angles. Sweat beaded on his naked chest as he recited the exercise mentally in his head. 

Right, left, feint, top, down, left-right. Pause. Left, feint, right, top, down, left-right. And other combinations that were more or less the same as the last. Under the steady rhythm of his sword, the junkyard groaned around him as a crane shifted its haul of scrap from one mountain to another. As he continued training, muscle and mind became one as the movements of his blade became second-hand, gliding and scything through the air like butter. It was that moment of peace, of thoughtlessness where Justin could find solace away from the modern world.

He was consumed so entirely in it that he didn’t notice how his blade came forward at an awkward angle. Instead of embedding cleanly into the dummy, it was knocked out of his grip and was sent skipping a few feet away. He walked forward to where it laid and picked it up. Turning around, he prepared to settle into his stance again. Only, it wasn’t his dummy.

It was Arthur tied against a pole, bleeding from the various wounds he’d struck into him. His ruby-encrusted crown laid askew on his blood-matted hair and his stubble was ridden with drool and spit. Justin froze still as Arthur inclined his head towards him and whispered. 

“ Save us, Justin,” The corpse opened its mouth and spoke again. “ Save us.” 

Justin dropped the sword, clanging growing deeper in the ground, as he walked back in horror at Arthur’s unblinking eyes and gormless open mouth. The crows in the pines above cawed a cacophonous dirge and in a blink, the headless dummy was there back again. The hills became mounds of rusten cars and the blood-rent sky was back to the smoggy clouds of London. He 

That was enough training for today. 

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