The night was cold and rain lightly drizzled over the Elwood with no end in sight, from dark clouds that had rolled in earlier that day. Over the course of the evening it had wet the tents through, causing nuisance for their occupants, and created thick patches of mud along the well trodden paths between them. The soldiers did what they could to stay dry, but the water seeped in through every crack and crevice. There was nobody out in the elements - even the duke's guards had taken up their post from shelter - except for William, who was stumbling his way through the mud and slowly becoming drenched from exposure.

  He had been one of the first in line for the evening meal, and eaten it alone before his friends could join him. He hadn't felt much like talking. Not because of some sour mood - if anything, he was overjoyed: his first training session with Brother Albert had gone incredibly well. However, there was some lingering questions that he wasn't sure even Albert would have the answers to.

  Throughout his life he had found guidance through the simple ritual of prayer, and so he had decided to do it once more; this was why he braved the dismal weather to head to the encampment's makeshift chapel. He was also overdue giving an explicit, ardent expression of gratitude to the Seraph for his good fortune as of late.

  He reached the tent that acted as the chapel, as best he could tell, and took an apprehensive peek inside to confirm he hadn't made an unfortunate wrong turn: always better to check before barging into a tent. Thankfully, he'd made it to the right place, and so he stepped inside.

  The interior was dimly lit by the light of a single candle, half obscured by the body of another soldier that acted as a shield against the odd drips of rain that came from the ceiling. The man turned upon William's arrival, glancing at him in silence, before returning to silent prayer. There was no rule against speech in places of worship, but here in particular William found that most liked to keep to themselves. The back of the tent fluttered partially in the wind, causing an eery, intermittent howling.

  There were a few rows of cobbled together benches, irregular and uncomfortable, and William made his way over to none in particular, taking care to stay a reasonable distance from the other man in an effort to keep him relatively comfortable. The seats were facing a wooden sculpture of the Seraph, an idol that William looked upon fondly. It was a small thing, reaching no taller than his chest when he stood, and it was crude, devoid of any finer detail, covered in splinters. It had been carved, he assumed, by a fellow soldier since they had arrived at Seraford. It was a skill that William was immensely envious of. Somehow it still gave off an air of benevolence despite the inadequate representation, and it reminded William of the far grander statue in his village.

  The bare-bones chapel was... modest, in comparison to that of the church in Wealdham; a dreary, damp tent was obviously no replacement for the marbled work of art that stood at the centre of an entire village, but it was no less effective in its function. If anything, the simplicity, location, and tenacity of this chapel likely signalled a more passionate faith than the church.

  The sounds around him began to fade as his mind tuned them out, and he closed his eyes to sit in silent prayer, consciously avoiding what he now knew to be Hallowed Words - they were best left alone until he knew more, and he would not risk injuring himself further, or worse yet somebody else. After some time, he had come to an answer to his most burning question: what is done, is done. Yes, there may be some price to his Blessing, but he was willing to pay it to fulfil his dream. He knew that he would have accepted any cost if he had known upfront, so what had really changed?

  William and his fellow continued their silent prayer, for how long William did not know. There were no disembodied words whispered to him, no visions beamed into his head, no indication the Seraph was even listening; yet he felt peace all the same.

  "Alright Will?" Reynard gave William a quick upwards nod, and William smiled as he took a seat opposite his friends, stale morning bread now in hand.

  "Don't suppose you've got any more soup this morning, have you?" Reynard pleaded, only half joking. He was doing a poor job at trying to look sad. To William's surprise the other boy had actually waited until he'd swallowed his food to speak - a rarity at breakfast.

  "Not today I'm afraid," William laughed, trying to break off a piece of bread; a more difficult task than usual, given the condition of his arms.

  Reynard raised an eyebrow, and asked another question in a hushed tone, "Would you make it if I said you'd upset us again?"

  "Oi! Don't be horrible to Will!" Anne protested, giving Reynard a playful slap on the arm. She smiled wryly and spoke again, "If you carry on, he'll never make it again!"

  William gave them a knowing look as they laughed, trying to suppress his smile, and replied, "Oh I'll make it again - you two just won't be getting any." He stroked his chin in exaggerated thought and taunted them, "Perhaps Tibert could have your share?"

  Reynard gave a look of mock surprise, "Trains without us for a day and he's already replaced us with a bloody cat, Anne!"

  "You move on quick, don't you Will?" she laughed, placing a hand to her chest to join Reynard in his faux outrage.

  "Well, the cat doesn't pester me for food, so... " he shrugged, a smug look on his face. For some reason, the two began to laugh even harder.

  "What do you mean he don't pester you? It's all the little bastard does - he's always meowing at everyone for food!"

  William waved away their point, knowing he'd been caught out.

  "Aw, you do make me laugh Will," Anne said with a grin, and shook her head.

  "How'd your training go anyway, with what's his name? Brother who was it?" Reynard gesticulated with his bread as he tried to recall the priest's name, as if drawing some imaginary circle, but eventually gave up.

  Anne gave an enthusiastic noise, "Mmm!" She was too polite to speak with her mouth full, unlike her uncivilised boyfriend.

  "His name's Brother Albert. It actually went really well!" He couldn't help but smile, and it seemed like Anne and Reynard were happy to hear it too. William saw this as an opportunity to annoy them back, and so he took a bite of his bread, and began to chew. Slowly.

  The two looked back at him expectantly, Anne growing more confused as the silence lingered. Reynard grinned, caught on to William’s intent, as Anne eventually spoke, "Well go on then!"

  "Oh, sorry." He flashed a grin of his own, having successfully wound up at least one of them for once. Anne didn't seem impressed by his actions. "It was mostly sparring-"

  "That how you fucked your arms?"

  "What? How did you know that?"

  "You can barely hold the bread, it don't take being Blessed to notice that," Reynard said with a half shrug, once again waving his own bread around for emphasis.

  William considered how much to tell his friends; he wanted to tell them everything, but Albert's actions and line of questioning yesterday about the Hallowed Words made him think twice. He decided it would be better to wait until he knew more, and to speak of it with Albert, rather than take a risk. "Yes, I may have got a little carried away, but it led to great results - Brother Albert said he's going to train with me every day!"

  "Well done!" Anne beamed at him. Reynard nodded, mouth too full to speak even if he'd wanted to - the madman had shoved everything he had left into his mouth at once. How is he even going to chew that?

  "There was something concerning that Brother Albert mentioned, though..." William leaned in closer and donned a more sombre expression. "Did either of you know there's negative effects from Blessings?"

  "Other than the ugly marks?" Reynard joked, pre-empting a strike from Anne and raising his arms to block it. He didn't expect her kick to his shin that followed, however.

  "All Blessings have one Will," Anne said, as though it were common knowledge.

  "Then why doesn't it get mentioned in any of the stories? The songs?"

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  "Who cares if he had a headache after killing a dragon?" Reynard questioned.

  Crude reasoning, but it makes sense. William didn't think he'd have cared much to hear about that, either. "I suppose you're right," he said, surprised at the other boy's point, "maybe it just never made it into the ones that I heard." It dawned on him that he probably knew a lot less than most, having never even met someone who was Blessed prior to his service.

  Anne spoke again, a look of genuine concern on her face, "D'you think your price is something worse then, Will?"

  "I'm not sure. It can't be anything too severe if I've not noticed it yet," he shrugged half heartedly, "but whatever it is, it's a price I'll gladly pay. Maybe Sister Isabella would know?"

  Anne shook her head, wincing, and Reynard grimaced. "Best not to bring that up to her, Will... it's... hard, for healers. Especially the women," she said sorrowfully. There was some pain hidden beneath the words, that tugged on William's heart as he heard them.

  "Is- is it that bad?"

  "They... they don't take their vow because they want to, Will. Let's leave it at that." Anne looked as if she were on the verge of tears, and Reynard put his arm around her to pull her into a half hug, rubbing her arm up and down to comfort her. He gave her a kiss on the forehead.

  Oh.

  The silence that followed was uncomfortable, and he felt awkward for having brought it up. After a while, William decided to speak again to change the subject and hopefully take Anne's mind off of her current thoughts. "How did training go for you two?"

  The question seemed to perk Reynard back up, and he answered as though the conversation hadn't stopped, "It weren't that bad really, just the usual - Axton's still a prick, but he's giving all his attention to Henry and that lot now for some reason. All healed, by the way."

  "Well, I don't think that will do them much good - Brother Albert implied that Axton isn't exactly the best teacher, if my initial performance was anything to go by."

  "He's definitely been putting in more effort with them than he did with us." It didn't much surprise anyone that Axton would play favourites. "I'm not sure if-"

  Reynard was interrupted as something hard hit the side of William's head, catching all three of them off guard. A stale piece of bread rebounded onto the floor, and a chorus of laughs erupted from some feet away.

  Reynard stood sharply, switching to rage in an instant, and shouted, "What dickhead threw that?" he screamed. William wasn't sure if the anger was on his behalf, or if the other boy was just concerned that it may have hit Anne.

  Reynard received only a jeer in response, though William couldn't make out what was said. He turned to see who the culprit was, and saw only a group of unfamiliar men. That is, until he spotted Henry in their midst, laughing. The red headed boy launched another piece of bread, and this time it hit Anne on the chest. William joined Reynard in standing, and threw a piece back at the other group. There was only so much he would tolerate; Henry was pushing him too far. He knows as well as I do that what happened the other day wasn't intentional.

  "You're dead now, you little twat!" Reynard screamed, "Come on then, you fucking cowards! Want Will to smash your face in again?" He swaggered slowly towards the much larger group, arms wide. He was clearly ready to fight, no matter how outnumbered the three of them were. William didn't blame him, but it wasn't something anyone could get away with - there was little to no tolerance for infighting, especially at the scale this would result in.

  William and Anne rushed in front of Reynard, trying their best to push him back and de-escalate the situation.

  "Reynard, stop! We can't start a fight - Axton will kill us!" William said in a panic, pleading with his friend. If it came to it, he'd fight alongside him, but he knew it wouldn't be worth the price.

  "Will's right love, calm down, okay?" Anne said, reaching to stroke Reynard's hair.

  There was another shout from the group, "Yeah, listen to your girlfriends!" They all burst into laughter again, even harder than before.

  This seemed to send Reynard into a rage, and William had to use every ounce of strength he had to hold back his friend. Unfortunately for everyone, Reynard managed to slip past his restraints, and bolted towards the group of men.

  Before Reynard could reach them, a heavily built figure rose from the centre of the group, like some deep sea leviathan. "What the fuck d'you think you're doing?" Axton questioned, freezing Reynard in his tracks.

  "What- Officer Axton, they-" Reynard stumbled over his words at first, but eventually seemed to remember his rage, "They were throwing stuff at us!"

  "That means you can start fights, does it? Grow up, you fucking baby!" Axton let out a deep, mocking laugh. "Now fuck off, or I'll make sure you go hungry for the rest of the week."

  The group around Axton were barely containing their snickers, enjoying the situation far too much.

  Reynard turned in humiliation, and began to walk back. He was physically shaking with barely contained rage, face redder than William had ever seen it. He continued past William and Anne, off towards the tents, and the two followed after.

  William turned his head back, scowling, and Officer Axton sneered back at him. Others in Henry's group pointed and laughed; some were even re-enacting Reynard's actions in an exaggerated and less than flattering manner.

  Why is he protecting them?

  William arrived to his training with Brother Albert in a sour mood; it was frustrating that he had been the subject of ridicule, and he felt responsible for his friends being subjected to it too. Reynard had refused to talk afterwards, walking off to some unknown place, and Anne had followed him with a only a quick and regretful goodbye to William.

  He was glad the situation had not escalated to an actual fight, but he still wanted to settle the matter: nothing good would come of this conflict. He stewed in silence, sat at the small table by the tent, fidgeting idly.

  At least I have this place to help me relax, he thought. The grass was coated in a pleasant morning dew, and William could still faintly smell the rain from last night. He wasn’t much looking forward to sparring in these conditions - not that he was sure his arms could manage it - but it made for a pretty sight.

  Soon enough, Brother Albert arrived, and took a seat opposite him. “Early, I see. Good. Have you recovered, William?” The man’s neck was slightly bruised from where William had struck him during their spar; it stirred some pride in him.

  “Not fully, Preceptor. I will be well tomorrow, I think.”

  Albert made a small noise of acknowledgement before continuing, “We will utilise the day in other ways, then.”

  “Before we begin, I have a request, if I may?”

  The priest gestured for William to continue, but otherwise showed no change.

  “There’s someone in my squad, the boy I fought when I received my Blessing. He’s been harassing my friends and I, as though it’s some sort of... retribution, for what happened. I’m worried that it will continue and get out of control, and so I-“

  Albert held up a hand, cutting William off. "This does not concern me. Are you not capable of resolving this petty squabble yourself?"

  “But Preceptor, he and Axton-“

  “Enough. You will speak no more of it.”

  William scrunched his face in displeasure; this seemed like exactly the sort of thing Albert should be helping him handle. It wasn’t as though he could go to anybody else for help. He let out a frustrated sigh.

  Albert began tapping the tabletop with his finger, though his face was still impassive. A few moments passed, silent if not for the ambient sounds of the camp and Albert’s rhythmic tapping, before the man halted and spoke again, “It is a lesson in itself, to have you deal with it: you must fight your own battles, William.”

  It annoyed William that the man had a point, but he still thought it unfair. So Officer Axton can interfere, but you can’t? He wasn’t sure that he’d get anywhere by arguing the point further.

  “I have given much thought to your performance yesterday, and I have constructed a comprehensive training plan,” Albert said with his usual hollowness, abruptly changing the subject. “Today, however, we will focus entirely on improving the connection to your Blessing, and by extension the Seraph.”

  This perked William up, and he could feel the embers of determination within him roar back to life, any previous thoughts forgotten. “There is such a thing?” he said in wonder.

  A lone bushy eyebrow rose on Albert’s face, and the man seemed to study William for a moment. “You know surprisingly little.”

  “There are no Blessed in Wealdham, Preceptor. Everything I know is from fables and the like; we were even without a priest, for a time.” As far as William could tell, the answer seemed to satisfy the man, based solely on the fact that he asked no follow up questions.

  “Improving one’s connection to a Blessing will extend its duration, and reduce recovery time by lessening its negative effects,” Albert explained.

  William listened intently; whatever hidden price he was paying for his Blessing, regardless of his willingness to pay it, he still wouldn’t balk at the opportunity to reduce it. “How would I achieve that? Do I just... keep using my Blessing?”

  “A reasonable assumption, but no. One must strive to embody the aspect of the Blessing without its use; for example, those who are Blessed with endurance may subject themselves to prolonged physical exertion, and those with a Blessing of power might lift heavy objects.”

  “How do people embody focus, Preceptor?” William didn’t much like where this was going, based on what he remembered from the other night; he was no scholar, unlike most with the Blessing. He hoped that he would not spend his life scratching at parchment, cramped up in front of some small desk.

  “Alas, I am not well versed in Blessings of that nature," the priest replied, “it is my understanding that most pursue some form of mastery.” Thankfully, the answer was not as bad as William expected, though it still offered little help.

  William spent considerable time deep in frustrated thought, searching the depths of his memories for anything relevant. Albert was all but ignoring him at this point, staring off to the side at the scenery. What mastery could I pursue? The only thing that came to mind was sparring, or rather fighting in general, but it seemed out of the question: if anything, he’d found it actively difficult to focus on that before receiving his Blessing.

  His thoughts began drifting idly, and before long he too found himself simply admiring the sights of the ford. It was a particularly clear day, and the myriad shades of green seemed particularly distinct; the clear water had a beautiful shimmer that seemed to William like a flowing gemstone. Not for the first time, he longed to capture the moment.

  An odd thing happened, then - a mote of thought sprang into existence in William’s mind, and he pounced upon it desperately; he followed it down branching paths of reasoning, navigating a complex maze of thought, until at long last it crystallised into something substantial: he knew what he could do.

  “Preceptor,” William said, trying to regain the distracted man’s attention.

  “Hm?” Albert flicked his head back to William, momentarily startled.

  William smiled. “I think I know what I can do now, Preceptor. I’ll need some supplies.”