The halls were flushed with darkness. Not the kind that incited fear and distress, but rather the tranquil kind. It calmed the soul and massaged the humours.

Several motes of dancing flame washed objects close to them in faint golden highlights. These dots of heat were the tips of candles grasped firmly in the palms of all present for the sacrament. Alric wouldn't have known they were candles if he hadn't seen them all lit outside; the interior light was provided only by these candles, enough to ensure the bare minimum of sight.

He stood as still as the stone pillars that lined the chapel, muttering the sacred words alongside his brothers and sisters. The candlelight pulsated. It swelled, flickered, shrivelled, then started over in a perpetual cycle of fluctuation.

Alric felt a bead of melted wax trace its way onto his ungloved finger. It was hot...but he did not move to wipe it away. He used pain as a measure of his faith. How much could he endure in God's name? If there was a threshold, he was an unworthy servant. So, at times where the pain seemed to be dispensed from the heavens, Alric did not move. He savoured it, basked in it. For only the living could be struck by pain, and he intended to embrace all that God had given him the privilege to behold.

Almost invisible to the naked eye if it weren't for stray lines of candlelight was an immense iron portal that dwarfed all in the chamber. Every eye was pinned to this gate as the sacrament was uttered, all aglow with unbending faith.

Suddenly, as if the prayers were being answered, there was a low rumbling that coursed through Alric's innards like an internal crack of thunder. Thoughts raced across the knight's bewildered mind. He was compelled to ask himself, was this God's voice? Was it his heartbeat?

Alric had never witnessed this procession in person before. All anointed servants of the Church and all her Orders were always welcome to attend, but the timing had never been right. He always had religious dissidents to hunt or a war to wage in the name of Saint Thestus. This time however, fortune smiled upon him.

The immense tremors stopped as suddenly as they began, and the church hall dropped into complete silence.

Led by the head sister of the convent, the nuns proceeded to the portal and pried it open. The door was so large that all seven women needed to lend their strength to open it.

Time felt as if it had slowed to a painstakingly feeble pace for the knight. His eyes narrowed and his breathing hitched.

When the sanctum was opened, a mass of bodies filled the space that had been empty prior to the sacrament. Lined in perfectly ordered rows starting from the rear were horses, deer, wolves, and finally, seven children. All of the animals were folded down on themselves. The children, like the animals, had eyes of darkness; none were truly 'alive' as of yet.

Beneath the new life was a raised platform, sharp and angular. It was worn rough as if it was as old as time itself.

Like clockwork, the nuns filed into the sanctum and gathered up the small children as the priest held his candle to a scrap of parchment, inspecting the text upon it.

When the women finished moving the young to safety in the nursery wing, the remaining monks heaved the portal shut.

Alric could barely hold back his wonder. He had witnessed birth firsthand. It was a sacred occurrence. Every person to ever exist entered the world this way. Life was born of the heavens; it was obvious. One moment there was nothing in that chamber, and in the next there were living and breathing creatures. It was irrefutable proof that God exists and that all of reality is his creation.

If only the non-believers could witness this as I have, thought the knight. Perhaps then would they renounce their heresy and rejoin the path.

As the church halls were bathed in light once more by the monks opening the locked windows, the priest turned to Alric and nodded. "Is it not enlightening, brother Alric?"

"I-I...cannot find the words," Alric replied, sounding almost dumbstruck. "What occurs within the sanctum during the birthing? Has anyone remained inside to watch?"

"Those who have tried to witness God's divine work stay his hand; the birthing does not take place if men are present, and that is something that disturbs the balance of nature."

Alric coughed into his hand nervously. "I must apologise for my...childish vigour, father."

The priest shook his head sternly. "Hush, now. Your curiosity gives me warmth; many of the others in your Order are much too eager to shed blood to ask such things."

Alric helped the priest in opening the church gates. Beyond was the gathered mass of folk that lived in Hollenfield. Eager husbands, wives, and children gazed at the priest with halted breath.

As they braced the doors against the church walls, the priest said to Alric, "I will send for you when the heretics have relinquished the information you seek."

"I shall await the summons," Alric said lowly as he broke off from the priest who approached the townspeople.

The knight laced through the crowd and eventually spied two men standing away from the masses. The sickly one was leaning on a makeshift cane, and the other more thick-set brute munched on an apple.

Kent hobbled around to face Alric as he came closer. Without his armour equipped and instead clad in an arming doublet, hose, and arming shoes, Kent could only recognise Alric by the longsword and rondel dagger that hung heavily on his belt. Without his plate and the distinctive Order of Saint Thestus surcoat draped atop it, Alric did not appear to be anything more than a traveller.

"You aren't going to kill them, are you?" Kent pressed urgently.

Alric crossed his arms. "The choice is theirs. Should they repent, their sins shall be forgiven."

Ulvor approached the knight and grit his teeth. "Just don't kill 'em before they tell us what we want ta know."

"Men and women of the cloth always exercise utmost discretion during questioning," replied Alric.

Kent scoffed. "Questioning? You mean torture."

With an unsettlingly casual tone, Alric shot back, "Perhaps this current arrangement ill-suits thee. There be an unoccupied thumbscrew in the church dungeon if thou be willing."

Kent fell silent. He wobbled slightly on his feet and his eyes seemed to dim. The man was still weak...but Alric had no time for his ailments. He wanted the head of the false prophet on a pike.

"Ulvor, take him to one of the cookshops. A meal would do him good," muttered the knight as he handed some coins over.

Ulvor snatched them out of Alric's hand with a scoff.

Alric left the party to circle the crowd that nipped at the front gates of the church. Several joyous faces marked the families that were chosen to bear the newborn children. Only the most devoted to God were blessed with young. The list held by the priest denoted the most faithful married couples in the village.

Around the side of the church tower went Alric, and softer and softer did the chatter from the peasants become. At the rear of the structure were a handful of plebeians; commoners who work for the Church. They were engaged in numerous forms of labour including gardening, carpentry, and painting.

Most of them were laying stones and mortar to reinforce a tunnel that led from the rear of the church and into the forest. Leading them in this work was a master stone mason. Someone who possessed unmatched knowledge of his trade was required to guide the plebeians, who were mostly farmers trying to earn some extra coin.

One plebeian in particular was applying oil to several pieces of plate armour lined up on a wooden bench. He was dressed in a bright orange tunic, brown hose, and linen shoes. The bench was sitting beneath a simple wooden shelter; all ceiling and no walls. Folded neatly next to the pieces of armour was a fresh surcoat; Alric's surcoat, which had turned dark grey with blood and dirt, was nowhere to be seen. The garment was a slight off-white, making it resemble a cloud during the early moments of sunset.

Alric did not even recognise his armour. It had been polished to a chrome sheen and had the more structurally compromising dents hammered out by a smith. He could see his own reflection upon it grow as he approached. The young plebeian was so absorbed in his work washing the plate that he did not raise his eyes to greet the knight.

Without a word, Alric reached over and ran his fingers through the rough fabric of the surcoat. Embroidered on its chest was a black pillar surrounded by a circle of broken lines. The pillar was the central figure of Church worship; it signified the Son and his sacrifice. The lines represented the Order of Saint Thestus itself, encircling the faith and protecting it.

Finally, as Alric continued to examine the surcoat, did the plebeian freeze upon noticing his company.

"B-Brother?" he stammered anxiously.

Alric pulled his arm away from the surcoat. "Hath thou been kind to my arms?" he asked, mostly in jest.

"Y-Yes Brother Alric, of course." The boy's voice quivered and he scrubbed faster.

Alric grunted in amusement at the plebeian's drive to please. His eyes moved to the stone tunnel nearby.

Leaving the plebeian to his toil, Alric approached an iron-barred opening in the tunnel. To his right were more plebeians and the stone mason hard at work laying their mortar.

Inside the tunnel, Alric could make out slow movements in the near-darkness. The animals...the horses, deer, and wolves that were birthed. They were being led into the wilderness via this tunnel. Although humans hunt animals for food and just about anything else, on the day of their birth, they are granted passage through the chapel to ensure that God's balance of nature is unsullied.

The chance to behold with his own eyes that animal and man were all born the same way only hardened Alric's certainty. All things that should be, are born of God. All else is wretched and dark...

He thought of the valhnid and skeinar. Then of those that were worse. Things that were never truly born, that had never passed through the gates of a church. Dark things.

With a jitter, Alric turned and retreated to the plebeian tending to his armour. He eagerly set the breastplate onto the bench and looked up at Alric. "B-Brother Alric, it's all done. If ya wouldn't mind, you can speak tha words and I can start 'elping you back into it."

Alric nodded.

He then lowered himself onto the ground, kneeling on both knees. Closing his eyes, he muttered to himself:

"Ain Dtil sor unternum,

Val eletorn sor malestrun.

Haartia Dtil sor unternum,

Val eletorn sor decisivi."

The first verse in the Rite of Arms. Each word was etched into Alric's mind; the old tongue of Edich was always his first language as it was the language of the Scripture. However many amended versions written in Tritish were created, Alric would only care to witness the Holy words in their original form.

The words he just spoke were his own oath to the heavens that he would be vigilant against the enemies of the Lord until the moment he laid his head down to rest.

Once eleven of the twelve verses had been uttered, the plebeian approached with Alric's greaves and mail chausses.

He finally spoke to the boy. "Speak thy name. I shall call it when thou art needed."

"Erik, Brother," he answered awkwardly, handing the pieces to Alric. The knight slipped the chausses, essentially pant legs made of mail, onto his legs and tied them to his arming jacket. Next he slipped the steel sabatons onto his feet over the mail chausses, then fastened the greaves onto his shins.

Next, Erik retrieved the pieces of thigh armour, called the cuisses, from the bench. Alric retrieved one cuisse and wrapped this open cylinder of steel around his left thigh, making sure to attach the poleyn knee plate to the appropriate point on the greave below it and strap them together. The top of the cuisse was to be tied to Alric's arming jacket to hold it upright. He repeated these steps for the opposite leg.

"Come, Erik."

Next came the mail shirt that draped over his shoulders covering his entire torso, groin, and upper arms. Alric held up his arms and Erik slid the mail over his head and onto his arming doublet.

This was possible on your own, but as Alric knew from his days travelling alone, it was difficult, time consuming, and tiresome.

As Erik began to clasp the steel cuirass about Alric's torso, he could tell that he was not the first knight Erik had helped into their harness. The cuirass completely entombed Alric's body, and its fauld covered his groin.

"Hath thou armed many men in the past?"

He nodded eagerly. "Y-Yes, Brother. I've seen many from yer Order march through 'ere in big groups."

"The Grand Hosts, perhaps."

Erik secured the cuirass in place then moved onto the vambraces; lengths comprised of smaller pieces of steel linked together with leather to cover his forearms and biceps. Also attached to each vambrace was a pauldron, a shoulder piece. He mounted each vambrace and tied them to Alric's arming jacket, making sure to tighten each component before moving on.

The plebeian asked, "I ain't never seen just one of you. Are ya runnin' late?"

Alric laughed. "As a knight-errant, my charge is to travel God's kingdoms and uphold the Third Fourth Attestations."

"Tha Thirs is ta spread the faith, and the fourth is ta always ‘elp folk?"

"Very good," commended Alric. “Folk who recognise the Father as the one true God.”

Erik continued his duties by outfitting Alric with his gauntlets and fitted a padded coif onto his head. He then handed the knight his bascinet; it was fitted with an aventail, a mail collar that would protect his neck.

Lastly, Erik draped the fresh Order of Saint Thestus surcoat over Alric's armour and tied it about his waist with the same belt that held Alric's longsword and dagger.

Erik stepped back and cocked his head, assessing his handiwork. "I-If I may, Brother...how does one join tha Order of Saint Thestus?"

Alric slid his bascinet helmet on, but kept its visor open. "Simply ask, my son. Like the Church itself, we are always in search of laymen and plebeians to manage and maintain our properties."

Erik's eyes dropped to the ground. "Y-Yes Brother. How about…ta become a Thestor Knight?"

Alric took a breath and rested his left hand upon the pommel of his sheathed sword. "Thou must already have attained knighthood, then choose to swear thy life to the Order. The training of a true knight begins at childhood and is tested in real battle; to attempt to train an adult volunteer to the same standard would be impossible."

After the plebeian nodded sadly, Alric took his leave.

It had been roughly ten minutes since Alric had started dressing in his armour; the dense crowd at the church gate had dispersed. Alric supposed he should attempt to find Kent and Ulvor, although he did desperately want to leave them behind. Since arriving in Hollenfield the previous night, Kent had done his part by identifying the other apostates. The only reason Alric allowed Ulvor along was that he technically held up the Fourth Attestation in this situation. He was a father who needed assistance in finding his son; a God-worshipping man in need of help, not a person to be turned down by a Knight Thestor.

These two unlikely companions were simple peasants who would need protection if danger reared its fangs during the journey. They were ill-trained and ill-equipped to engage in the often perilous work of manhunting.

Nevertheless, he was a knight first, and that meant acting honourably towards those who deserved it.

Against his better judgement, Alric paced down the main road of Hollenfield, one of the largest settlements he had been to in recent months. If one wished to travel from Tritania's northern fiefdoms to the southern fiefdoms or perhaps to the neighbouring kingdom of Lacreau, Hollenfield was a necessary waypoint.

Because of this abundance of travellers passing through, cookshops that sold ready-to-eat meals popped up like patches of death rash. They were convenient, quick, and cheap, but Alric would rather eat something that had time and care invested into it, not something slopped together hastily without regard. But alas, perhaps that was the dormant nobleman inside him that sometimes seeped through with his more refined preferences.

The knight walked down the row of cookshops. The smell of pies, fried meat, fish, fowls, and eggs wafted through the air. By the road was a set of benches and Kent was seated at one, cradling a meat pie in his hands.

As he chewed, his eyes sparked upon seeing Alric.

"Where's Ulvor?" Kent asked.

Alric was not pleased. "I was to ask thee the same question."

Kent swallowed the food in his mouth. "A monk came to summon us...Ulvor said he was going to take the message to you."

With a growl, Alric clenched his fist. "Come."

Kent hobbled after Alric, one hand bracing on his cane and the other shovelling the pie into his mouth. As they came upon the church, several town guardsmen wandered about the main gate. The priest was standing against the archway, looking as if he had seen a ghost.

"Father, what troubles thee?" Alric called.

The preist shook his head. "Y-Your companion... He tried to kill one prisoner and kidnapped the other!"

Alric turned to the guards. "What manner of idiocy allowed one woodsman to escape thee?"

One of them rolled his eyes at Alric. "He was fast, alright? Lashed out at one of 'em, then made off. Ain't enough time for anyone to figure out what happened."

Kent stepped forth, his food completely gone. "The other prisoner, are they still alive?"

"Lissen peasant, get outta 'ere before I toss ya on yer crippled arse," the guard pressed.

"Best answer the question,” threatened Alric. “Thou stand on holy earth. Here, as a Knight of Saint Thestus, I am sole bringer of law. So be it, I shall strike thee down for burdening the Lord's lust for reprieve.”

The guard stammered. His compatriot found the words that he couldn't. "He's alive. Not fer long."

He stepped to the side of the gate, revealing a body sprawled in the middle of the entryway. Nuns and monks were gathered around, none prayed for the life of the heretic.

Alric approached the dying man and knelt. "The time is upon thee. Speak the truth and be granted passage to God's kingdom. Renounce thy apostasy."

The man's voice faltered as he desperately cried, "H-He took her...South-East. T-Tha mound. P-Please I don't want to die...!"

"Death will come. It cannot be helped, but the soul need not be condemned to Hell. I beg of thee, save thyself. Repent," Alric pleaded in hushed tones.

The heretic's desperate pleas continued. Never did he renounce his sins. He died before Alric, who took great disdain in the fact that the man was so cowardly in the face of death that he did not cleanse himself before passing.

Alric stood and glanced toward the slightly ajar birthing portal.

The knight moved into the sanctum, flanked by the two volunteer guards. It was as black as night within, only the distant speck of light in the distance marked the end of the beast tunnel.

Upon the ground were bootprints. Ulvor had fled through the birthing chamber, leaving his filthy hand prints across its pristine walls. Not only did the woodsman shed blood on sacred ground, he defiled the church to escape.

Alric sighed heavily as he lowered his head. Ulvor had knowingly made himself exempt from the Fourth Attestation with these affronts, and now Alric knew for certain that God longed for his blood.