Oath of Steel

22 |A Different View|

The early mist that'd enveloped the capital the night after what had seemed as a terrifying storm seemed to disappear at the crack of dawn, the unsettling sound of the spoils of the snowy rooftops accompanied him during his morning walk around the bank of Lun.

He made his boots sink in the damp ground in the hoarfrost in one of the many parks of the High Strands, the fresh viridian stems breaking under the pressure of his expensive soles.

Grey needed to think, to organize his thoughts and decide on the next move he would - they would have made soon. They. If taking into account the hound of the Imperial Family whom he's struck a deal with.

He lowered his gaze immediately after spotting a couple which apparently had opted for a calming walk in the park like him, looking away to maintain the state of anonymity that he loved to keep.

People didn't need to know how he looked, all they needed was his name, or the alias the common crowd had given him a few years back.

He'd been against taking on that name, but Nathaniel had convinced him after winning what had been a heated debate between the two, soon followed by a game of billiards.

Last night had been more hectic than usual, the tedious thing had been dragging the unconscious body of the priest around District Street without getting noticed, action which had proved more difficult than expected.

The man had been wearing on both things two heavy iron cilice, both tightly strapped around his thighs. A form of penitence, some would have called it an act of faith, the only way to have the ancient Helian God pardon all the sins of the miscreants.

Idiocy to its finest, the delusion of few who with pretty words had fooled the masses centuries ago, waving their lies into one intricate tapestry of well-crafted delusions.

After taking the man back to the bank he'd opted for the priests' confinement. It wouldn't have taken long before he'd started breaking down in the darkness of the cell.

Grey knew how it worked, at first he would have started banging the door to claim any form of attention, but that would have stopped after the first hours. Later his screams would have filled the underground cellars of the Bank of Lun, where nobody was usually around.

Then denial would have hit, the subtle awareness crowned in all its glory, the understanding that whoever had ordered him to partake in whatever was happening would have not come to his aid.

And finally, the violent realization of abandonment would have arrived, creeping under its skip, wrapping its boney hands around his mind.

A raven's cry broke his reasoning, the ruffling of its feathers a dark omen of what was going to hit the capital and the whole empire in the next months. He felt it boiling in his blood and in the wind that raged outside his resting chambers at night.

He loved walking before the advent of dawn, the mystical quiet when all still laid in bed under the duvets fearing the cold winter nights; a stronghold for his thoughts to roam free without continuous interruptions, a fortress he'd built one brick at the time.

Staring at a pile of snow still standing strong under the shadow of an ancient pine, he turned that way, crouching down as he took a handful of delicate snow in his free hand.

Snow didn't exist in his homeland, a land where winter rarely presented itself; a legend his mother loved telling him when she came back from her long travels. He watched impassively as the snow melted in his hands, the watery remains tumbling chaotically to the ground.

Clenching his hand he stood back up, flattening his coat before resuming his walk.

He passed another couple, this time pushing a pram filled to the brim with colorful fabrics and heavy blankets, lowering the tube under his eyes in sign of greeting, stealing a quick glance at the bundle of life peacefully resting inside the pram.