The dim glow of the lantern flickered against the walls, casting shifting patterns of light across the room as I started packing. My belongings were few – a change of clothes, a small pouch of coins, some biscuits. Each item I placed into the worn leather satchel felt like a step further away from the life I had known, both as Alex Miller and as the adopted son of House Sapphire. My hands, still tender from my self-inflicted wounds, moved stiffly, but my mind was a whirlwind of second thoughts.
Herald. His demands. My fingers instinctively gripped the hilt of my training sword, which I had retrieved from the floor. The cool steel felt solid, grounding, but also utterly inadequate. Was this truly a good idea? To basically run away with him, to be his apprentice, to plunge headfirst into a war against a cult?
