“Good morning, Bernard.”

There was no response of course. The shrine had been silent since Bernard’s execution. No whispers, no mysterious wind or annoying itches. I rubbed the back of my neck, smooth scar tissue met my finger tips. There had been many times in this cave when the itching had gotten so severe I had scratched the skin right off. Other days there had been nothing but a calm silence. Like today for example.

I sit here for another hour, letting my mind empty. The room smelt of mold and decaying bones, dust teased my nose making me hold in a sneeze. I don’t know the origins of this morning ritual. But Bernard had described it to me as “a refreshing and centering beginning to our day.” I don’t understand what was so “refreshing” about sitting in the center of a room full of the bones of your predecessors. Though it certainly was grounding. It was a daily reminder to keep myself in check. Focused, solely on my duty and nothing else.

Although, that would be a very boring existence. I’ve got to have something else to do besides killing people.

I stood, brushing dirt off my knees. The thought of my own skull one day resting here with dust gathering in its sockets makes me grimace. Maybe I should clean this place up when I get the time. Then the day I get an apprentice of my own I’ll have them do it.

I brush my fingers against the stone slabs on my way back home. The sun had just risen, forcing me to squint in the places where I don’t have tree cover. The rain was slowing down to a light drizzle, and the clouds were just about gone. I breathe in the smell of wet earth, enjoying the sound of birds chirping. The leaves and grass were greener than ever. There was nothing better than this.

Back home I grab my coin pouch. The pay I received from the executioners job took care of all my needs. Food, books, clothing, new torches among other things. But for most of those, I had begun to learn to take care of myself. I had a small garden, some livestock, and I was even learning to make my own clothes. Though that was a work in process. The house and land however weren’t really mine. I lived on the king's personal grounds, which were vast enough to hide me and the shrine from prying eyes. This section of forest was forbidden territory for anyone but me and the kings messengers. It was known as the Oddenwoods, and extended past the city walls. So very rarely do I ever get visitors.

Before leaving I sit down in front of a mirror. For most people, a mirror would be the height of luxury. And it’s true, mirrors aren’t a common thing outside of clothing shops or castles. But this was an old mirror, with spider web cracks and slightly foggy glass. It’s been in this house since even before Relin’s master. And probably the master before Relin’s master’s master. Maybe even before-

I shake my head to rid the annoying train of thought. Just thinking of how old this mirror was hurt my mind.

I dip my hands in a jar of thick, mudd coloured dye. Running it though my white hair, I watch as the strands turn a dark brown. Then proceed to rub some of it into my eyebrows.

I walk outside to the well, lowering the bucket for some water to wash off the remaining gunk. When it’s finished, my once snowy hair is now a deep brown. This left me with only my marks to cover up. Going back inside I opened another jar, this one full of a thick, light coloured cream that matched my skin. I used this to cover my executioner’s marks. Leaning back to study my work. I smile softly.

In my cracked reflection I almost look normal. The only sign of my true identity that shines through my disguise are my golden eyes. I can never hide those.

I grab my coin pouch again and leave to saddle Ryn, my horse.

The ride into the capital, Oradin was over an hour but it never felt that long. Watching the fields fly by, and the occasional view of the sea between the mountains was worth it.