Exercising after lunch is an absolute necessity seeing as my mind can’t stop replaying what happened the last two days concerning the forbidden word starting with S and a mint. My heart races recalling how close Lore got.

“Damn it all!” I run faster around the manor, praying my burning thighs will hurt so bad I don’t have time to think.

I exercise so long that it’s almost dark. It doesn’t help either that, while exercising, I feel someone’s eyes on me. Through the dark, I peer at the manor where I spot a light within a window. Lore stands within said window, looking out at me. One devilish smirk, then he’s gone. He doesn’t take the heat of his stare with him.

I do a few extra laps around the manor in a desperate attempt to calm myself. Every time I pass the cathedral, I wish to see what lies within more and more until, finally, I give in.

The door swings open with a gentle push. I shouldn’t be surprised not to recognize the interior, but my feet still plant themselves firmly in shock. Within the cathedral rests multitudes of differing equipment with spinning gears, long pipes, and blinking buttons. This is what I imagine a mad scientist’s lair to be. Said mad scientist sits cross legged on a table located where the altar should be. The machinery clicking loudly around him covers my quiet steps until I hit one of the stairs that creaks.

“There is no way it’s late enough for you to come dra--” Cyan goes deathly silent when he finds me rather than Draven, who he likely expected. He does seem to be the one to drag Cyan away from his crazed experiments.

“You,” Cyan snarls.

Before I can speak, he raises his hand in a very telling manner. I hear the verse that threatens heat and dive out of the way when a ball of gold tinted fire crashes where I once stood. And here I thought Draven would be the first to attack me!

“Get out of here!” Cyan bellows, hurling heaps of gold flames that threaten to blow this cathedral up a second time in only a few days.

“I just want to talk!” I shout, hopping out of the way of another fireball only to nearly have my eyebrows singed off by a second. Rather than run, I face Cyan, raising my arms to form a shield that the fire beats against in long blasts.

“I have nothing to say to you lickspittle!”

…what’s a lickspittle?

“Get out of here before I burn you to a crisp!” Cyan bellows.

“You’re going to burn yourself too!”

“I’ve done so on many occasions and turned out fine.”

“That’s highly debatable.”

“What did you say?!” Cyan’s fire stops only for his fist to meet my shield. A horrible mistake.

Cyan curses when my shield slithers around his arms like snakes. He struggles to rip free, but the golden light circles his entire form until only his head remains. Those emerald eyes of his take on a fiery tint aimed at me while he growls, “You can’t hold this forever. Once I’m out, I’m going to remove limb after limb, starting with your likely favorite, no matter how microscopic it may be. I’ve got the equipment to find it.”

My legs close on instinct. Cyan smirks like a vampire. I’m too frightened by the notion of his threat to even consider what he implied.

“Listen, I’m not here to force you back to the church,” I explain, though his exaggerated expression of disgust states he doesn’t believe me. “I merely want to talk, to ask what His Grace did to make you leave.”

Cyan throws his head back to produce a pretty impressive maniacal laugh. Then he faces me, nose curled and lips twisted into a grimace.

“Is that what they tell everyone? The wicked Lord Seymour convinced a poor, unfortunate seraphic to leave the church?” Cyan mocks, then rolls his eyes so heavily that his head rolls with them. “What a bunch of pompous, putrid, insignificant pieces of dung.”

“Listen here, you pathetic loaf.” Cyan hops towards me, which would be amusing if I weren’t fixated on our conversation. He leans on his tiptoes and spits, “His Grace didn’t make me leave. He gave me the opportunity to escape.”

“Escape?” I echo, releasing Cyan without meaning to. It’s alright though since all he does is stretch his arms and legs rather than throw another fireball in my face.

“That’s right,” he states and proceeds to shoot a few sprays of water at the fires in the room. I somehow hadn’t noticed them.

“I wanted to leave, but never had the opportunity to do so until Lord Seymour arrived. And you--” he points accusingly at me. “Be honest, haven’t you ever considered leaving too?”

I’m meant to say no with vigor and faith, but the word lodges in my throat for the first time in my life. I’ve always been loyal to the church, always capable of standing against those against me. For some reason, Cyan makes me hesitate. Maybe it’s his eyes, the ones that desperately try to show strength, but I see the same terror that overtook mine so many times before.

The day I was indoctrinated as an official seraphic of the church when Priest Aja led us away from our rooms to a cold chamber. The day Paladin Nallin made me face against a vampire who killed two trainee’s before me with little more than my battered fists and desperation. The fear coursing through my veins that told me to scream, cry, and run, but I couldn’t during either time because… because I was trapped. Strapped to a table or stuck in an arena surrounded by my peers waiting for me to prove myself. And I wanted to do that. I craved the praise and admiration of my family, so I did what I had to, pushed through the fear and the pain to hear their cheers, to feel Olere’s hand ruffling my hair, and hear him say, “I’m proud of you.”

As frightening as those beginning days were, they served a purpose. Tough times made me who I am today; a man capable of standing against the darkness. It all served a greater purpose, a greater good, and I’m lucky to be a part of it.

“No, I’ve never considered leaving,” I reply, even if I taste the lie on the back of my tongue.

Cyan lowers his hand. His eyes glaze over, then he laughs. Not like earlier where he sounded a bit mad. Something more pitiful that rings in my ears, piercing my mind and grabbing those thoughts that linger like a slight fog.

“You’re a fool,” he says, the sound of pity etched into more than his voice. His expression speaks a thousand words. “Get out of here, you pitiful freak. If I catch you in here again, you won’t leave in one piece.”

I’ve been successfully threatened by two members of Lore’s household. I expected Draven to be the first, but I guess he has a better hold of himself than Cyan and Arline. Rather than face Cyan’s wrath, or die in a fire since he doesn’t seem to mind burning the cathedral and everyone in it to the ground, I walk away. The doors close quietly behind me while my thoughts overtake me.

Cyan claimed he wanted to leave on his own, that Lore didn’t trick him. That could be the case. He has a pretty passionate hatred towards the church, but the question remains; why did he need an opportunity to leave? If he hated the church so much, he could have asked to go home. Why did he need Lore’s help?

And why can’t I stop remembering the past?

My hands shake and my stomach churns. I rub at my neck, feeling the faintest scar that frightens me more than any other. I recall the sensation of a cold needle followed by euphoria and memories that I’m not sure are real, but I pray to the Mothers they’re a lie.