“I think I get it now.”
“So, sir—are you here to pray… or to confess?”
“Neither.”
“Neither? Then… what brings you here?” Sister Loraine tilted her head, puzzled.
“I’m here for work. I heard Dawnbreak Cathedral just opened and needs security guards.”
“That’s true, sir. But guarding Dawnbreak Cathedral isn’t for just anyone. We must verify your background and credentials. You should speak with Father about this.” Sister Loraine studied Fate up and down. Strange—though he was a total stranger, a faint, elusive sense of familiarity tugged at her.
“Where might I find Father?”
“Father’s usually busy. Right now, he’s probably…”
“Loraine, someone looking for me?” A calm, resonant voice cut in.
“Father.” Sister Loraine clasped her cross and bowed slightly as the man appeared behind her.
The Father waved dismissively and turned his gaze to Fate.
Fate, in turn, observed the cathedral’s Father.
Average height, unremarkable middle-aged features, gentle wrinkles tracing years of quiet service. He wore white vestments edged in gold, a tall white hat, and held a gleaming golden cross. Compared to other cathedral leaders, he seemed almost ordinary—like a humble village elder, warm and unpretentious.
“How may I help you, sir?” the Father asked.
“Seeking a position, Father. Here’s my letter of introduction.” Fate handed over the sealed letter.
“Hmm.” Recognizing the Buckley family seal, the Father broke it open, read carefully, then returned the letter. “Young Master Buckley vouches for your capability. Welcome aboard, Mr. Fate. We look forward to working with you.”
“Likewise.”
Normally, background checks were mandatory—but since the cathedral was funded by the local lord, his recommendation bypassed protocol.
Hearing it was Young Master Buckley’s arrangement, Loraine stayed silent.
“May I ask, sir… what was your former profession?” the Father’s eyes held gentle curiosity.
“My past?” Fate paused. “I was a knight.”
“I see. No wonder you chose this path.” The Father nodded knowingly.
“You’re barely twenty,” Loraine blurted, surprised. “A knight at your age should have a bright future. Why retire so soon?”
“Something happened.” Fate offered no more—no way he’d mention faking his death.
“Loraine,” the Father smoothly interrupted, sensing reluctance, “show Mr. Fate to the storage room for gear.”
“Right away. This way, Mr. Fate.”
Fate followed without a word.
Silence stretched between them. Loraine noticed—he spoke only when necessary, no small talk, no pleasantries.
White blossoms of unknown origin dotted the cathedral’s backyard. The empty lot held only a wooden storage shed, awaiting purpose.
Loraine unlocked the door. “Take your pick, Mr. Fate. Weapons and armor here are retired gear from frontline troops and the knight academy—not elite, but reliable. One full set is included with your post.”
“Even this rusted iron sword?”
Fate’s eyes lit up. On the door hung an iron cross helmet—fully enclosed, save for a narrow eye slit. He lifted it, tested the fit. Perfect.
“You’re sure about this?” Loraine blinked.
“Yes. This helmet.” No hesitation.
“But… full-face helmets block your expression and airflow.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He had no intention of removing it.
*What a strange man,* Loraine thought. *Handsome, yet hiding behind that clunky thing.*
Fate moved to the weapons. He examined each carefully.
“This bastard sword—partially sharpened edge, pommel designed for a firm grip. Quality’s solid. I’ll take it.” He paired it with studded leather armor. Light protection, yes—but this wasn’t war. And his strength wasn’t what it once was; plate armor would’ve drained him in minutes.
Changed and ready, he slung the sheathed sword over his shoulder and glanced in the floor mirror.
For a heartbeat, he was that squire again.
Stepping outside, sunlight caught the metal plates—gilding him in a soft golden glow.
Loraine shielded her eyes. A quiet sense of safety radiated from him.
Her expression softened, dazed.
*Déjà vu.*
A memory surfaced: a little girl, smoke and fire all around… rescued by a towering Knight Captain.
