The sun had not yet risen when they came for Amarus. Five knight-wardens of the Ashen Vigil marched around him. Two at his sides. Two behind. One in front. Three more than usual. Interesting… They were led by Roland, as was usual. A tall man with dark skin, hair cropped short and face shaved perfectly clean. His steel-plated armour clinked as he moved, his heavy shield swaying at his side, always in his hands. Unlike the other wardens who mostly carried their shields strapped to their backs when not in combat. His black, hooded cloak swayed from his shoulders, stitched with the symbol of a white, burning eye. Amarus shuffled behind, trying to ignore the cold bite of the chains shackled to his wrists and ankles. He did not mind the cold or the pain. It was the heavy weight of them that grated on him. The constant reminder that he was no longer free. They marched on through the quiet streets of Caer Vellan. The thudding of their boots echoing in the crisp, pre-dawn air. Amarus had barely visited the capital city before being imprisoned. The noise and the stink always put him on edge. People crowded into small stone buildings like pigs. Living on top of each other. Mingling in each other’s filth. The city was starting to wake now. The first signs of life stirring in the dark. Servants slipping out of doorways to fetch water, or sweeping refuse into gutters before their masters woke. You would not want those useless fucks getting their shoes dirty now would you? Dark plumes of smoke rose from chimneys as dawn broke, and the faint smell of baking bread wheedled its way through the smell of smoke and horse shit. Roland raised a fist, calling them to a halt as a cart creaked by, led by a pale horse with a figure, cloaked in black, hunched over in the driver’s seat. One of the pyre priests. A corpse already occupied the back of the cart. Some poor wretch who died during the night. The first collection of many. The cart would be overloaded by nightfall. A shadow trailed the cart. It wore the face and clothes of the dead man in the cart. Though where the dead man’s clothes were red and brown, the shadow’s were shades of black and grey. It’s pale features distorted as it billowed out dark smoke, shifting in an unseen breeze. Darkness peeled from it in twisting strands like ink dropped into water, as if it’s body was burning with a fire that had no flame and never went out.

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