SafeGuard

Chapter Nine: Belron's Hand

William Piper wandered the halls of SafeHaven after finishing his meal with the other Guardians. He stopped and stared at the paintings on the walls. He found the detail in the art intriguing. William once enjoyed the art of painting after he lost his family. Since then he has found beauty and pain together. He found himself noticing the life's best and worst moments. Even during those difficult years, he fought to find true beauty. The pain he was dealt was massive. He lived frigidly; his heart closed. Months passed before he regained warmth in his heart. He has never fully returned to the person he once was. But day by day he finds a fraction of his old self.

William came to one of the several training rooms within SafeHaven's second floor. William came to the archway and looked in to see Guardians. Blood and sweat ran down their arms as they would slap each other with wooden blades. The tools dented and bent from the daily training. He noticed their footwork and body move as they fought. William became aware that if he wishes to survive this journey with Shawn Thyume and Alex Dodgeson he must learn to fight. He can no longer depend on others for protection. He leaned against the thick doorway, watching more intently. The two Guardians training spotted William awkwardly watching. William's eyes grew wide as moments passed without words exchanged. His face turned red in embarrassment. The two Guardians looked back at each other and then returned to William.

"Forgive me!" He shouted, unable to control the volume of his voice. "I was just admiring your work!" One of the Guardians tilted his head to the right, frowning his face at the commoner. "I'll just move on!" William quickly darted out of their line of sight and rushed down to the main floor.

He came upon Gregory Thyume's statue again. The tall stone man grasped the hilt of the sword, pushing the tip down into the ground. The base marble etched with words spoken by the late leader.

"Fear is crippling this country. Fear of death, fear of darkening evil. We shall conquer this evil and bring this land into the light. Death is nothing to fear. Living life in darkness; that is to be feared. I life without love or joy. This land shall be a monument to all great things life has to offer."

The polished blade twinkled in the light of the nearby torches. William stood, mesmerized by the blade. His life as a child was not a memorable one. A single child. Born from a loving couple in Toring in the Southlands. Much of the citizens in the south resort to farming or fishing off the southern coastlines of Forrea. His father spent many weeks away fishing off the coast, while his mother opened their home to fishermen children. William learned the value of being hospitable to neighbors and strangers alike at a young age. Close relations with people around you kept everyone safe and happy. Had it not been for the storm that took his father, he would have learned to become a fisherman as well. The community surrounded their home in Toring after his father's death. Should he or his mother need anything, someone would jump in and help. The loss of his loving father was hard for them both. But the town's love and support lessened the pain. Many tears of joy and sadness were shed during those long weeks. It was kindness that kept them going, it is kindness that carries him onward to this day.

William ran his hands over the smooth base of the statue. He ran his fingers over the words. His eyes followed up along the blade. A wave of terror ran down his body as he saw the reflection of James King in the blade, standing behind him.

"Such a magnificent weapon." James said surprising William. "Crafted by the great blacksmith, himself." James King stood beside William. "Mr. Estna sought Gregory to give him that sword." James chuckled. "Gregory refused to take the sword at first. But I convinced him to take it. Estna swords gave become rare since his death. He built stunning pieces. Strong and razor sharp, yet light in the hand. Capable of delivering deadly blow after deadly blow." James ran his finger down the blade. "The skies wept the night Gregory fell in battle."