The Watchguard of Saint Grantham

Chapter One - Graveyard of Forgotten Stones

September 1st, 1521

Earlier today Ellis was dragging himself back home to Lairen, one of the many Silven settlements within The Expanse. On the last stretch of his journey he got distracted, followed a random path through the gnarly autumn wood... and wandered into this small enclosure.

He's been here for over two hours now. He didn't really mean to stay so long, but for whatever reason he doesn't want to leave... even if the sun is already approaching the horizon.

Before he came here Ellis fully intended to get home with the artifact and face his father. That was the logical next step. But now he's sitting inside of this gated graveyard, flooded with the distant feelings of a strong memory.

"The obsidian gate... it's really here." Ellis runs his hand over the gothic iron fencing, feeling its rough metal surface. He shakes his head lightly, disbelief amidst such harrowed eyes. "I never thought I would find this place again. What a fateful day..."

His gaze follows up the length of the iron bars. Fuzzy as it is, with one good green eye and a pale blind wound, nostalgia glazes over them. He mumbles lightly, "Was this graveyard always so quaint? I swear, this spiked fence once towered over me."

Ellis turns his attention back to the graveyard, looking over its current inhabitants. In front of him rests four mossy gravestones in a bed of long yellow grass, hovered by orange and yellow leaves.

And at the center, between the gravestones, rests a large wooden wagon wheel. Despite the monument's ominous scale, this is still one of the smallest graveyards in all the twelve settlements... Ellis is sure of it. The fenced area around him is no larger than a tool shed.

The man begins to talk to himself, as he often does these days. "You know, I've seen so many graveyards... big and small. I've seen all manner in which people are preserved and buried. Tombs, graves, ashen urns... scattered bones."

He shrugs, the aching feeling of dread still heavy on his soul. "In the end, it doesn't matter much. No matter how you're buried... death is probably a peaceful gift."

Ellis droops his head tiredly, leaning his arms on his knees. A scattered ray touches his shoulder every now and then... lighting up the amber foliage around him. It reminds him how beautiful the weald can be, as if he could feel the goodness of Silva bleeding from the trees. It is a goodness that he's in desperate need for, these days.

He murmurs, "Here I am again... sitting at the center... staring through the wheel for the second time in my life. I want to think of nothing else at this moment... but these solitary treasures." He hugs his knees to his chest, feeling the wind blow through his ashy golden hair.

The weary archeologist tilts his head, murmuring, "That's right... I stumbled into this enclosure years ago... when I was exploring the weald for the first time on my own."

His father first sent him out to find artifacts when he was only sixteen years old. Ellis was much younger back then... by about twelve years. But he still calls upon that memory quite easily. It was a beautiful day when he first found this sacred graveyard.

Ellis frowns, still finding it increasingly difficult to think back on such things. I was so different. He thinks to himself in awe. I might be stronger now, but back then... I was just a stubborn, weak child.

During his childhood, Ellis' life was consumed by training. He relentlessly honed his skills in anticipation of the day he would finally leave the settlement by himself. Trefor spared no effort to teach him, focused solely on turning his child into a proficient demon slayer. With magic, gadgets, strategy, and physical endurance, the young boy learned how to be a deadly weapon.