Lost souls

8 ☾ The perfect knight

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Raor

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Without Vorax to chase, I have the chance to admire the majesty and grandeur of the royal castle.

Waiting for me there are Blair and the others, who light up when they see me climbing the stairs.

They haven't changed one bit: currently, Blair and Ainnir are twenty-six years old. We completed the rest of our training together. Moyna, being a year older, finished her course earlier, keeping in touch with us through letters.

After leaving the camp, we spent a year putting our warrior skills to use, which resulted in a nice sum of money deposited in the Ocleodathe bank.

I would have gone to the Unknown Continent immediately, but news reached me of a deadly epidemic outbreak that was eradicated when I turned twenty-five.

Recently, I took a solo trip to study the territory well, so I separated from my guild for a few months.

"And here is the missing piece of the team!"

"It's good to see you, Blair," I smile and we give each other a pat on the back. He hasn't abandoned his all-black attire, with the infamous tank top and skull design.

"We're officially lost without you!" Daven exclaims, sitting on the steps.

"Hey, little guy! I got your letter, your post scripts always stand out. Have you grown taller these past months?"

He's a fifteen-year-old teenager now, his face matured along with his body but still very short for his age. He doesn't exceed one meter and sixty centimeters.

"Sort of." Daven makes the 'so-so' gesture with his hand. "I hope to gain another ten centimeters soon. It's exhausting being called 'shorty' and 'runt'."

"Don't grow up too fast," I say affectionately.

Daven is wearing a long camel-colored coat; it has an integrated hood and is closed by a row of side buttons.

The leather gloves, without finger coverage, are a very dangerous weapon. I've always seen him wearing them, they're long up to his forearm and have buckles he uses to attach small daggers.

The black bandana is pulled up over half of his face... it's his assassin attire.

Indeed. He's no longer a true member of our guild. At eleven, he left the camp, surprising us all, and completely changed his path, ending up being recruited by the Sect: the assassins of Ocleodathe, who have sworn eternal war against the crown and nobility.

Dangerous people, trained to torture and kill for payment. They have a creed, rules, and a leader to respect. Daven got into their circle so well that he's their best assassin.

Technically, the natural enemies of the assassins are us knights, trained to honor and serve the crown.

The fact that Daven is still our friend and visits us when he can is a huge risk he constantly takes. And if the leader finds out, there will be trouble, as far as I know. But there's the famous Sam covering his back.

"Raor, am I wrong, or have you become even more attractive?" Moyna plants a kiss on my cheek.

"It's the charm of exhaustion. I missed you, my friend."

Moyna never disappoints, her undeniable beauty and confidence in her body are highlighted by the ivory of her soft shirt, unbuttoned to the limit of decency, a touch of class for her warm, dark complexion. She wears high boots that reach her knees.