The Knight and the Peasant [FIRST DRAFT]

Chapter 28

Benedict knelt before the altar of Mikkael. He was at the Cathedral of Lux Aestius, praying to the Warrior Angel. It had been another week after he had saved Count Jovan's life and the count had pledged allegiance to him. A week of no dreams. With the uttering of a phrase, Benedict had been elevated to the title of duke. With la'Manse delle Simia as his de facto capital, he was now Prince Benedict Navíste, Duke of Lusitania.

Word had also arrived that the Lord Constable and the Arch-Cardinal had finally set off from Navitium. Word had gotten out that the king was gravely wounded and had sent the city into an uproar. They had been delayed trying to quell the dissent. In a few days, they would arrive at Lux Aestius.

His guardian angel had uttered a few things every once in a while throughout the week but remained mostly silent. Benedict was still trying to figure who it was that was in his head. As he prayed, he heard the prit prat of slippers on marble. A nun was probably watching him. Most likely fascinated at the sight of a prince. He continued his praying, not wishing to be interrupted. After he finished, he opened his eyes and reached out to touch the altar. The second the tip of his middle finger rested upon the smooth cocowood, he felt a strong wind slam into his body and all went black.

Light filtered through the slits of Benedict's closed eyes. He got up, groggily and fazed. What had just happened? As he stood up and turned around, he almost immediately fell to his knees.

He stood upon a lone cliff overlooking a massive city―no, that was not doing it justice―a massive kingdom that stretched on seemingly forever. To his left, a waterfall cascaded down into a river that flowed through the kingdom, its sparkling waters so clear and crisp. The architecture of the city was a myriad of different cultures; Carabaí, Carabaí, Evrúopean, Nyove and Soyove Royne, even some Far Eastern architecture. Great ships passed through the grand river, their flags and sigils too far for Benedict to make out. And far, far out in the distance, Benedict could make out the shape of a truly impossible tall palace. It's spires scraping the dome above their heads. There seemed to be no sun here, but that was no matter for the entire land seemed to radiate a light... a heavenly light. 

Benedict wept.

How? How? How could he be so blessed as to rest his gaze upon this image? He could hear the pure, sweet voices rising from the kingdom, voices so true and undiluted from the pains of life that there was no way this place could be a location in Arkenheim.

And so he wept. He wept at the sight that had been gifted to him. The sight of Heaven. Or at least, what he thought it would like. Perhaps this was all just a figment of his imagination.

All doubts were shattered as soon as he heard the voice of his guardian angel. "How in the Angel King's name did you get here?"

Benedict turned and saw the angel. She was shorter than Mikkael, her hair curly and a deep red. Freckles dotted her face and in her hands, she held a poleaxe. She was dressed out in battle armor, plate covered her chest, legs, and arms with mail filling in the gaps. She glowed with a faint heavenly light.

"W-who are you?" he asked his voice nothing but a whisper.

"Juliana, Leader of the Order of Dominion, the Angel of Leadership."

The Order of Dominion was the Fourth Order of the Angels in the Kingdom of Heaven as stated in Angelic Tome. Benedict was familiar with the Nine Angelic Orders.

"W-what is happening?"

Juliana sighed, tapping her foot in frustration. "I'm afraid that I do not know."

Benedict opened his mouth in surprise. Juliana reacted harshly. "Yes, I know, incredible isn't it? An angel of the King does not know?" Her voice was wrought with sarcasm.