William had spent his time with Isabella in thoughtful silence, worrying about the order to report to the pavilion. Does the Duke want to see me because of my Blessing, perhaps? It was the only thing he could think of that made sense - either that or Henry was more important than he'd thought. No, it can't be that, anyone of import would not be fighting with us. He was right of course: anyone who wasn't deemed expendable was either given one-on-one training so they'd actually have a chance at living through a battle, or so far away from the camp they'd never see battle in the first place.

  William was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed that it was now dark out, finding the tent illuminated solely by the light of the moon, beaming in from the door of the tent. Tibert was fast asleep on Isabella's lap, clearly having made his way in at some point. William felt a small pang of guilt that he hadn't spoken to Sister Isabella the whole time he was there. He felt rather rude. I'll make it up to her, he promised himself.

  "There we go," Isabella stated with her usual satisfaction at a job well done, beads of sweat on her brow gleaming in the moonlight. Tibert was awoken with a start at the sudden sound of Isabella's voice, and ran over to the nearby bedding to settle back down. "I'm afraid it took longer than anticipated, but all things are in good order. You must let me know if there's any lingering pain." She said pointedly, giving him a knowing look as she wiped her forehead. There had been a few occasions previous where he had not listened to her advice, and found that he had exacerbated a problem thinking he could just get through it with willpower alone.

  "Thank you, Sister Isabella, your assistance is appreciated as always," William replied with a genuine smile. An idea sprang to mind as he finished speaking: perhaps he could recite a prayer, as a gesture of thanks? He knew for certain that Isabella would appreciate it; it was something they'd done for each other in the past. He decided on an older request for the Seraph to protect her, and began to speak. Before the words had even left his lips, he knew something was wrong. He felt a new, distinct weight to the words; they were deeper than those he normally spoke, and they reverberated around the tent abnormally. "M?g seó Eát-hréeig a-"

  William flinched as he cut himself off, scared by what was happening - there was a dull ache in his ears that hadn't been there a moment ago, and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

  Sister Isabella was visibly shaking, eyes wide with a look of worry on her face. "You-" she began, unable to get the rest of her words out. After a little while, she managed, "What was that, William? H-how did you do that?"

  "I don't," he began, just as confused as her, "I don't think I know? I only intended to recite a prayer... Are you okay, Sister Isabella?"

  There was an uncomfortable silence that seemed to last an eternity - the two simply stared at each other in shared perturbation. William's answer had done nothing to allay Sister Isabella's concern, and it worried him that she did not answer. She eventually managed a forced smile, and spoke in unusually hurried words, "Well, off you pop - you mustn't keep Duke Barrington waiting any longer."

  William turned and left the tent in somewhat of a daze, not knowing what else to say to Isabella and reluctant to stay any longer at risk of making things worse. He was met with a cool evening breeze that calmed him somewhat, but Isabella's questions lingered in his mind as he walked: what was that? How had he done it? He was not sure that he was in a position to answer them. Perhaps it's best left alone for now - there's already enough to worry about. Hopefully the coming meeting with Duke Barrington would help take his mind off of what happened.

  The encampment was quieter now, and blanketed with a thin fog. The faint orange glow of candlelight was dotted in every direction; people were starting to settle in for the night. As William looked out at the half-obscured moon shining in the distance, he winced at a sudden realisation: he'd missed supper, and Reynard and Anne along with it. William sighed to himself: Not performing well with friends today, it seems.

  He continued making his way over to the central pavilion, moving his wrist around as he went. Healing left an odd sensation that lingered for some time, somewhat akin to a burnt tongue and slightly numb, but he found that his wrist was already as good as new. Strange, it's usually a few days before the feeling's back. He initially thought it could be due to Sister Isabella spending more time healing the injury, but that logic didn't seem to track with his past experiences: she'd spent plenty of time overdoing it in the past when they were lost in conversation, and it had made no difference.

  Before he knew it, he had arrived at the central pavilion; a grand burgundy tent that stuck out like a sore thumb: the only colour in a sea of monotonous beige. The ostentatious tent suited the Duke perfectly, if what William had heard were true. The guards patrolling its perimeter and the two stationed at its entrance were similarly gaudy - shining silver armour polished and without a scratch, adorned with intricate motifs.

  "Halt!" Came a sudden, violent exclamation from one of the stationed guards. "The pavilion is off limits. State your business," he continued, eyeing William up and down with suspicion, hand on the grip of his sheathed sword. Not that he would have needed it, mind; they were chosen to guard the Duke for a reason. The back of the guard's dominant hand was clearly marked with the most easily recognisable martial Blessing in the region, the Blessing of power: a chevron pointing towards the fingers, with colouring reminiscent of copper. The guard could overpower him with casual ease, and he was willing to bet the others were likely Blessed too.

  William mustered his courage and replied firmly, undaunted, "I have been summoned by Duke Barrington, sir. Officer Axton sent for me."

  The two guards shared a quick glance, their expressions quickly turning from that of suspicion to open derision. "In." was all they said, stepping aside to let him pass. William did not know what he had done to earn their ire, and it did not bode well. Regardless, he would face the situation bravely. I can do this. The Seraph chose me, and that cannot be for naught.

  William stepped forward into the tent as the other guard pulled aside the loose fabric acting as a door, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the interior: it was incredibly well lit in comparison to any other tent in the encampment. William would never have guessed from the outside. He blinked a few times, his vision finally steadying, and surveyed his surroundings. Ridiculous, was his immediate thought. Had someone told him he'd been transported to a stately manor, he may have just believed it. The floor was covered completely in thick rugs of varying patterns and deep regal colouring, and the tent was filled with ornate furniture made from a dark wood that William did not recognise. Have some poor souls really been carrying around all of this? Have I, unknowingly? Seraph help us...

  The focal point of the room was a large rectangular table, stretching the entire width of the tent. It was covered in what William could only assume was a scale-model of the surrounding area, their encampment represented by a carved wooden tent, and more concerningly some carved figurines placed haphazardly across the ford through the woods to the east. Two men were seated at one end of the table, one of which being Officer Axton, but William did not recognise the other. A third man was alone at the opposite end: Thomas Barrington, Duke of East Elwood.

  "William Redshaw has arrived, Your Grace," came the voice of the guard behind him, and the fabric door fell once more, sealing William inside and sealing his fate.

  All heads turned to face William, some friendlier than others. The Duke - to William's relief - actually looked pleased to receive him, a warm smile present on his face, framed by large red cheeks that went well with his luxurious purple attire. His clothing was embellished with golden filigree and radiant jewels that mesmerised William as they twinkled in the light. It distracted nicely from the thin head of shoulder length, dark hair. The man had a portly figure, and was sat lazily upon an elaborate chair. The tent suddenly made a lot of sense after seeing the man up close: Duke Barrington was excess personified.

  "Ah, our newest Blessed! Sit, sit!" The Duke exclaimed graciously, waving an arm over to a lone seat that would place William in the middle of all those present. William approached slowly, feeling as though there was something he was missing; nobody else seemed pleased to meet him, making the Duke's enthusiasm seem insincere.

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  "Hurry up, you've kept us ages", Officer Axton stated loudly, the words laced with scorn.

  The unknown man to Axton's right gave a quiet reply, eerily absent of any specific emotion and oddly hollow. "Through no fault of his own, I would remind you."

  William looked at the man and assumed that he must be some manner of Seraphic priest, given his tonsure, but that was where the resemblance ended: instead of the traditional plain brown cloak, he wore crimson robes reinforced with hard leather, void of any ornamentation except for the insignia on his sweeping lapel. It was a sharp contrast to the Duke's less subdued outfit. The man had a leather coif placed next to him on the table, dyed red to match his clothing, with a diaphanous black veil on its front. The man had a calm face, his bushy eyebrows and thin lips betraying no hints as to his inner feelings. He seemed to exude a presence that weighed down harshly on William as he neared the seat. He's nothing like any priest I've ever met, he thought - though he had met only one other in his time.

  William took his seat, nervously awaiting an explanation before the Duke finally spoke again, breaking the short silence.

  "This is an auspicious development indeed - a new Blessed, and with time to spare. This is just what we need! Tell me, William, what Blessing did you receive? Your mark is not one I am familiar with," Duke Barrington asked as he leaned in onto the table, clasping his hands together and looking at William intently.

  "I, er..." William started, before clearing his throat and re-centring himself. "I'm not yet sure, Your Grace."

  The priestly man interjected, "It seems the Seraph has bestowed upon you a Blessing of focus. A rarity, oft bestowed to scholars. Are you a scholar, boy?"

  The words from the priest hit William hard. The full reality of his Blessing had not quite sank in until then: he had been holding out hope that it was a martial Blessing after all, that he'd just got something lesser-known, but now he had no hope to cling to. The truth was harsh. I'll never be able to compare to those with a martial blessing. It felt unfair to him, to have his wish twisted; to be both accepted and denied by the Seraph. What more could he have done, what more could he have sacrificed? It took all the willpower he had to keep himself from screaming in frustration. He knew he should not act like a spoiled brat, but he felt slighted. He would just have to carry himself through this, and make the most of the opportunity even if it wasn't perfect. If he were to do anything less he would be letting down everyone close to him, and more importantly letting down the Seraph who had given him the Blessing in the first place. Who was he to question their decision?

  Before William could respond, Axton took the opportunity to rub it in and make him squirm. "Ha! Couldn't tell his arse from his elbow, this one," he said, laughing with derision. "Useless Blessing or not, all he's good for is the front-lines, I say."

  "Surely a lack of capabilities would be a reflection of the quality of his teaching?" The priest replied serenely, which brought a scowl back to Axton's face. Serves you right, William thought with annoyance.

  "Now now, there's no need to escalate the situation Brother Albert," the Duke chided with a look to the crimson robed man, who simply inclined his head briefly - a clear display of apology that seemed to lighten Axton's expression slightly. This was a confusing exchange for William: the priest had simply stood up for him and said nothing wrong. It reeked of injustice, and it was beginning to become clear to William how a man like Axton got away with the things he did.

  "I'm afraid this does change things," the Duke continued, any semblance of interest gone. "I had assumed, given how you acquired this Blessing, that you may have received one more suited to martial endeavours."

  "You have made no mistake Your Grace," Brother Albert interjected before the Duke could speak again. "The Seraph would not have gifted this Blessing blindly. We must trust in their decision, and nurture the boy as we would any other." His words seemed to have little effect on Duke Barrington, but William's mood improved somewhat as he heard them. This meeting had given him emotional whiplash, and he was struggling to fully process the event, but his mind was eager to cling to this new hope in spite of everything else. He's right. He must be. I can still walk the path of a knight, he thought to himself with renewed determination.

  "I cannot rely on some fanatic's gamble," replied the Duke, with a somewhat dismissive tone and casual wave of a swollen hand that ripped the joy away from William. He was taken aback at the Duke's words - it seemed antithetical to how a Duke should behave.

  Brother Albert, it seemed, did not appreciate the sentiment either.

  The strange weight that had been bearing down on William suddenly increased in its intensity, and he struggled to draw breath: it felt as though some ethereal serpent were coiled around every inch of his body, constricting him like its prey. Panic began to work its way through William as he strained to control his breathing. He looked over to Duke Barrington: the colour of the portly man's face was almost indistinguishable from the purple of his clothes, veins bulging and eyes red with strain. The man slammed a fist onto the table, knocking over some of the carved figurines. Officer Axton was fairing only marginally better; the scars of his face were stretched from a pained expression, and he was clutching at the table tightly with shaking hands.

  William steeled himself and gathered his focus; concentrated on making it through the moment. A sudden tranquillity washed over him: the pressure was no less oppressive, but the panic was gone, and he knew for certain that he was in no real danger. Blessed is the Seraph, he thought comfortingly. After a slow blink, William could see that the room was awash with faint, wavy prismatic light, radiating from Brother Albert in every direction. The light appeared to pass through everything in its path, and William could hear the muffled sounds of choking from outside the tent.

  Albert seemed to notice the change in William, turning to face him with the brief surprise of raised eyebrows - the first instance of genuine emotion that he had displayed thus far, though it did not last long. Brother Albert turned his attention back to Duke Barrington.

  "I would not make a habit of questioning the Seraph, Your Grace," came Albert's voice once more, his warning clear to all despite his calmness. The pressure returned to its previous state in an instant, followed by a duet of desperate gasps from the two other men. William, in contrast, let out a slow exhale. He watched as the dancing light that came from Brother Albert seemed to lower in intensity, and it began to fade from William's vision entirely as he felt his enhanced focus fade in turn.

  Duke Barrington coughed, wheezed, and sputtered, long after Officer Axton had finished recovering. I dread to think how I would have fared without the protection of the Seraph, William thought as the uncomfortable silence dragged on, fear bubbling away in the back of his mind once again. Thank you for your protection, he said to the Seraph in silent prayer.

  Eventually, the Duke managed to regain a flimsy fa?ade of composure, though he was betrayed by the lingering bursts of red in his sclera and the beads of sweat that coated his forehead. "Well," he began to capitulate, voice hoarse, "I will defer to your expertise in matters of faith, and follow closely the advice of the Seraphic Order." His lips quivered through a forced smile.

  Albert inclined his head briefly before speaking once more, "I will conduct the boy's training for the remainder of my stay. It is my belief that this will maximise the chance of success."

  Duke Barrington then turned his attention to Axton in a much more sour fashion, angry that the officer had been incapable of defending him. "You," he spat, "will aid Brother Albert in any way he requests."

  The officer could only mutter a reluctant agreement under his breath. He was no longer in a position to argue the boy's perceived uselessness any further.

  "I will begin the boy's training on the morrow. However, the Order requires my presence at Grantford's encampment in the coming weeks," Brother Albert replied calmly, "I will return here on my way back to Halbury to aid you in your endeavours."

  Grantford's encampment? This was the first William was hearing of such a thing formally. The talk of a push worried him - true large scale conflict was never a good thing, in his eyes. William hadn't really known what to expect, truth be told, but being taken under the wing of someone like Brother Albert in preparation for a battle certainly never crossed his mind.

  "It's settled, then," Duke Barrington said with an emphatic sigh, moving to hold his forehead in his hands as he winced. "You are all excused. Return with the healer, Axton."

  Officer Axton was the first to move from his seat, leaving quickly without so much as a glance at William and Albert, who trailed behind him. As the two exited the tent into the night air, they heard a loud crash come from inside. Duke Barrington was not pleased, it seemed. The nearby guards made no effort to investigate the disturbance, too occupied with recovering - clearly Brother Albert's actions had affected them too.

  Before they could go their separate ways, Brother Albert placed a firm hand onto William's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks and turning him around. "Arrive here tomorrow morning, at the time of your usual training," he stated.

  William was still flustered at Albert's display of power. His fists clenched at his side, and he mustered his courage for a reply. "I-", he started, fighting a rising lump in his throat, his voice quivering slightly, "I will not let you down, Brother Albert."

  Albert replied once more, emotionlessly, "You would not have received the Seraph's Blessing were you not capable. It is up to you, and you alone, to rise to the challenge they have presented." He turned and walked away.

  William wasn't sure what to expect come the morning.