William awoke in an all-too-familiar place, though not when or where he expected: it was the dead of night now, and he certainly wasn't laying in a patch of mud in the clearing any longer. His vision slowly adjusted to the dim candlelight, and he recognised a familiar patch of mould on the ceiling. Am I in my tent?

  His thoughts were muddy, much like his body; he didn't remember a lot from the latter half of the fight, but only one thing really mattered to him anyway: he'd finally received a Blessing. He closed his eyes in silent prayer, fervently reciting those he remembered best before finishing with something more personal: Thank you, Blessed One, I won't let you down. William felt a thrumming heat emanating from his chest, offsetting the chill that was making its way into the tent. He grinned to himself, then winced as a wave of pain rattled around in his head. I best stay still, then, he sighed.

  "Careful, you're already in bad enough shape as it is. Keep still until I'm done," a tender voice came from his left. Her voice was soothing to his ears, as though the sounds carried more than just spoken word; it was almost melodic. William was taken aback - he'd been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he'd managed to miss the familiar woman sitting next to him. Odd - I'm not normally this unobservant. In his defence, it was hard to see much when the only illumination was a flickering candle - he could barely even make out the other soldiers sleeping soundly a few feet away.

  "What are you doing here, Sister Isabella?" he croaked, throat still sore from screams best left unremembered, eyes full of sleep.

  She smiled at the question and let out a soft, quiet laugh. "Isn't it obvious?" she asked playfully, leaning over him and placing her hand over his forehead. He tensed involuntarily as the warm area underneath her hand expanded into what felt like a tendril, wriggling its way through the contents of his head and coiling around his brain. It agitated his headache, but with every soft squeeze he could feel the pain diminish ever so slightly - something he hadn't noticed during his previous visits to healers. He felt as if he were seeing behind the curtain; the inner workings making themselves perceptible to him. It reminded him greatly of the feeling he experienced just before passing out, or at least what little he could remember of it.

  William grunted in response, blushing and feeling a little silly about his question - why would a healer be at his bedside if not to heal?

  "We'll get you sorted William, by hook or by crook - don't you worry."

  Isabella Dunsmoor continued her work of piecing William back together, humming a joyful tune as she went. William found himself getting lost in the tune. It was a favourite of his since he was a boy: "Summer Canon". He smiled as he felt butterflies in his stomach, and tried his best to avoid eye contact with her, but found it more difficult than expected given her proximity.

  William had been enamoured of Isabella since the first day they met; drawn instantly to her long, auburn hair and green eyes that shimmered in the light. He liked to think he noticed details about her that others overlooked, though he knew it unlikely to be true: a small scar on the top lip, her tendency to daydream, her love of animals, and her habit of tucking one side of her hair behind her ear. These things filled him with a unique warmth that he cherished dearly.

  His feelings for Isabella were complicated, and he knew better than to express them openly. Seraphic healers were required to take a vow of celibacy - healing, like all Blessings, came at a cost. To tempt her with his love, even knowing it was unrequited, was to spit in the face of the Seraph: William's faith would never allow it. He would continue to cherish their friendship, and nothing more.

  Thankfully, she eventually moved away to place her attention, and by extension her healing, onto his wrist. As her hand made contact with his wrist, he was greeted once more by the mysterious tendril rooting around inside of his injuries, like a rat in a waste pit.

  "Congratulations, by the way," she said as she finished humming. William looked over to see a knowing smile on her face, his own taken over by a look of faux outrage.

  "How do you know that already? I was looking forward to telling you!"

  "You've got the mark, right here." She reached up and poked him playfully under his left eye. William's vision was unconsciously drawn to her own mark, barely peeking out from the hem of her robes at the base of her neck. Her mark was typical in every sense for a healer, although William had never seen it in full: reminiscent of scar tissue in terms of texture, a somewhat odd iridescent green in colour, and helical in form. He wondered what his own mark might look like, though he didn't even know for sure what boon it provided to him.

  "I must admit that I didn't find it likely, but it brings me joy to see your wish fulfilled. I know that you will serve the Seraph faithfully, William."

  She was right to be sceptical, and so he would not fault her for it. Blessings did not come easy, especially not to a boy of only eighteen such as himself. It was unclear what criteria was required of the faithful to receive a Blessing, despite it being a consistent area of study for theologians. The doctrine was clear that Blessings were closely related to one's devotion, and how fervently one embodied the Seraphic virtues.

  "Truthfully, Sister Isabella, I... I'm not sure how I can serve them. I don't even know what Blessing I have received." He spoke honestly to Isabella, knowing that she would understand where he was coming from; part of her duties were to provide guidance to those who required spiritual counselling.

  "Things aren't always immediately obvious, William. With questions of faith, one can always think back to scripture - did Sir Peter know what he was supposed to do when the Seraph Blessed him?" she responded thoughtfully, continuing to heal William even as she spoke.

  "That's different though, is it not? He was bestowed the Blessing amidst battle - what else could it have been for?" He winced a little at a sudden jolt of pain in his wrist; it was beginning to lessen now overall, but there were still infrequent spikes of discomfort.

  "You're missing the point, as usual," she chuckled and shook her head, "Sir Peter received exactly what he needed for the task at hand; he could not withstand the heretics that besieged him, and so the Seraph bestowed upon him the ability to better defend. You need to find your purpose in service of the Seraph - find that, and you'll have your answer."

  The feeling in his wrist stopped abruptly.

  "Right then," she said as she patted the top of her thighs and stood, "I've patched up your wrist, but you'll need to see me again on the morrow - for now, I think you should get some sleep. A good night's rest will aid the work I've done." She made her way to the doorway of the tent, and stopped to look at him once more - smiling sweetly - before she left.

  William was left in silent contemplation - Isabella was wise beyond her years, something he admired about her greatly. There were few people he had met since enlisting who could hold a candle to her intelligence. Perhaps I'm a little biased, he thought sheepishly, and turned in his bedding to rest.

  William awoke once again, this time to the warm rays of the sun, feeling shockingly good considering the state of his body less than a full day ago. The wonders of healing, he chuckled to himself. He stood up and stretched out his arms, triggering a dull ache in his injured wrist and reminding him that he'd need to see Sister Isabella again soon.

  He turned with mild disgust on his face as he picked up his muddy bedding and grabbed some fresh clothing. It seemed that the others he shared a tent with had already left, which meant that he'd been allowed to sleep in. Isabella did tell me to rest, I suppose. Hopefully Officer Axton would let it slide, though he very much doubted it.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Leaving the tent and its cramped confines, William smiled as he focused in on the typical sounds of this forward encampment, their latest and final stop. They had been here for little over a month, as best he knew; a welcome change that he much preferred to the blister-inducing treks carrying supplies. The officers had been tight-lipped with an explanation of why they had been stationed at the Seraford, but it couldn't be for anything routine - there was simply far too many of them present. The most common theory among the rank and file was that there was tension between the duchies of East Elwood and Milney to the east, though none could provide any solid reasoning. It would certainly explain why they were on the outskirts of a border village, though.

  He was snapped out his thoughts by the sound of clashing metal that usually coincided with the officers' afternoon sparring, in some nearby part of the encampment.

  Following along the well trodden, cleared path between a sea of indistinguishable tents, he made his way over to the ford at the eastern edge of the site, ensuring he was headed upstream to the squad's usual spot. William wasn't sure he'd even be able to pick his own tent out of a line-up - the plain beige fabric all started to blur together after a while. The only way anyone made it back each evening reliably was by counting, yet one would still receive the odd accidental visitor looking lost.

  As William approached the ford he grinned and broke into a jog, the thought of the crisp water soothing his throat motivating him to reach it sooner. This was his favourite view in the area. The opposing treeline would often frame the rising sun, and there was a pleasant waviness to the river bank. There were not many flowers to be found, but he preferred the rolling green. It was the sort of thing he often wished he could draw, had he any talent.

  He drank greedily from the frigid, glistening water, savouring the refreshing feeling as it coated his throat - a much needed respite. It was as he reached for his third handful of water that he caught his reflection. Ah, he thought, so that's what Isabella was referring to. His left eye was now emblazoned with a Blessed mark, though not of any typical design that William knew of. The instant he saw it, he frowned - its placement was easy enough to shrug off, after all he'd heard tales of martial Blessed with facial marks, but the fact that it wasn't recognisable was deeply concerning. It doesn't mean it's not martial, I just don't know what it is yet, he thought with less certainty than he'd have liked, unwilling to entertain the idea of it not being true.

  The mark was a thin line of an unusual maroon hue, starting just under the inner canthus but some distance down. It ran all the way to the opposite corner of his eye, as if to underline it, before plunging down in a slight curve to the mid-point of his cheek. Unlike Isabella's mark - most marks, really - it didn't have any attention grabbing qualities; it did not shine when caught in the light, had no intricate pattern, and was relatively small. It could quite easily pass as nothing more than an ill-advised and utterly mundane tattoo.

  His frown deepened as he continued to examine himself. The self-conscious part of him had hoped for something more garish that would serve to distract from the rest of his appearance - something that could draw one's eyes from a crooked nose and dishevelled brown hair cut by inexperienced hands. Perhaps that was asking for too much.

  Sighing resolutely, he began the arduous task of ridding himself, his clothes, and his bedding of far too much mud.

  It was not quick.

  As William was finally getting ready to leave, his attention was drawn to a small group of soldiers walking in his direction from the encampment; some shouting playfully, others plodding along in silence with their heads lowered: evidently some of his squad had not fared so well today. It seemed that their training was over for the day.

  William spotted Anne and Reynard amidst the crowd, speaking idly as they walked with some of their comrades. They were easy enough to identify - Anne's blonde hair was relatively uncommon, and Reynard was never far apart from her. William was glad to have met them - he wasn't sure he'd have made it through those first few months without them. They were a perfect pairing, in William's opinion - similar height, both relatively attractive, and both could be particularly annoying at times.

  The two seemed to notice William looking, and they began to walk over to him. The rest of the squad were starting at him strangely and talking amongst themselves in a hushed whisper. William was particularly concerned by the sight of the new boy, Henry. His face was a swollen mess, partially obscured by bandages that had been tinged red in places, and was pulled into a deep scowl. Why hasn't he been healed yet? William thought, confused by the situation.

  "Morning!" Reynard teased as they approached. The young man's skin was covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat, and his shaggy brown hair was sticking to his face; no doubt his reason for being at the ford. He was sporting his trademark roguish grin, an arm hanging loosely around Anne's waist, and hers around his. "Glad you're all fixed up! Got myself a right talking to earlier trying to get you up on time - Axton actually said he was letting you rest, still can't believe it!"

  "Really?" William questioned, joining Reynard in disbelief at the uncharacteristic concern shown by Axton. "Well, I think it may have been Sister Isabella's influence - she was with me yesternight, tending to my wounds until late."

  Anne's eyes widened and a smile crept onto her face. "Oh I bet she was tending to you; giving you another Blessing, I bet!" she said with a wink.

  William could feel his cheeks reddening, and he scrunched his face in annoyance. They were both as bad as each other. "I've told you two, we don't see each other that way!"

  "Alright, alright - no need to get arsey. You were hogging her all night though, poor old Henry's still in a right state." Reynard responded with an unapologetic laugh. William enjoyed the company of Anne and Reynard, but they would often push him just a little too far. He often thought that perhaps this was just how those from Ashborough interacted with each other, and that he should be grateful they were comfortable enough with him to not treat him differently - they were the only ones that had really given him a chance since he arrived, after all. Reynard continued jovially, "You're too easy to wind up, you are!"

  "So, you going to tell us then Will, or what?" Anne said expectantly and with sudden enthusiasm, grinning with anticipation - she was always keen to be the first to know things. "Let's hear about this Blessing then - I don't recognise the mark."

  "I'm not sure, it isn't anything I recognise either. It's not exactly what I was hoping for," William stated with an exasperated shrug, still annoyed.

  "Seriously?" Anne replied with a sudden accusatory tone, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. Reynard looked momentarily offended that her arm had left him, but took a step back - he knew from experience that it was best to distance oneself when Anne got angry. "The Seraph gives you something most of us can only dream of, and you're annoyed it's not exactly what you wanted?"

  "I didn't mean it like-"

  "How else can you mean it? Being ungrateful doesn't suit you Will," she spoke over him. Knowing his intent was unlikely to do anything other than annoy her more.

  William looked at Reynard for support as he said, "Come on, you know I'm not being ungrateful, right?"

  Reynard shrugged somewhat apologetically - caught between a rock and a hard place. "Well, she's been after a Blessing too, remember? For longer than you, even." Anne nodded in agreement as he finished speaking.

  "You're right," William replied, with a look of genuine contrition. "I'm sorry, Anne. It was thoughtless of me to be dismissive of something such as this."

  Anne found herself giving him the benefit of the doubt - when had he ever been insincere with his apologies before? She conceded that they had riled him up, after all, and it wasn't that big of an issue. "S'alright Will," she eventually sighed, rolling her eyes. Sometimes she wondered if it would just be easier if he were genuinely being unkind, at least then she'd be able to get her anger out a little more.

  "How about you tell us more after we finish up here, over some grub?" Reynard proposed, clapping his hands together and rubbing them in anticipation of that oh so delectable delicacy: standard issue hardtack. William laughed and nodded in agreement, with Anne bordering on a smile. Reynard was often the one to diffuse tense situations.

  "I'll see you there," he replied as he picked up his belongings, waving to his two friends as he trudged back to the camp. He made it back to his tent with only a minor distraction: he spotted Isabella's cat, Tibert, asleep atop a barrel. A clever spot, he had thought with a smile as he stroked him gently - the colour and pattern of the cat's fur seemed to blend into the wood, which was a pleasant brown. The lazy cat purred gently for a while, before William continued on his way.

  After depositing his belongings, he made his way to Isabella's tent as she had previously requested. Unfortunately for him, she was accompanied by an imposing figure almost as wide as he was tall, barely fitting in the tent, who glared at him as he walked in - Officer Axton. The hulking man turned his head as William entered, and William was greeted with the man's scarred visage. The sparse facial hair did little to hide the evidence of many battles won.

  "About bloody time, princess," Axton started scornfully with a shake of his freakishly large head, "Get the last of your healing over and done with, then report to the pavilion. Duke wants a word."

  William suddenly felt a lump in his throat as he saluted, but did his best not to let his nervousness show. Officer Axton grunted, and swiftly left.

  William's attention turned back to Sister Isabella, who simply smiled at him compassionately, making her understanding clear. He felt a weight lift off of his shoulders and everything else fade away as he allowed himself to be consumed by her calming presence.

  "Come on then, let's get you sorted before your big meeting," was all she said.