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Riltara and the holy knights had always believed that they were the ones leading Ketal toward their holy land. That was the way of things in their eyes: they were the chosen agents of the god, and he was the sinner, the criminal marked by divine revelation. It had never even occurred to them that the truth might be the other way around.
However, now, that illusion was shattered completely.
They realized, with a growing sense of unease, that Ketal wasn’t being dragged along by them at all. In reality, he was simply allowing them to accompany him, choosing, out of nothing more than whim or curiosity, to travel with them for the time being.
This realization struck the holy knights with almost physical force. Suddenly, their greatest challenge was not escorting Ketal safely, but keeping him entertained. From this point onward, their only real task was to amuse him enough that he wouldn’t grow bored and leave them behind.
For the proud holy knights, and for Riltara most of all, this was a humiliation almost too great to bear.
“To think… to think we have to stoop to such degrading tasks…,” One of the holy knights whispered, voice trembling.
They had devoted their lives to Ferderica, the great and terrible God of Hunger, and yet here they were, forced to act like jesters, performing for the amusement of a single man. Riltara bit her lip so hard it nearly drew blood.
“There’s nothing else we can do,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
The simple truth...
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