Wreathed in Sin, Wrought by Destiny

Prologue

Silence.

It was deafening, pressing down on the once-lively kingdom of Liones. The only sounds to be heard were the shrieks of carrion crows, and the clinking of metal on cobblestones. The latter sound came from a plain-faced boy in armor, carrying a spear as he trudged through empty streets. His eyes roved fearfully over the shadows, and his hands shook slightly. Rumors had flown after seven streaks of light had shot from the center of the kingdom and into the sky, the most popular being that the Grand Master of the Holy Knights was dead and that their strongest warriors had abandoned them. The boy hoped the the gods that it wasn't true, but what else could possibly have everyone hiding, frightened and silent, from an enemy that didn't seem to exist?

His hands shook as he tightened them around his weapon, knowing full well that it would be useless if one of them really had gone rogue. If they marked you, you were a dead man—it was common knowledge. The best of the best, the most ferocious and reckless and dangerous of the Holy Knights. The boy prayed that they hadn't turned against the kingdom like people said.

"You there, boy!"

He stiffened, caught off guard, before whirling to meet the eyes of a man on a side street. He wore the same armor that the boy did, but was far older, with hooded eyes and a tangled beard. "Come, help me," the old man commanded wearily. "I need some assistance."

The boy straightened, saluting. "Y-yes, sir!" He broke into a run, darting after the tall old man, who limped along with squared shoulders and an air of melancholy—someone who had seen things the likes of which would never leave him.

They had been walking for only a few seconds when the man glanced at him. "Where are you from?"

The boy jolted a bit at being spoken to, before offering a shaky smile. "C-Caines Town, sir."

"Caines?" The old man gave him an appraising look. "I've served this kingdom for forty years, but I've never heard of that place."

"T-that's not surprising, sir, we're really far out there," the boy replied with a nervous chuckle. The man shot him an appraising glance, before grunting and looking away.

"Looking at you, you've yet to become an apprentice Holy Knight, eh?"

A flicker of fear, mixed with hope and disappointment, flashed through the boy. Of course I haven't, he wanted to say, do you really think I'd be patrolling the streets if I did? But he kept his mouth shut; Holy Knights should respect their superiors, after all, and he could at least do that even if he didn't have a scrap of magic. "No," he confirmed, shaking his head. "I'm just..."

The man didn't bother to hear out what he had to saw, sighing as they narrow street opened up. "What comes next might be hard to see for a guy like you."

"What do you---?"

And then he saw it. Or, more accurately, he smelled it—rotting flesh and death, sickly sweet and cloying and yet metallic at the same time. He gagged, a gauntlet-covered hand going to cover his mouth, before freezing in fear when he saw the source.

Bodies. Dozens, hundreds of dead bodies, all wearing armor and carrying weapons. The ruins of the old castle stood nearby the carnage, crumbling around the great hole in the wall that certainly hadn't been there the day before. "W-what....they're all..."

"Holy Knights," the old man confirmed, sounding weary. "One and all. Not a single ordinary man or woman among them."

"What the h-hell h-happened?" the boy stammered, stumbling backwards as he fought the urge to vomit. The old man didn't look at him, grim gaze fixed on the sky, where he'd watched black wings spread and soar off only hours earlier.

"What happened?" the man repeated softly. "Slaughter. All of them, slain in an instant." His voice grew hoarse, and the trembling boy had to strain to hear him.

"And by just seven people."