I'm currently taking a short break after an intense sparring session with Gilbert. It did me good to concentrate on the angles of his sword thrusts—to calculate just how much force I would need to properly block his attacks, to engage in combat with predator-like intensity, to savour the metallic ring of clashing blades. The duel allowed me to revel in the satisfaction of emerging out of a swordfight alive and well, with a more-than-worthy opponent.

A satisfaction I hadn't felt in a long time.

I frown, wondering when was the last time I had taken pleasure in the daily physical training. Not ever since Sir Kendrick had become so gloomy, that's for sure. Sir Kendrick. The feeling of satisfaction ebbs away, letting apprehension take its place. I have to speak to—

"You've been quiet today." Gilbert's voice draws me out of my inner monologue. I feel relieved that I don't have to initiate the conversation I want to have with him.

"And exactly when, have I been particularly talkative?" I shoot back, arching a brow.

"You've got me there," he replies with a smile, "but you seem more...thoughtful. Distant. In fact, you seem strangely peaceful."

"What?" I say, as though I hadn't heard him properly. Interesting that it takes another person to tell me how I feel; that explains why I am less icy than usual today. Perhaps it had something to do with Allura and our new-found bond.

I know her secret; she knows mine. We can never keep anything from each other after this—not anymore. Strangely enough, I don't mind doing that. It had been tiring, to shoulder all the burdens by myself. At least now, I have someone to share it with. Something has changed me, something instinctive and primal—a longing for friendship.

I'm not sure if this change is terrifying or pleasing.

"You're smiling," notes Gilbert.

The corners of my lips are lifted ever so slightly; I instantly drop the smile. "No I'm not," I deny.

"Well, you were smiling." He squints at me suspiciously. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean 'what happened'? Aside from ghost armies, necromancers and the usual mayhem?" I attempt to make my tone light and carefree, hopefully deterring Gilbert from pressing the matter. Unfortunately, it seem to have the reverse effect—his brows furrow in frustration and his lips curl confusedly.

"You're trying to jest; you never try to jest." Pietists Above, what a silly slip! I make a mental note to go and make an offering to Pst. Otheius—falling out of my supposed character must be his way to strike out at me. What had I done to offend the lord of tricksters? Wisely, I don't say anything, not trusting myself to come up with an appropriate reply. "Bah, never mind. Whatever is happening, I'll find out soon anyway."

Since when did he become the interrogating one? I bristle, preparing to make a sharp retort, when Sir Eldric's sharp command rings out, "Squires, enough rest! Back to training!"

Gilbert and I pick up our sheathed swords without another word, the tension between us far from resolved.

******

"Squire Rutherland."

A shadow blocks the light. I glance up at a figure silhouetted by the golden halo of the sunlight. Captain Eldric. I steel myself despite the slight trembling of my limbs. I'd been dizzy with worry for nearly the whole morning, just imagining what I'll say to the captain once he asks me about the 'interrogation'.

Unfortunately, I don't think by saying, "It went perfectly fine. I cornered Allura, who turned out to be cursed by Diomedes's, and she found out my true gender while I was interrogating her. By the way, do you know that I'm a girl?" would do me any help. The captain's reaction to that would be interesting though.

"Yes, sir?" I snap myself to attention when Sir Eldric makes an impatient noise. I meet his eyes, exuding a façade of confidence. A lie—I'm shaking like a leaf inside.

"How did the task I assigned to you go?" he asks, tone frighteningly neutral.

I run a tongue over my teeth, struggling to come up with something plausible. I was supposed to report to him yesterday morning, but because of Sir Kendrick and Allura, I'd completely forgotten about it. I send a silent prayer to the Pietists—Pst. Amiticus in particular—so that Captain Eldric would have mercy on me, even if he discerns the holes within my story.

Very unlikely that he would have mercy on me. Still, I can hope for the best.

"Nothing eventful. Merely a repetition of what your guards have reported to you, sir." I'm slightly surprised at how easily the words roll over my tongue.

"Oh?" He raises a supercilious brow at me. "And I thought that it was you who suggested that Quinnian Allura may have had a hand in the...chaos within the catacombs?"

I nearly swear under my breath—how could I forget the very reason why Captain Eldric had deemed me fit to interrogate Allura? The fact that I'd managed to spot the little loophole in her role of the events playing up to the incident in the scrinaius. I shake my head vigorously to cover up my hesitation. "It turned out to be nothing, sir. She'd merely deduced that Squire Falkner and I wouldn't rest easy until we knew what was in the scrinaius, and decided that a little exploration of the area on our part wouldn't do us any harm. She was right—both of us would have egged her on endlessly if she refused to grant us access into the scrinaius."

It's a fairly clumsy lie, one that I had simply slapped together out of sheer desperation. The only thing that disguises the holes is the conviction I pour into my speech. Sir Eldric tilts his head to his right, narrowing his eyes, looking like Pst. Nevlus about to present judgement to an accused. I try to keep my breathing even, and attempt to slow my accelerating heart rate.

"I see," he says briefly. My eyes widen slightly with shock. Am I to be let off so easily? "You're dismissed for now, Squire Rutherland."

I can't afford to hesitate for a single heartbeat, so I whip myself into a sweeping bow, murmuring a "Thank you, sir" under my breath. I scan the area, searching for any trace of Gilbert—he's nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the captain had dismissed him earlier.

"Rutherland, isn't it the squires' bi-monthly medical check-up today?" Captain Eldric cuts sharply into my thoughts. I nearly flush with embarrassment. Another item to add to my list of slipups for today.

"Ah yes, sir. I'm heading to the Galennus Workhouse right now. I had to oil the sword just now, see?" For emphasis, I raise the longsword in my hand—safely tucked in its sheath—hoping that the action will mask my nervousness. Pietists Above, why are my nerves so shaky today, as if there's a foreboding presence pressing upon my mind?

"Very well. Pst. Bronicus be with you," says Sir Eldric.

"And to you," I return the formality.

I then dash off without sparing a further glance at the captain.

What are you doing? Control yourself! I scream in my mind. What am I doing indeed? Why am I so nervous? Where's the cloak of serenity that I had just this morning? I give a dark chuckle to myself, startling the guards at the gates leading into the outer ring. I don't have any answers to my own questions. Me, the Champion of Pst. Bronicus, the very embodiment of battle cunning and strategy, at a loss on how to deal with her problems!

No time to dwell on that though. I have to find Gilbert, who I can safely assume to be in the Galennus Workhouse as well. I quicken my pace, the snatched whispers of the castle dwellers carried on the wind occasionally worming their way into my ears. I try to keep my cool when one of the phrases—'mere boy of a Champion'—is spoken by a lowly maidservant. There's no doubt about what they think of me. Perhaps my stiffening gait reveals my displeasure, for the maidservants who were deep in gossip shoot a quick glance at me before veering off towards the opposite direction.

Internally, I sigh. I've almost had enough of people for one day.

When I finally arrive at the Galennus Workhouse, all of the squires have assembled and are forming neat lines in the reception room, with Sir Evan bellowing orders in front of them. He notices me approaching, and motions for me to hurry. "Squire Rutherland! What took you so long? Squire Falkner has already been sent off to see Galennus Asa—apparently he's one of the best around. You're up next."

Galennus Asa? Pst. Galen! Of all the physicians, why him? "But sir, what happened to Galennus Feyonne?" I ask weakly. Most of the squires and knights are assigned regular physicians for easy reference, in case they get injured. I'm one of the rare few who gets assigned to a female Galennus. Again, Father had a hand in this, knowing that Galennus Feyonne is one of the laziest medics alive, and is not qualified to see Scars, and if perchance my secret does get exposed, at least I'll have some of my dignity left.

"Oh, now the Champions of War have been assigned to a higher-qualified Galennus. Sir Kendrick's orders," the knight replies easily.

Sir Kendrick? I pause for a moment, considering the first time I saw Galennus Asa. I had assumed it to be pure coincidence that Galennus Feyonne should be unavailable when I'd needed medical attention, after the first duel I had with Gilbert as Marked Champions. Although I'd felt slightly uncomfortable when Galennus Asa was treating me, I never saw it as anything out of the ordinary. The second time I'd seen him was when Quinnian Allura took me and Gilbert to treat our bruises after a brawl. I thought that was coincidence too. But now—if Sir Kendrick had a hand in this, and if Galennus Asa's shifty behaviour around me is any indication, is all of this a part of Diomedes's plan for...something?

"Rutherland? Go now. I assume that you know your way well enough here to navigate the area by yourself?" grunts Sir Evan, snapping me out of my brief lull.

"Oh, yes. Of course, Sir Evan." Perfect, first the captain, now Sir Evan. If Sir Isaac were here, I imagine that he would give me a thorough dressing-down for being so absent-minded.

I dash off towards Galennus Asa's workroom, the heels of my boots clicking on the floor. How strange—the shadows seem to ripple with every movement I make. Or maybe now they react to me because I am aware that I'm the Deathslayer. I remember reading a passage in How to Recognise a Necromancer—a 'dormant' necromancer's abilities only manifest after they've been tested by an 'awakened' necromancer via a blood ritual. That was the main reason why necromancers were few and far in between, even in the days before the Dark Years. Not because there weren't many necromantic bloodlines, but because it was hard to spot a potential necromancer, considering the dire consequences of the blood ritual upon a person who isn't one.

Without exactly knowing why, I check around me to ensure that nobody is watching, feeling comforted by the blankets of darkness.

Then I wave a hand at the shadows.

I almost scream when I feel a tugging sensation on my hand, and along with the movement of it, the shadows move, forming a swallowing claw of black on the surface of the wall.

Breathe, I tell myself in my head. You asked for it, and this is what you get.

Experimentally, I continue to wave my hand in smooth, easy arcs as I walk down the corridor, in awe of the discovery of my own brand of necromancy. I know I should be afraid—frightening tales of necromancers come into mind—but I'm not. I feel at ease, as if I'd known all along that this is what I'm supposed to do. So much power in my hands; I could do so much---weave through enemy lines, tear them down till the remnants of them scatter in the wind, defeat Diomedes...

Thunk. I drop the shadows and scan my surroundings. In the distance, I see a figure speeding away into the darkness. Holding back a torrent of curses, I chase after the figure, sprinting like a lynx after its prey. Fool! Fool for letting your guard down so easily!

Theoretically, with my physical abilities, I should be able to bear down on the person in no time at all. However, he—the figure looks like a man—is unbelievably fast. He streaks down the hallways, zipping in between crossroads with lightning speed, almost as if he's...

A shadow.

I fork towards the left, grunting and pushing myself for a small burst of power, wishing that I could control my Champion's State—its abilities would definitely help me in this situation. But then I abruptly stop in my tracks, blinking viciously.

The figure has suddenly disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

And then I realise something else—the figure was running in a perfect line towards Galennus Asa's workroom. Coincidence again? I'm not sure. Either way, I have to find out. Maybe it's providence that the figure hadn't led me far away from the physician's workroom.

"Constantine?" Gilbert's voice greets me softly as I enter the room, sunlight streaming in from the windows and splattering across the ground like crystal fragments. I observe the workroom. Gilbert and Leigh are present. There's no sign of Galennus Asa though.

What if he was that figure you were chasing just now? The thought runs through my mind almost subconsciously; I don't dismiss it so easily. "Where's Galennus Asa?" I direct the question towards the duo in the room, who are idly seated on the bed.

"Right here." The physician's voice sounds from my back. I turn around. It could just be my imagination, but his breathing is slightly laboured, and his skin is coated with the thinnest layer of sweat. He couldn't be going out for a relaxing jog at this time of the day. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Well then, shall we get started?" he says with false cheerfulness, stepping past me and beckoning me to move towards him. He pointedly ignores my glare. Jaw clenched tightly, I do as he wants me to. For now.

Galennus Asa definitely has some explaining to do, I think grimly as he takes my pulse.

******

A/N: So, what do you guys think of Galennus Asa? And what do you think of Constantine's new-found ability to control shadows? Ooh, and please remember to vote, comment, share and recommend! Thank you so much for helping me spike the reads up to 16K at this point! And 1.8K votes? You guys are the best!

Dedicated to SmileURperfect for making me smile with her votes spams! Thank you so much for your support in Constantine's journey! 

Hunters -- The followers of Pst. Lorcan, lord of the hunt. Tasked with keeping the feral beasts within the Forest of Mellitus under control.