39: The Late Judgment (12) (Resuming Daily Updates)

The cave was dim, the campfire burning. The logs enclosed by stones at its center crackled in the flames, a pleasant sound, while the warmth and light they brought soothed both body and mind—but on second thought, the logs themselves probably had no desire to make such a sacrifice.

But they had no choice. Once Luther had selected them from the shadowy forest with those callused hands of his, their fate as firewood had been sealed. They were destined to give everything, sacrifice everything, and illuminate the darkness with their deaths.

And that crackling sound of burning, which brought warmth and peace, was in truth merely the logs' final words as they wailed and screamed within the fire.

Seen from that angle, the campfire was truly chilling.

Lion El'Jonson stared impassively at that horror, his armored hands resting seemingly calmly upon his knees, the Lion Sword held tight against his chest. His shadow twisted and flailed upon the wall, while gust after gust of wind outside the cave sounded uncannily like mournful cries.

He was no stranger to such sounds. Long ago, when he had wandered naked through the forest, seeking secluded places to rest each night, he had heard them countless times.

Thinking back on it now, it had almost sounded like Caliban roaring at him.

Get out! Leave this place!

The Lion raised his head without reaction.

Light and darkness artfully divided his face. The artist responsible for this work was clearly not especially meticulous; though the result was ingenious, it lacked even the slightest harmony.

The Lion's face resembled a rugged realm, contested by two utterly opposing forces that could each serve as symbols.

Yet no one would likely care about that minor discord. Simply sitting there, he was a king. And when necessary, he was a