The morning bells of the Holy Citadel rang out across the Eastern Marches, their bronze voices carrying through the mist-shrouded valleys like prayers made manifest. Kaelen Dawnblade knelt in the Chapel of First Light, his polished armour catching the golden rays that streamed through stained glass windows depicting the Order's greatest victories against the forces of darkness.
"By Light's grace, I stand guard," he whispered, completing the Dawn Vigil that had begun before the sun's first gleaming. "By Light's strength, I protect the innocent. By Light's mercy, I..."
"Brother Kaelen?"
The voice belonged to Sir Aldric, his mentor and the closest thing to a father he'd known since joining the Order at twelve. The older knight's weathered face bore fresh worry lines that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Your vigil is complete, and the Commander requests your presence in the Hall of Heroes." Aldric's grey eyes held something Kaelen couldn't quite identify pride mixed with an undercurrent of concern. "Today is a momentous occasion."
Rising from his knees with practiced grace, Kaelen followed Aldric through the Citadel's marble corridors. Younger initiates pressed against the walls as they passed, eyes wide with the hero worship he still found uncomfortable. Just three days ago, he'd led the charge that saved the village of Millbrook from the Raveners, bandits who'd taken to calling themselves after the shadow beasts of old legends. Twenty-seven villagers saved, including six children. No casualties among his men.
The Hall of Heroes stretched before them, its vaulted ceiling lost in morning shadows. Commander Matthias stood before the Altar of Radiance, the ceremonial Sunblade across his palms. The high-ranking members of the Order formed a semi-circle around him, a sight reserved for only the most significant occasions.
"Approach, Sir Kaelen of House Dawnblade."
The formal use of his full title made Kaelen's pulse quicken. He strode forward, removing his helm to reveal dark hair still damp with sweat from the morning's exercises. At twenty-eight, he was young for such recognition, but the Order valued deed over years.
"Kneel."
The cold stone bit through his knee guards as Matthias raised the Sunblade. "For valour beyond the call of duty, for excellence in combat against the enemies of Light, and for maintaining the highest ideals of our sacred Order, I hereby name you Knight-Captain of the Eastern Marches."
The blade touched each shoulder with a ring of consecrated steel. "Rise, Knight-Captain Kaelen Dawnblade, and know that the Light shines through you."
The gathered knights erupted in approval, fists beating against breastplates in the traditional salute. Kaelen stood, overwhelmed by the honour and the responsibility it carried. Knight-Captain: only twelve held such rank in all the realm.
"Your father would be proud," Aldric murmured as the ceremony concluded. "As am I."
Before Kaelen could respond, the great doors burst open. A young squire, face flushed from running, skidded to a halt. "My lords! Visitors for Knight-Captain Dawnblade. They bear the seal of House Dawnblade and await in the Solar of Welcome."
Kaelen's heart leapt. Lyanna.
"Go," Matthias said with what might have been a smile. "Family trumps ceremony. We'll complete the investment rituals this evening."
The Solar of Welcome lived up to its name, flooded with warm light that made the white marble glow like moon-pearls. But it was the figures within that drew Kaelen's attention. Lyanna stood by the window, her travelling cloak unable to hide the graceful bearing that marked her as nobility. In her arms, a small bundle of energy that immediately squealed upon seeing him.
"Uncle Kae!" Three-year-old Marcus practically launched himself from his mother's arms.
Kaelen caught the boy, spinning him in a circle that elicited delighted giggles. "Marcus! You've grown since spring. Have you been eating dragon eggs again?"
"Dragons aren't real," Marcus informed him seriously. "Mama says so. But griffin eggs might be real. Can we see a griffin?"
"Perhaps someday." Kaelen set the boy down and embraced his sister. She smelled of lavender and home, of the Dawnblade estates where they'd run through apple orchards as children. "Lyanna. You look well."
"As do you, Sir Knight-Captain." Her smile held genuine warmth, but something flickered in her green eyes: the same unease he'd noticed in Aldric. "We heard about Millbrook. The merchants speak of nothing else: the Dawnblade who faced down fifty bandits single-handedly."
"Hardly single-handedly. And they numbered thirty at most." He guided them to cushioned chairs, Marcus immediately climbing into his lap. "How is Father? And Viktor?"
"Father sends his congratulations on your promotion. He wanted to come himself, but..." She hesitated. "The western holdings require attention. There have been... disturbances. Nothing serious," she added quickly at his concerned look. "Border disputes with House Blackmoor. You know how Father feels about maintaining proper boundaries."
"And your husband tolerates these visits?" Kaelen bounced Marcus on his knee, eliciting more giggles. "I'm surprised Lord Viktor allows his heir to consort with a mere knight."
"You're hardly mere anything." Lyanna's laugh didn't quite reach her eyes. "Besides, Viktor is in the capital attending to business. Something about new tax assessments. Dreadfully boring."
They talked for an hour, Marcus alternating between playing with Kaelen's ceremonial dagger (safely sheathed) and demanding stories about knights and monsters. Lyanna shared news from home: the apple harvest was exceptional, Mara the cook had finally married the stable master, Father's bad knee troubled him in the rain.
Normal things. Precious things. The things Kaelen fought to protect.
"Knight-Captain?" A page appeared at the doorway, bowing low. "Your pardon, but Commander Matthias requests your immediate presence. A messenger has arrived from the capital."
Lyanna stood, gathering Marcus despite his protests. "We should go. I promised to show Marcus the market before we return home."
"Stay for evening meal at least?" Kaelen kissed Marcus's forehead, then his sister's cheek. "I want to hear more about home."
"Perhaps. If your duties permit." She paused at the door. "Kaelen... be careful. Father says the capital has changed. The new Grand Inquisitor has... strong opinions about loyalty and heresy."
"I serve the Light, Lyanna. I have nothing to fear from questions of loyalty."
The look she gave him was unreadable. "Of course not. We'll try to return for evening meal."
As their footsteps faded, Kaelen straightened his tabard and headed for the Commander's chambers. The capital messenger probably brought routine orders: patrol assignments, supply requisitions, the bureaucratic tedium that came with rank.
He found Matthias alone, standing before a window that overlooked the training yards. A scroll bearing the golden seal of the High Council lay open on his desk.
"Knight-Captain. Close the door."
The formal tone sent ice through Kaelen's veins. "Commander?"
"You're to report to the capital immediately. Tonight, if possible." Matthias turned, his scarred face grave. "The High Council has questions regarding your family's activities."
"My family?" Kaelen approached the desk, reading the summons. The language was deliberately vague: 'matters of theological concern' and 'questions of doctrinal purity.' "This makes no sense. House Dawnblade has served the Light for three centuries. My great-grandfather died defending the First Cathedral."
"I know." Matthias rolled the scroll with careful precision. "Which is why you must go. Answer their questions honestly and return to us quickly. I have no doubt this is some administrative confusion."
But the doubt in his eyes said otherwise.
"Take Sir Aldric and a small honour guard. Present yourself with the dignity befitting your rank and house." Matthias sealed the scroll in a protective case. "And Kaelen... remember that the Light reveals all truth. Stand in its radiance and you need fear nothing."
Kaelen accepted the case, its weight far heavier than mere parchment and wax. "When do I leave?"
"Within the hour. I've already ordered your escort prepared."
An hour. Barely time to change into travel gear and gather necessities. No time for the evening meal with Lyanna and Marcus. No time for proper farewells.
As he turned to leave, Matthias called after him. "Knight-Captain. May the Light preserve you."
The formal blessing was reserved for knights riding to battle. Or to their deaths.
Kaelen found himself in his chambers, mechanically packing while his mind raced. What could the Council want with House Dawnblade? His father was devout, attending services without fail. His brother had died ten years ago defending pilgrims from shadow beasts. Lyanna married into House Blackwood with the Church's blessing.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Marcus peered around the door, Lyanna behind him.
"Leaving?" She took in his travel pack and road armour.
"The capital summons." He knelt before Marcus, pressing a small carved horse into the boy's hands. "Keep this safe for me. I'll want to see it when I return."
"Promise?" Marcus clutched the toy, one Kaelen had carved during long winter nights at the Citadel.
"I promise."
Lyanna waited until Marcus wandered to examine Kaelen's shield before speaking quietly. "The summons: is it about Father?"
"How did you..." He stopped. Of course she knew. Lyanna had always been the clever one. "They have questions. Nothing more."
"Questions." She helped him buckle his sword belt with practiced ease. "The kind that require armed guards and midnight departures?"
"I serve at the Council's pleasure. If they require my presence..."
"You go. Yes." She straightened his cloak, smoothing invisible wrinkles. "Just... remember who you are, Kaelen. A Dawnblade. Whatever they say, whatever they ask: remember that our blood has been true for centuries."
"You speak as if I ride to trial, not inquiry."
Her smile was sad. "Don't you?"
Sir Aldric's voice echoed from the courtyard below, calling the honour guard to assembly. Time had run out.
Kaelen embraced his sister once more, ruffled Marcus's hair, and strode from the chamber. His footsteps rang against stone, each one carrying him away from the morning's triumph toward an uncertain darkness.
The last pure day of his life was ending. Though he didn't know it yet, Kaelen Dawnblade would never see the Eastern Marches again. Not as the man he was now. Not with his faith intact.
In years to come, when bards sang of the Shadow Knight's origin, they would begin here: with a good man answering a summons, believing in justice, trusting in the Light. They would sing of how that trust was betrayed, how faith became fury, how love transformed to loss.
But for now, Kaelen simply mounted his horse and rode toward the capital, the setting sun painting the sky red as blood behind him.