The sword was heavier than Abraham expected. Not in weight, but in meaning.
He stood in the courtyard behind the church, his wounds still aching, sunlight breaking through the clouds above him. The holy blade shimmered on his back like a reminder.
The priest stood before him, barefoot on the grass, hands behind his back.
"You've survived your first trial," the priest said calmly. "But now comes the training. The road ahead is narrow, painful, and slow. Do you still wish to walk it?"
Abraham looked up.
"They took Sarah."
He reached over his shoulder and drew the blade. The sound of light splitting the air echoed around them.
"I'll walk into fire if it means bringing her home."
The priest smiled.
"Then your training begins today."
He snapped his fingers.
The earth trembled.
From the shadows of the trees behind the church, several robed figures stepped forward. Their faces were hidden behind silver veils. Each one held a different type of weapon — spear, shield, chain, staff.
"These are the Watchers," the priest said. "They will test your heart."
Abraham raised his blade. "I'm ready."
"No. You are not," the priest said softly. "Which is why you will be broken first."
The Watchers surged forward.
Abraham braced, blade in hand. The first one struck with a staff — hard, straight into his side. He stumbled. The next followed with a low sweep, knocking him off his feet.
He hit the ground with a cry. Pain shot through his ribs.
"Get up," the priest said.
Another blow struck — this time across his back.
Abraham gritted his teeth and stood again. Blood ran from his lip.
"You told me you would walk into fire," the priest called. "So burn."
The Watchers did not stop.
They attacked in silence. Abraham tried to block, tried to swing, but they were faster, smoother, coordinated.
He fell again. And again. His body gave way.
But each time he collapsed, the same name echoed in his mind.
Sarah.
He could still see her face. Still hear her voice in the wind. Still feel the warmth of her hand in his.
He rose once more.
A single Watcher leapt toward him.
This time, Abraham stepped into the attack.
He dodged. Just barely.
His blade slashed upward — a thin line of light cutting across the air.
The Watcher stopped. For the first time, it staggered.
A soft glow pulsed from Abraham's chest.
The priest nodded.
"Good. You are beginning to hear the sword."
Abraham looked at him, panting.
"The sword… speaks?"
"It responds to the heart. Not to rage. Not to strength. But to truth."
One of the Watchers extended a hand to help him up.
Abraham blinked. Their silver veil shimmered in the light — and for a moment, it looked like a woman. A trace of Sarah in her height, her posture.
He didn't take the hand. He stood on his own.
"What's next?" he asked.
The priest stepped forward.
"You have learned pain. Now you will learn focus."
He pointed to a stone table behind the courtyard. On it, a small silver bell rested next to a bowl of oil and a cloth.
"You will sit there until sundown, and not speak. Not move. Not sleep. You will listen."
"To what?"
"To the silence. To the Spirit. To the sword within you."
Abraham hesitated. "How does that help me fight?"
"Because battles are not won by blades," the priest said. "They are won by hearts that do not break."
---
The sun began its slow crawl across the sky.
Abraham sat cross-legged before the bell, eyes closed. His back screamed from the Watchers' strikes. Blood dried on his shirt. Sweat clung to his brow.
But he didn't move.
Not when insects crawled across his legs. Not when the wind howled through the trees. Not even when thunder rumbled in the far hills.
He waited.
At sunset, the priest returned.
"You did not ring the bell."
"I didn't need to," Abraham said quietly. "I remembered her."
The priest knelt before him.
"Then you are ready for your second trial."
Abraham opened his eyes.
"What is it?"
The priest looked into the horizon.
"You will enter the Ruins of Giveth. There, you will face a creature known as the Pale Serpent. It is no ordinary demon. It was once an angel… twisted by sorrow."
Abraham stood, sword at his side.
"I'm not afraid."
"You should be."
"I won't let fear make my choices."
The priest placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Then you are not only a husband."
He looked him in the eye.
"You are becoming a friend of God."
---
End of Chapter 2