Ashes of DawnIn the shadow of holy blades and strict vowsLucian's childhood passed under the rhythmic whisper of Latin and the cold clang of steel. He grew up in the very heart of a religious-military state, where life itself was inextricably linked with sword and cross. From a young age, he learned not only to wield a blade but also to believe that every movement was a sacred act, and his strength belonged to the people and to true faith. In this state, knights, like monks, took strict vows, among which was an oath of complete dedication to service, precluding worldly attachments and, even more so, romantic ties.His faith found a face when he met Her. To Lucian, she was not merely a woman, but a living testament to divine grace. Her beauty, so dazzling and perfect, made him see in her an angel descended to earth. Her image became for him a secret sanctuary, a forbidden fruit he dared only to worship from afar. He did not dare to dream of more, knowing that a knight's vow strictly forbade such bonds. Every glance, every encounter was both torment and bliss for him, a secret he kept deeper than any oath.But in a world gripped by fear and ignorance, perfection begets not reverence, but poisonous envy. The very people for whom Lucian shed blood began to whisper. Beauty, knowing no flaw, was declared a devil's gift. Whispers escalated into a cry: "Witch!" The mob, driven by fanaticism, thirsted for the blood of one they could not comprehend.The most terrifying blow was not so much the accusation itself, but the ease with which his people and his church — those to whom he had entrusted his life — betrayed her. He watched as fear turned yesterday's neighbors into executioners. She was burned at dawn. Lucian stood in the crowd, trying to break through to the pyre, his angry questions, full of despair and disbelief in her guilt, raining down on the priests and guards. He did not believe she was a witch; he saw only savage, blind injustice. But he was held back, his voice drowned in the roar of the mob, and he watched as the flames consumed his "angel." In the fire of the pyre, not only she burned, but also Lucian's unspoken, forbidden love – all his unexpressed future, obliterated to ash. On that day, he saw the true face of his people: cruel, driven by herd instinct and blind hatred for what was beyond their understanding.Lucian renounced. He stripped from his armor all the symbols that once bound him to the order and the state, leaving only deep scars on the steel. He did not curse God, but cursed the earth that absorbed Her ashes, and the people who warmed their hands by that fire, for they had renounced the true light. His former devotion turned into a deep rage against a world that destroyed the purity of Her name, and his faith now burned only within, hidden from human eyes.Years of wandering began. He became a shadow of his former self, a mercenary without a banner, a warrior without a god. His heart turned into an unhealing wound until the road led him to a wanderer named Sophocles.The encounter with Sophocles did not restore Lucian's faith in humanity or resurrect his love. But in the quiet of their acquaintance, in the absence of judgment and in the simple human presence of another, Lucian felt something forgotten. Sophocles could not heal him, but he became the necessary balm for the open, bleeding wound of his soul.---
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