"It began years ago," Berevreth started, her voice low and deliberate. "A nun named Isa, one who resided in the Grand Cathedral of Rómenhold, the highest sanctuary in the far western lands, beyond the seas."
Her words drew me in instantly. Even as a child, I had heard tales of Rómenhold__the towering cathedral said to touch the heavens themselves. It housed the Council of Light, where the highest priests were believed to commune directly with the divine. The bells of Rómenhold rang only for three things__death, war, or prophecy.
"Isa," Berevreth continued, "was among the Sacred Sisters of Purity, a sect devoted to silence, fasting, and eternal chastity. They were known for their spiritual discipline and their power to cleanse corruptions of the body through prayer alone. Isa mostly tended to the Vaults of the Veiled Depths, a sealed section beneath the cathedral where imprisoned entities were kept bound in eternal slumber."
Berevreth's voice dropped even lower. "It was there she met him, a demon sealed by the first Paladins after the Great Purge. No one knows what truly transpired between them, only that months later, Isa discovered she was with child, and out of fear and shame, she fled the Cathedral in the night, crossing the Northern Borders into our kingdom, Seliah."
I listened quietly, unable to look away.
"She found refuge in a small village near the River Varyn," Berevreth went on. "And there, she bore a son, Asvran."
I found myself whispering his name under my breath. "Asvran…"
Berevreth smiled faintly, and then went on.
"In that quiet village, she raised him in secret. By the time he was nine, Isa had taught him everything she knew, holy chants, celestial script, and the art of suppressing darkness. She was a Sanctified Binder, one of the rare few gifted in sealing unholy energies. That was how she managed to keep him alive… and hidden for so long. But even with her teachings, Asvran's demon blood sometimes clawed to the surface. When that happened, he became destructive, stronger than ten men, eyes void black, his veins like shadows crawling beneath his skin."
I nodded slowly, picturing the lonely mother shielding her cursed son from the world.
"But then," Berevreth began, and I knew instantly this was the part where their lives would take a turn for the worse.
Stories like these never ended well, I could always tell.
"Tragedy, which they thought they had escaped, found them somehow," she said. "One evening, Asvran lost control in the woods, and that day was a day of harvest, a day every villager leaves their home and goes to the fields beyond the river to gather what the season had given. There the villagers saw him change, his eyes turned to bottomless voids, a black halo of smoke spiraled around him, Some said his hands became claws, others claimed horns burst from his head, his scream cracking the air like thunder and that the ground beneath his feet rotted with every step, he was no longer human."
I narrowed at the image.
"They panicked," Berevreth continued. "And immediately sent word to the Cathedral, begging for help as they were scared to even approach the monster, they claimed a devil had risen in their midst. But before the church could arrive…" Her tone softened. "Isa was found dead."
My heart sank. "By Whose hand did she fall?" I asked, disappointment slipping into my voice.
"No one knows," Berevreth replied quietly. "The Church believed she was slain by some angered villagers. By the time they got to the place, they found Asvran half-dead beside her body, his demonic aura spiraling out of control, devouring what remained of his strength. He wasn't weeping, they said. Just staring, hollow-eyed, as if the part of him that could feel had already died with her."
I swallowed hard, unable to imagine that scene__the boy, the blood, the silence of his mother beside him.
"At first," Berevreth continued, "the Church wanted to execute him on sight. A half-demon child whose power nearly shattered their holy wards, how could they not? But one young acolyte, barely older than Asvran himself, stepped forward. He begged for the boy's life. He was from that same village in Seliah… and he knew Isa. He used to visit them often, bringing bread and candles from the monastery. He swore on his vows that Asvran wasn't evil and that Isa had raised him in the Light, that her prayers must have been the only thing keeping the darkness inside him at bay."
Berevreth paused. "The Church deliberated for days. Some called it mercy, others madness. But in the end, they chose to spare his life but with other intentions in mind"
She leaned back, her gaze distant. "At nine years old, Asvran was made an acolyte of the lesser halls, cleaning altars, polishing relics, memorizing hymns. The priests watched him day and night. For years, he was treated as both servant and experiment. They studied him, tested him, and whenever his demon blood stirred, they punished him until he could no longer stand."
"That's cruel," I murmured.
"That was mercy, back then," Berevreth said softly
"You must remember, demons had slaughtered thousands in the Old Wars. To let one live within the Cathedral walls was unthinkable, an abomination, but the Church believed they could make better use of him. And Asvran…He had to endure it all, he prayed when others mocked him. He fasted when they starved him. Every time he fell, he rose again, all that was the price of his existence "
I could almost see him young, bruised, kneeling before the altar, whispering prayers to a God who may never have listened.
"At sixteen," Berevreth continued, "a war erupted across the Eastern frontiers, the Crusade of Velthar. The Churches sent every knight they could muster, including Asvran, even though they knew he was not yet a full knight."
"They sent him to war" I muttered, disbelief slipping into my voice.
"They had nothing to lose," she said quietly. "A half-demon boy dying on the battlefield was easier to accept than letting him live in peace. But after the war…" her expression shifted to awe, she said
"the knights returned victorious, and Asvran's name was on every tongue. They said he nearly won the battle singlehandedly. They said he fought through entire battalions, wielding only a rusted blade. That he didn't fight like a man… but like a wrathful spirit sent by the heavens to punish the damned."
I drew in a breath, feeling the chill in her words.
"And with that," Berevreth continued, "the Church saw his potential, and forged him into something greater, or perhaps crueler... They began training him under the Sanctum Order, isolated from the rest, forged into their ultimate warrior. He was trained not as a knight, but as a weapon."
Her tone hardened. "He was forbidden friendship, forbidden touch, forbidden rest. They made him kneel in salt until his knees bled. They made him chant until his voice broke. He fought illusions of angels and demons alike, until he could strike down either without hesitation."
I swallowed hard. "All that… for what purpose?"
"To prepare him for one thing," she said.
"For the Choosing. When the time came for the next generation of Paladins, the relics of the Twelve, which belonged to the holy knights who had perished in ages ago were brought forth once more. Each relic sought a pure soul, one untainted by sin. Every knight hoped to be chosen, but they were certain of one thing, which was that Asvran never would. His soul was already tainted, His blood was cursed. But then…"
She leaned back slowly, a faint smile curving her lips. "One relic moved on its own."The Cord of the Binding Flame. An ancient relic said to burn only for those whose souls could endure both light and darkness. It looked like a slender rope of crimson silk, glowing faintly with golden embers that shifted and breathed like fire. Legends say it once belonged to the Saint of Vath, used to bind demons."
"The red rope," I muttered, remembering what I'd seen tied to Asvran's hair.
She nodded
"No one expected it to react, least of all to him. But it did. The cord uncoiled from the altar as if alive, moving up Asvran's arm and then to his hair. It did not burn him, instead it marked him. From that moment, Asvran became what the Church called impossible, a sanctified half-demon knight. The Lone Saint."
She smiled,
"They named him one of the Twelve Orders," Berevreth said softly. "To the people, he was a marvel, a knight whispered to have been chosen directly by the divine, a hero forged by fire and faith itself. But to the Church, He was never their saint. He was their secret. Their weapon cloaked in sanctity. The people saw a savior. The Church saw control."
Silence stayed between us for some minutes. I sat there, trying to absorb everything she'd just told me. The story felt too real, too vivid to be mere rumor or tale. But then Why hadn't I ever heard of it before? Should I believe it… or cast it aside like the other tales of demons and fallen saints I grew up hearing?
Finally, I turned toward her, brow arched, eyes narrowed in quiet suspicion.
"How do you even know all this?" I asked.
A proud smirk appeared on her lips. Folding her arms, she replied, "Because my grandmother was there when it all happened. I told you, the whole thing began in my kingdom. If something was dire enough to summon the Church all the way from Aurelen, do you really think the ruler of Seliah wouldn't be aware?"
I blinked, taken aback. Of course. Why hadn't I thought of that?
Berevreth leaned back, her tone mixed with pride, she said. "My grandmother was among the council that decided his fate, the ones who argued over whether to kill the boy or make use of him. She was the one who stood against the priests' judgment, the one who said his curse could be turned into strength."
A faint, almost wistful smile curved her lips. "She believed that even monsters could be forged into protectors if the fire was harsh enough, She always said mercy, even in its cruelest form, can still change the world."