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[Mikhaeil]

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Unchained.

I wondered whether asking Xoriah to remove the shackles during the hours I train Agostino would create a rift in the covenant. Mace in hand, the gypsy came at me, eager to prove he possessed the proficiency I knew he did not yet have. He was easily parried, but when I attempted to evade his shield it was all I could do to maintain my footing. A subtle weakness wound itself about my Achilles forcing me to fake the misstep as deliberate. "Slow. Like your running," I censured, hoping to direct his attention upon his own shortcoming and away from mine. It was another question quickly answered.

I will learn to fight in the chains

[Mikhaeil]

---

The gypsy shows great promise. I see the same fire in his eyes that once burned in mine. With training and discipline he will become champion. I've given my word to Xoriah on that. She has chosen well.

I tire easily of late. It's a feeling unknown to me since Justinius took my life. The source of this exhaustion eludes discovery at present. Xoriah fears it the effect of a succubus' longing. While well that may be, instinct leans toward the possibility of the emptiness that washes over me as I train another to stand where I would rather stand myself. Acceptance is paramount to survival in all things. If this were not so I would take back my sword and be done with it.

In the meanwhile the ludus is in need of a cook and a house servant. I serve by my skill as a fighter far more honourably.

[Mikhaeil]

---

My heart seeks what joy it may in this singular damnation. My eyes raise to the light availed them in these chains. At first a weakness growing in its strength, robbing me of mine. Kneel Mikhaeil. Heaven's harsh demand, not so beyond my grasp that I could not understand. Then love whispers to my longing . . . How your sweet submission pleases. Suddenly upon my sinews sings tomorrow's promise.

Running.

Miles.

Glory calls my name!

[Mikhaeil]

---

Much has been lost, but worth the gain - my words to Xoriah last night. Freedom executed by envy. Holy rectitude surrendered to temptation. Infernal descent of the damned, chained a slave again. Shackled to a dream that lingers only as long as an angel is willing to accept the sacrament. Would a knight still see only a slave if he knew that slave had once fought his way to freedom? And does it even matter what is seen, what is thought, in comparison to what is known?

Mine and Xoriah's bond continues strong yet it seems the covenant has altered its dominion. Affinity is changed and more austere. I find myself increasingly acquiescent to demands, contentment beyond measure its reward in the stolen sanctity of our redemption. As she strengthens her hold, my strength is augmented. While I find no reason to attempt explanation today, perhaps there exists divine purpose for this in the future.

[Mikhaeil]

---

While able to maintain grasp on the hilts of my swords when sparring Agostino last night, I still found myself forced to a purely defensive posture. The securing chain between my shackles sorely limits range and restricts my ability to maneuver the blades. Dimachaerus style demands precision, thrusting attacks more effective than cutting as protection is wholely dependent upon weapon skill absent a shield. I wear no galea. Both arms are well safeguarded beneath manica of quilted, multi-layered leather held in place by buckled shoulder straps. I once wore short bronze ocrea, but I've not been able to find any here and so I compensate with substantial fasciae worn under leather leggings. Even so, I am not so foolish as to believe I will be champion again. The honour of that title belongs to Agostino now. I merely long to return to the fight.

Xoriah has begun designing fashion for a tailor in Vesper. Permission has been given me to earn gold for our independence as well. I will offer my services to Ashencrosse - groundskeeper, guard, house slave - whatever may be deemed useful. Once I am able to return to the arena, gold won there should be enough to allow my Domina the luxury of leisure.

[Mikhaeil]

---

[Mikhaeil]

---

a solitary splash upon an angel's fingertip
glistens crystalline
beckoning steps toward the unapproachable.
where desire meets temptation
hell collides with heaven
consuming in gleeful strides.
you seek to partake from the bottle often now, brother.
candle
flames
blazing
dazzling enticement -
retiarius.

[Mikhaeil]

---

Everything changes. The iron weight of slavery's shackles courses molten straight to the soul. These were my words to Agostino last night, this my warning. True comprehension, however, is only attainable through experience. Discussion led to willingness to understand through loss of will. I fear he gives too much this time, but such is his way. My brother.

[Mikhaeil]

---

I closed the cell door with care not to awaken Agostino. His breathing remained deep, rhythmic, as I approached. He slept neither on the bedroll nor the hay, having chosen hardship over comfort by seeking repose on the roughly woven tatami floormat. The lantern I held cast its pale illumination over his fitful slumber. I knelt at his side and placed a firm hand at his shoulder in attempt to bring a small measure of calm to the torrent that claimed him. "Fear nothing," I whispered, lowering my head with heartfelt reverence. "This abyssmal circumstance has nothing to do with failure."

If ever a man was undeserving of shackles, it was Gus. I found it no less than astounding that he stood bound by chains expressing acceptance of fate's having delivered him into slavery. He possessed an enviable sense of self that centered him beyond my comprehension, yet his restless slumber betrayed him. I felt to be doing the same with the lie I'd created to explain why he'd suddenly found himself in chains, but the empty confusion that filled his gaze tortured my conscience with need to give him some point of reference, though a false one. None of this was real, after all. Still the extreme method we'd undertaken to become more acquainted with each other through common experience was proving to be no less arduous.

[Mikhaeil]

---

I will never be able to enter that room again.

My hand burns from the memory of its grasp and the sickening sound of lash striking flesh.

Cries of pain and tears wrought of degradation.

A wish for death over slavery.

Slavery.

Everything changes.

Everyone.

I find no rest tonight.

[Mikhaeil]

---

An errant shadow angled across aristocratic features, perfection marred by sorrowful enlightenment. I unlocked the shackles with light touch, leaving them in place so as not to cause further disturbance, certain he would realize their release upon awakening.

"Forgive me this, brother." Words absent reception in the darkness I left him, the cell door remaining open behind me.

[Mikhaeil]

---

I stood on the balcony watching him for a long while, yet another of the impoverished wanderers recently seen making their way aimlessly about Ashencrosse. A strange phenomena since Rosar took up practice in the ludus, I could not help but surmise this somehow related. If aware of my presence he gave it no evidence, moving with feral grace like a wild animal caged against instinct. His silence spoke certain of previous circumstancial determination stolen by unfortunate claim. Waist-length hair darkened by filth beyond its true color fell heavily over shoulders that whispered of strength starved and withered. "Stay a moment," I called down to him, for unexplained reason unwilling to let such a man pass without acknowledgement.

He lifted a hand to shield hopeless dulled eyes from the bright morning sun. Rather than answer he merely adjusted his gaze upon me as he halted.

"What's your name?" I persisted.

"Varyn Manica," he replied in tone muted by wary hesitation.

Manica.

My intuition required no further reassurance. "Please come inside," I quickly bade him. "We have much to discuss."