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A glimpse into the backstory of my game Ad Lucem's protagonist, Eachann Kimball.

Excruciating pain radiated from his core. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to hurt this much. He was supposed to take the mortal blow for his king, and then fade into Light... or the Void, wherever his soul might be bound. Instead, he found himself lingering upon the edge of consciousness, feeling as though his body had been rent in half.

Perhaps it had been, and what he could feel of his legs were simply phantom memories of what had been. The wound the enemy sword had borne him was deep, of that much he was certain. But deep enough to sever his torso from his legs? He didn't know. It certainly felt like it.

Of course it would be this way. He mused with a bit of bitterness. I failed to become a knight, I failed to protect my comrades as a soldier, and now I can't even die a proper hero's death. Just another failure to add to the pile which comprises my entire life.

Warmth spread into his core- a pleasant warmth, rather than the stabbing, hellfire pain he'd experienced up until then, and his brow scrunched in confusion as he tried to figure out the source. Was he hallucinating? Was this how it felt to die? If it was, then this whole dying business might not be so bad as he'd thought.

As the pleasant warmth began a steady ebb and flow into his body, he became aware of voices around him. 

"-any chance to save him?"

"-ire, we are do- -est. Vict- our best-"

"-e is just- -ister!"

"-asn't left- -ide, Sire. She won't -ive up on him."

Wait... did they just say... Victoria? 

His muddled brain tried to focus in, listening for the sound of his childhood friend's voice in the haze. And sure enough, if he concentrated hard enough to make his head pound as much as the wound in his center throbbed, he could hear her voice, choked with tears, next to his ear.

"Blessed Protector, please, you mustn't take him yet. It is not his time to die, I can feel it. Please, don't rip him from my side as well. You must see his wounds healed. He must survive. Please, I am begging you, let his wounds be sealed, and let him live..." 

His eyes squeezed closed even tighter as he tried to stem the flow of his own tears. He hated hearing Victoria cry, especially over him or something he'd done. He always had, ever since they were children.

He could still recall the first time he'd injured her in their playtime, their childhood fights and stories. How he'd taken it too far in playing the villain, and how her golden eyes filled to the brim with shimmering tears as they looked upon him with betrayal. That was the day his parents had taken him home and explained to him that it was no longer appropriate for the pair of them to play together, for their bodies were beginning to undergo changes that would force them apart.

The very next day, he'd gone to visit her against his parents' wishes, only to find her gone, with only a letter left behind. She had been accepted as a priestess, and was leaving home to begin her training. He'd never gotten the chance to apologize for hurting her. Nor had he ever gotten the chance to say goodbye.

Yet now, even after he'd hurt her, all these years later, there she was, still by his side. Steadfast and true. Praying endlessly and breathlessly to see him returned to life. Something in him felt at peace knowing she'd either forgiven him, or never held it against him in the first place. With that peace came at last the bliss of unconsciousness, and freedom from pain. 

That is, until he awoke once more. Though he no longer felt like a man torn in half, his core still ached and burned if he tried to move too much. It was only his eyes he was able to move, and when he forced them open, the first person he found at his bedside, her head of mussed teal hair still bent in prayer, was Victoria.

He grimaced as he realized he'd likely kept her from sleep, and forced himself to move his hand over to her clasped ones, offering her a reassuring grin. 

At the contact, the young Sister jolted from her prayers, and stared at Eachann with heavily-bagged eyes. A moment later, the fierce, stabbing pain in his core returned as she threw herself across him in an embrace of utter joy and relief. He tried not to cry out in pain, but couldn't restrain a groan as she sobbed into his chest from relief.

"Thank the Protector-! You were so long in waking that I thought surely..."

He smiled, and stroked the back of her head to calm her. "I'm... all right. Thanks to you. Er, when did you get here...? What happened...?"

"That, I believe I can answer." A deeper voice at his bedside hailed.

Eachann blinked stupidly as his very own sovereign rose from where he was seated at his bedside, the glint of torchlight reflecting off his crown. Every impulse in him wanted to get up and take a knee before his king, but the pain and Victoria's body kept him rooted to his spot in bed. All he could do was dumbly gape before managing to squeak out, "Y-Your Majesty?"

The King smiled at him, and said, "Please, simply call me Anselm. You've earned that right after having saved my life. An assassin came for my life on the battlefield and you leapt in the way without a single thought for self-preservation. I must admit, that takes a devotion to king and country that few lack."

He sighed gravely, and looked away from the young soldier. "The battle was a catastrophe. The result would have us declared the winner, but I would hardly call it a victory with so many of our men dead. You were one of the few I could spare. You've had a healer tending to you ever since you took that blow for me, all the way back into Angelorum."

Victoria, seemingly recovered from her sobbing fit, sat up and said, "You were still unconscious when they brought you in to the infirmary. I was scared you'd never wake up, but now..."

"Now that you are awake, I believe a thank you is in order." The King finished, smiling down at Eachann. "I can grant you any one boon you would like. Simply name it, and it is yours. Any amount in the royal treasury. Peerage for yourself or your family. Whatever you like."

Eachann frowned, furrowing his brow in thought. That was quite a question to ask one that had just returned to the land of the living. But in truth, he hardly had to think about what he wanted. Gold and status, neither he nor his family truly had any desire for. They were merchants, and were quite used to living simply. He doubted they'd know what to do interacting with the nobility. There was only one thing that, since his youth, he desired, but had been denied.

"Your Majesty, I only have one request. I want you to make me a knight."