It takes a particular sort of person to be a killer. A certain pattern of
thought. A certain set to the eyes. A certain detachment. A killer is not
simply someone who kills another. Any can do that and many do on a regular
basis. An argument that spins out of control. A accident that turns tragic. A
heated battle. A killer is more than that. Where most eyes see a person, a
killer's eyes see a potential target. While most eyes admire a particularly
elegant body line, a killer's eyes seek out the points most vulnerable to the
strike.

It is too simple to claim it is a matter of conscience or morals. Many of the
greatest killers feel the weight of the life they have taken with every breath
they draw and every step they take. Many are otherwise upstanding citizens
admired for their keen attention to civic duty and altruism. No, a killer is
more complicated than that. They take life. They do it quite well. They do it
as often as possible. They justify it, but underneath it is the kill that
drives them. Their reasons are their own. It is best not to ask such things of
such people.

The Merian we watch is a killer. You can see it in the relaxed set to his
shoulders. You can see it in his almost languid movements and the casual grip
he has on his blade. You can see it in the slow and steady rise to his chest.
You can see it in his eyes.

With a slight twist he avoids the opposing blade aimed at his gut. With a small
movement he parries another thrust to his head. His gaze is intent as he studies
his opponents movements. Thrust, thrust, lunge. He throws a jab of his own and
observes the resulting parry. A bit high all things considered. He throws
another, the result is the same. Yet he ignores the obvious opening. He is a
killer but he is a courteous killer. When he finishes this it will be with a
single strike. His opponent will not suffer the indignity of bleeding to death
on the uncaring cobblestones or clutching his own entrails in a desperate bid
to stave off the inevitable. It is the least he can do for the Chancellor's
son.

There is no anger in his movements. His face relays little more than
indifference. He knows how this will end and what anger he might have held for
the initial insult fled him the moment his challenging slap was answered with
the drawing of steel. Not so his opponent. Rage is clearly visible in every
line of his body. His weapons are clenched in white knuckled fists and his
movements are stiff and tense. The rage is a thin mask for the desperate fear
that lurks in his eyes. This is no boyhood brawl in the academy courtyard. This
is no duel that will be called upon first blood. The air is saturated with the
prospect of death. As the fight progresses it becomes increasingly apparent
whose death that will be.

Finally the moment arrives. A parry gone wide and the chest exposed. A brief
flicker of awareness in the opponent's eyes before the killer strikes. It is no
easy thing to kill someone in one blow. It requires pinpoint precision and speed
along with the strength to carry through. Our killer has these things and more.
His blade slides between the ribs, pierces through all protection, and enters
the heart in one smooth movement. He can feel the muscle's shuddering
vibrations down the steely length of his weapon. He can feel it stop.

A slow collapse and the deed is done. With great care, far more than he showed
for taking the life of his ill-fated opponent, he accepts a cloth from his
footman and cleans his rapier. It will require oiling later. With a sigh he
glances down at his fallen foe. His father will be livid.

A curious thought for a killer but a truth nonetheless. Even as his opponent
fell, the news was circulating through the city that Ledor Inalai had slain
Heris Palin, the youngest son of Chancellor Palin. Already the city watch was
converging onto the spot to take the young Inalai into custody pending an
inquiry into the matter. And already a fleet footed herald was sprinting
towards the Inalai townhome to inform Janus Inalai of his son's latest
indiscretion.

* * *

An aging man sits behind a massive desk in an elegantly appointed office. The
soft scratching of his quill as he writes is the only noise to disturb the
still air of the room until a soft cough begs attention.

"What is it, Yasos?" The voice was clipped and abrupt and he does not pause in
his writing to even glance at his young herald.

The young man hesitates, unsure how to proceed. "Sir.."

"Get on with it man" is the impatient reply.

Squaring his shoulders, Yasos forges ahead. "It is about your son."

This gives the man pause and his quill hovers over the parchment, a drop of ink
pooling at the tip and threatening to fall. "Which one?"

"Ledor, sir."

The ink drop falls and the tension in the room increases tenfold with the
mention of the name. The man's face grows stormier. "What has he done now?"

Yasos clears his throat hastily. "He has…well, sir, he has killed a man."

An arched eyebrow is the only response for several long moments and then a
deep, angry "What?"

"It was a duel Sir. There was.." He is interrupted.

"Who was the man?"

Discomfited, Yasos replies "Sir?"

The elder speaks in low, even tones tinged with fury. "Who was the man my son
killed?"

"Young Heris Palin, Sir."

The man is incredulous. "Ulster's boy??"

"The same, Sir."

The older Inalai sighs in resignation, rubbing his silvered head with one
weathered hand. "When was this?"

Some of the tension drains out of Yasos as his master's anger dampens. "A few
minutes ago sir."

"And where is Ledor now?"

Pulling a scrap of parchment from his belt he approaches his master's desk and
holds it out. "Being held in the city cells. They are waiting for you to fetch
him."

His master takes the parchment and reads it slowly, leaving Yasos to fidget
while waiting "Well they can keep waiting."

Yasos is dumbfounded. "Sir??"

His master lays the parchment down and pushes it off to the side as if it
offends him."I don't know what the duel was about. Nor do I care to be frank.
The boy is reckless, dangerous, and far too casual with the life of others.
Some days I wish to the Supernals that I had never given in to his pleading to
learn the sword."

He stands and paces over to stare out his window overlooking a busy square.
"But I did and he naturally had to be a bloody prodigy at it and now here we
are. This is the what, third man he has killed?" he asks, turning swiftly to
pin his young Squire with a piercing gaze.

Startled, Yasos thinks quickly for the answer. "Second Sir, young Boras
recovered eventually."

His master snorted in contempt, turning back to the window. "Two too many and
countless others in valid battles. He cleaves to the old ways as if he was a
man of sixty rather than a mere twenty two. I know exactly what he will say if
I go to fetch him. 'Father, he insulted my honor and it is my right to prove
his lie upon his body.' He can stay in that dungeon until the new moon."

Yasos says nothing. There is no need. It is well known that the new moon is
when Judgment takes place. Ledor Inalai would be taken before the Supernals of
Celestia to answer for his actions.

***

The brilliance of Celestia is harsh on eyes accustomed to the darkness. It
blinds and it burns and Ledor lowers his head to focus his blurring vision on
the golden sand beneath his feet. Celestia. He had been here once before on the
day of his dedication to the Supernals but never since. Travel to the Holy Plane
was never easy. Nerale often told him of how commonplace it would be once this
"nexus" was in place but Ledor was indifferent to such things. His life was one
lived for the dance of the blades, the thrill of the fight, that final strike
that proved his superiority. Let the Mages and Priests worry about the nexus.

Not wishing to appear cowed for long, he lifts his head and gazes at the beauty
around him. He stands on a sandy expanse that stretches out in all directions.
To the north he spies verdant valleys while to the south majestic mountains
rise up in splendor. Rolling plains stretch off to his east and west. All
empty. No angelkin have come to acknowledge his presence. He can hear the ever
present Celestial chorus on the edge of his awareness but the source is
unclear. Even his escorts from the city simply dropped him here and left,
speaking no word.

He hesitates, unsure for a moment before snorting in impatience and settling
down to wait. He was Ledor of the House of Inalai. He would not be intimidated
by dramatics, regardless of the source.

It began with a whisper. A tingling in the back of his mind.

Ledor.

Of the Inalai.

A good family.

Except him.

He bristled, leaping to his feet and whirling around to look for who spoke.
Four voices, all distinct from one another yet he saw no one. He was not a
shame to his family. Yes, father would prefer he not duel over trivial matters
but in all other ways he was a good son, a good brother.

He is a killer.

Life holds no value to him.

He is unwise.

He is consumed by fear.

"I fear nothing!" Ledor screams, his hand automatically going to his hip
seeking the comfort of his steel. He is unarmed and still quite alone. He has
banished fear from his reality. He faces death with a smile. He would kill a
man for naming him coward.

Interesting. Fear of what?

Fear of death?

No fear of death.

Fear of failure.

A sudden sensation of water trickling through his mind elicits a gasp. His legs
lose strength and he falls to his knees in the sand, his hands pressing into the
soft golden grains. He will not fail. He does not fail. He is Ledor Inalai. He
can do anything. Except stand at the moment.

He is of the Inalai.

A strong and successful bloodline.

He is the youngest.

It is more than that.

Visions of his childhood flash before him, flying too fast for him to
acknowledge or recognize them. A burst of sunlight on a grassy field. The
pungent smell of a fine cheese. The metallic tang of his own blood sharp on his
tongue. A forgotten terror. Let it remain forgotten he silently prays. He
pauses, prays to who? The beings he prays to are his tormentors. There is
little surprise there.

Us?

Yes.

He is terrified of us.

He shows more wisdom than most.

More memories, slower now as the beings sift through his life like so many
fishwives sorting through the day's catch.

We took his sister.

We take no one.

He believes it is so.

Belief is stronger than truth.

He is helpless under the onslaught, struggling to keep some part of himself
from their searching touch but his efforts are brushed gently aside as one
brushes off a grasping infant. His beautiful sister, laughing and free. Now a
dedicant to Raziela, locked away in the temple. He had not laid eyes on her in
three years.

His heart is good.

You think all hearts are good.

He is a killer.

So am I.

He curls into a fetal position, stripped bare and exposed. A whimper escapes
his lips. He is far beyond caring.

He is friend to Nerale.

He is loyal to Nerale.

Nerale trusts him.

Nerale loves him.

Abruptly they are gone and he is left exhausted, lying on his bed of sand as
they discuss him with a curiously intent indifference. Nerale. His best friend
since birth it seems. His constant companion. Tempering his anger, calming his
pride. His touchstone.

He is an unmatched fighter.

He was given a gift by the Fates.

That could prove useful.

We will need warriors.

He takes life without thought.

That is necessary at times.

Not at all times.

You speak truth.

We could judge him.

That would be a waste.

You have an idea.

She always has an idea.

We have priests, we need warriors.

He is not suitable.

He could be made to be.

Beseech then.

A low humming rises around the trembling form of Ledor Inalai and expectation
is heavy in the air. A flicker of light can be seen out of the corner of his
eye and he instinctively turns his head towards it but there is nothing to see.
Just a constant presence on the edge of his vision slipping away from any
attempt to focus.

You call me for a judging?

It is not a simple judging.

He is Inalai and he is Nerale's.

We wish to claim him.

For our warriors.

For our Paladins.

Indeed.

A controlled whip of power lashes his mind with the velocity of a slashing
razor blade and much the same effect. This plundering is without malice or
compassion. It simply is. And then it isn't. He slips from consciousness.

He awakes in a chamber that would be described as non-descript only if one was
exaggerating greatly. Bare. White. Empty. Bland. All of these adjectives would
serve it better. Here, he is not alone. As he struggles to his knees, a voice
stops him. A voice. Another inadequate word to describe the indescribable.

"Lay still Ledor. Son of the Inalai. Friend of Nerale."

He stills.

"Do you know who I am, son of the Inalai?"

He nods.

"Do you know why you are here?"

He nods.

"I am very much in doubt of that, little Merian."

He scowls at the insult.

"You are arrogant. You are reckless. You are driven by fear and a taste for
blood. You take the lives of others in order to find meaning for your own.
There is no empathy in your heart."

His fists clench in anger though he remains prone on the featureless floor. He
bites his tongue to keep from speaking. One does not contradict the Lady of the
Eternal Light, regardless of who one is.

"You are loyal. You are dedicated. You are intelligent. You are dutiful. There
is love in your heart."

He stills, considering the words.

"Your life is mine. You were given to me once when you were dedicated and you
have been given to me again. Your life is twice over mine. What will I do with
that life, little Inalai?"

He remains perfectly still, his breathing shallow and slow.

"No, I will not take it. The Fates are not quite finished with you yet. Nor am
I. You are mine, Ledor."

He tries to hide his trembling but there is no hiding from this being.

"That terrifies you. You believe I will make you something you are not. As you
feel happened to your sister. You fear the Light rather than embrace it. You
fear its power and the passion it ignites in even the most stoic of hearts. You
fear you will become like your father."

His eyes clench in misery, silently willing his internal barriers to come up
and shield him from this insight. There is no protection to be had.

"You have nothing to fear. I will show you the Light. You will experience it as
I experience it. And then you will understand. Or it will kill you. Not all are
strong enough for this but as your life is mine, I am willing to try."

Before he has time to think, look up, or protest, he is awash in sensation. To
attempt to describe it is a futile effort. It is the greatest pleasure
imaginable combined with the worst pain imaginable. It is the cold glass of
water in the middle of the Skarch. It is the knife from a trusted friend. It is
absolute understanding. And it isn't.

The tears stream down his cheeks and his mouth is open in a silent scream as
all his misconceptions, safeties, and foundations are burned away to be
replaced by the truth that is the Light. When the convulsions begin he is too
far gone to notice.

***

He awakens to the sounds of the morning. A hummingbird hovers outside his
window, collecting its due from the flowering vines that embrace the outside
wall. He can hear his footman bustling in his sitting room, laying out his
breakfast. The clink of cutlery against glass is alarmingly normal. He is home.

Was it a dream then? A vision brought about by too much drink and too little
sleep? No, it was too real for that. His muscles whimper in protest when he
shifts, too tired to make any serious protests. There is no mistaking the new
awareness he has. He can feel his serving man moving in the outside room. He
can feel the people strolling on the street below him. He can feel his father
working in his study. He can feel he is not alone in his mind and as he becomes
aware of this, he knows what he needs to do.

The Paladins. Holy Warriors for the Light. Holy Warriors of Celestia. He is to
found them. He is to lead them. He is to give his life for them. There is no
question. It simply is. It is necessary and so it will be done. His life no
longer belongs to him.

With a sigh, he pulls himself into a sitting position and calls his valet to
his side. He knows without knowing how that this is the day that the nexus, the
Pool of Stars, will be completed. He knows his presence will be required. He
knows he will stand by Nerale's side as he is crowned Emperor of this new Holy
Land. He knows he will kneel and drink from the Pool, pledging himself to its
protection. He knows it is time to begin his new life. The life of a Paladin.

***
Thus Ledor Inalai became the first Paladin, or so it is told. He was always a
killer but he was changed to a killer for the Light. There was no pleasure in
it for him anymore. He could feel the golden glory of life change to the
lifeless grey of death and the sorrow of it took its toll over time. This was
his punishment for the lives he had taken.

He is remembered as a glorious example of all a Paladin should be. A model to
live up to. It is rarely remember how he started. Or it is conveniently glossed
over. There are few willing to accept that a Paladin was first and foremost, a
killer.