A New Routine

The morning light filtered through the small window, waking Luke from his slumber. He stretched, feeling his body slowly adjust to the routine of early mornings. With a newfound purpose, he got ready and headed to his regular work at the barracks.

Arriving at the barracks, Luke greeted Eamon with a nod.

"Morning, Eamon."

"Morning, Luke," Eamon replied, already busy with his tasks.

Luke took his place beside Eamon, ready to start the day. He noticed a larger number of equipment than usual and couldn't help but comment.

"Wow, I can't believe there's so much today. Surely we can't clean all of this in one go."

"I've cleaned more than this alone before. We'll manage," Eamon, completely unaware of the jest, responded seriously.

Luke chuckled to himself and got to work. The routine was simple but satisfying. Eamon handled the initial cleaning of the equipment, and Luke followed up with polishing and drying them for safekeeping. As they worked, the familiar sounds of the knights' morning drills echoed through the barracks.

Luke had grown accustomed to the sight of knights training, their movements almost memorised in his mind. The clang of swords, the thud of shields, and the rhythmic marching had become a comforting background to his work.

During a brief pause, Eamon glanced at Luke.

"You're getting better at this, you know. Adjusting well to the routine."

"Thanks, Eamon. I think I'm finally getting used to it," Luke nodded, appreciating the acknowledgement.

"It's a good skill to have, keeping things in order," Eamon smiled faintly and continued his work.

As the morning progressed, Luke's thoughts wandered to the events of the previous days. The children had promised to keep his secret, and he felt a sense of relief knowing they supported him. Their trust was a responsibility he didn't take lightly.

Lost in thought, Luke nearly missed a cue from Eamon.

"Hand me that cloth, will you?" Eamon asked, breaking Luke's reverie.

"Right, sorry," Luke replied, quickly passing the cloth to Eamon.

The routine continued smoothly, with Luke and Eamon working in sync. Despite the increased workload, they managed to make steady progress. The camaraderie between them made the tasks feel lighter, and the morning flew by.

As they neared the end of their work, Luke couldn't help but reflect on how much his life had changed. From the uncertainty of his arrival at the cathedral to finding a place among the children and now settling into a routine at the barracks, he felt a sense of belonging he hadn't known in a long time.

"We did it, Eamon. All done," Finishing the last piece of equipment, Luke looked around at their work.

"Good job, Luke. Let's take a short break before we put everything away," Eamon nodded in satisfaction.

Luke agreed, and they both sat down, enjoying the brief respite. The knights' training continued in the background, a reminder of the structured life Luke was becoming a part of.

As he rested, Luke thought about the future. The children's trust, his growing bond with Eamon, and the sense of purpose he found in his work all pointed to a new chapter in his life. One where he could make a difference, no matter how small, and find his path forward.

Just as Luke and Eamon were about to wrap up their work, a couple of knights approached them. One of the knights, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, addressed Eamon directly.

"Eamon, think you can clean up this small batch of equipment we just got in? It's urgent."

Eamon looked at Luke first, gauging his reaction. Knowing they hadn't yet stored all their cleaning supplies, Luke nodded.

"Sure, what's a couple more pieces of equipment?" he said with a smile.

"Alright then, let's get to it," Eamon grinned, his rough hands already reaching for the new batch.

As Eamon started scrubbing the dirt away from the swords, Luke set up his polishing and drying station again. Eamon glanced at Luke and chuckled.

"I hope you don't get the wrong impression of our labour, Luke. We aren't slaves here. Maybe we should go see Sir Carrick later and demand extra pay for today."

"It's fine, Eamon. Yesterday was pretty relaxed, so it's only fair we have a busier day today," Luke laughed, appreciating Eamon's sense of humour.

Eamon finished scrubbing a couple of swords and handed them to Luke, who began his part of the process. Luke dried the first sword meticulously to prevent rusting and polished it until the steel gleamed. Satisfied, he set the finished sword aside and picked up the second one.

As he dried the second sword, Luke noticed something peculiar—a reddish-yellow stain. Though small, it was noticeable. He tried to rub it away, but it wouldn't budge. Curious, he took it back to Eamon.

"Luke, there's more equipment done here," Eamon said, noticing his footsteps coming.

Luke then set the sword down first as he wanted to speed up his process. His questioning can come later.

Eamon handed over a couple of breastplates next, and Luke began to dry them. He spotted similar stains on both pieces. This time, Luke voiced his concern.

"Eamon, did you miss these spots? There are some odd stains here."

Eamon came over to inspect the equipment. His eyes widened at the sight of the stains, and he hurriedly grabbed the remaining unclean equipment.

"Luke, you can retire for the day," Eamon said urgently.

"Are you sure? You seem tired, and I thought you might need my help," Luke frowned, puzzled by Eamon's behaviour.

"No, it's fine. I'm just embarrassed for missing those spots. I'll take care of it. Please, Luke, just go. I don't want to break under the embarrassment," Eamon insisted, his tone almost desperate.

"Alright, if you insist. But if you need anything, just let me know," seeing Eamon's determination, Luke decided not to argue.

As Luke walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Eamon's reaction was too intense for a simple oversight. But Luke decided not to pry. If they didn't want to tell him, he wouldn't push. Getting into uninvited trouble was not his forte.

Luke left the barracks, his mind filled with questions. As he made his way back to the cathedral, he resolved to keep an eye on things. There was more to those stains than met the eye, and he couldn't help but wonder what secrets the knights—and perhaps Eamon—were hiding.

Luke had collected his pay from the barracks office, tucking the coins into his pouch. He intended to ask Sir Carrick about the peculiar stains he had found, but the thoughts were immediately buried. With a sigh, Luke decided not to pursue the matter further. It wasn't his business, after all. He had enough to worry about without sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

However, as Luke walked back to the cathedral, a strange feeling settled in his chest—a sense of attachment to the mystery he'd stumbled upon. It was as if the stains on the equipment were calling to him, urging him to dig deeper. Luke had always been sensitive to such feelings, often sensing when something was amiss. Was this one of those moments? Was this what people meant when they said they could feel something bad was going to happen?

Luke's mind raced as he continued his walk. He couldn't shake the image of Eamon's wide-eyed panic. There was more to those stains than simple dirt. What could they be? Blood? Rust? Some sort of alchemical substance? The possibilities spun in his head, each more unsettling than the last.

As he neared the cathedral, Luke's pace slowed. He knew he should let it go, but the mystery gnawed at him. He had always been curious, a trait that had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count. But it had also saved him, guiding him to make decisions that others might not understand.

The cathedral loomed ahead, its spires reaching toward the sky. Luke entered the courtyard and found himself drawn to the lawn where the children often played. He sat on a bench, his thoughts still churning. The sunlight filtered through the leaves of the old tree, casting dappled shadows on the ground. It was peaceful here, a stark contrast to the turmoil in his mind.

Luke remembered the children's words from yesterday:

"You have the power to change things. Help those in need, stop the evil from spreading."

He had dismissed it at the time, but now, the words seemed to echo with new significance. What if this was one of those moments where he was needed? What if the stains were a sign of something more sinister?

Eamon's behaviour replayed in his mind—the hurried movements, the insistence that Luke leave, the look of genuine fear. It wasn't an embarrassment. It was something deeper, something that Eamon was too scared to share. Luke's fingers drummed on the bench as he weighed his options. Ignoring it might be the safest choice, but his conscience wouldn't allow it.

He decided to approach Eamon again, but this time with caution. Perhaps there was a way to help without prying too deeply. Luke could offer his assistance subtly, letting Eamon know he was there if needed. It was a risk, but one that felt necessary. The feeling of impending danger was too strong to ignore.

As the bells of the cathedral tolled, signalling the start of evening prayers, Luke rose from the bench. He would wait for the right moment, a time when Eamon might be more receptive to his help. Until then, he would keep his eyes and ears open, watching for any signs of what those stains might mean.

The mystery clung to him, a shadow that followed his every step. Luke knew that uncovering the truth might bring trouble, but it could also bring justice, perhaps even save lives. And for that, he was willing to take the risk. With a determined heart, he walked towards the cathedral, ready to face whatever lay ahead.