The stranger

The moonlit scene held an air of both tension and unexpected kindness as Seraphel approached the cage. His golden eyes, once filled with the turmoil of philosophical debate, softened as they locked onto the three trembling figures within. The eldest girl, a beacon of quiet bravery, met his gaze with a hesitant resilience that did not go unnoticed.

"Fear not, young ones. Darkness may surround us, but not all who dwell within it are born of malevolence."

His hands, accustomed to violence, gripped the iron bars with a surprising gentleness, effortlessly bending them open. The girls, shivering and huddled together, hesitated to leave the perceived safety of the cage.

"You'll freeze by the time morning comes if you stay in there."

Despite his words, the girls remained rooted in place, eyes wide with fear. Seraphel, seemingly resigned to their reluctance, shuffled the prayer beads wrapped around his fist and let out a deep sigh. With a determined yet gentle gesture, he began removing his blood-stained robes, revealing his lower vestments.

The girls, already terrorized by their captivity, gasped in fear at the unexpected turn of events. Yet, to their surprise, Seraphel draped his silk robes around them, a soothing cocoon that embraced them like a divine refuge.

Whispering softly "Rest now. The night will pass, and a new dawn will greet you. These robes bear the warmth that remains within the hearts of those who still believe in mercy."

Wafting along with the warmth of the robes, an overly sweet scent carest their noses. Worn down under the stress and fear of their horrific day they mistook the scent of death as lavender as it lulled them to sleep like a spell. 

Leaving them huddled in the comforting embrace of his bloodied robes, Seraphel moved towards the campfire left by the bandits. As the flames flickered and danced, casting a warm glow on his now bare upper body, a testament to the countless battles fought in the name of the Crying Goddess, scars of all shapes and sizes littered his body. However, his back, sparsely illuminated by the fire, portrayed a grim past in the wake of countless scars, shaped like crosses. Unmistakably different from the rest, these held the intent of a demented artist's work, a visual representation of the darkness that clings to his soul. 

—

The morning sun painted the sky in hues of soft pink and golden warmth as the eldest girl stirred from her uneasy slumber. The warmth of the lavender-scented robes, though unfamiliar, had shielded her from the biting cold of the night. As she sat up, sore and hungry, the numbness in her fingers began to subside, and life slowly returned to her stiff limbs.

Remembering the events of the night, her eyes darted around the cage to find her friends still sleeping, their forms cocooned in the comforting embrace of the strange man's robes. Curiosity and a sense of duty overcame her, and with cautious steps, she approached the man who had, in an unexpected turn of events, become their reluctant saviour.

As she stepped out of the cage onto the gravel-strewn ground, her eyes widened at the sight that greeted her. Large pools of red gravel painted a gruesome tableau, each stain a stark reminder of the violence that had unfolded. However, to her relief and slight confusion, no bodies remained. The bandits, perpetrators of their torment, were gone, leaving only the echoes of the night's macabre ballet.

Turning her attention to the still figure by the bonfire, she approached the strange man. His form, unyielding and unmoved, seemed like a statue carved from marble. Hesitating for a moment, she finally spoke, her voice a whisper amidst the morning silence.

"Th-thank you... for saving us. But w-what are your intentions?"

The question hung in the air, and as the sunlight bathed them in its gentle glow, the mystery of the night unfolded before her. 

—

The stranger, seemingly caught in a moment of contemplation, turned his golden gaze toward her, his eyes reflecting the complexities of a soul entwined with both madness and unexpected compassion. 

Shifting his gaze back to the blood-stained ground as the girl questioned his intentions.

"Intentions? I have already accomplished my intentions."

The answer left the girl uncertain, prompting her to press further.

"Then are the three of us free to leave?"

In response, Seraphel, with an air of mysterious wisdom, recited a line from the holy scriptures.

"For in the truth of liberation, one finds the key to a freedom beyond mortal comprehension."

The cryptic verse left the girl puzzled, and as confusion flickered in her eyes, Seraphel chuckled softly.

"I'm a priest, after all, not a bandit, so yes you are free to leave."

The girl, struggling to reconcile the image of a priest with the blood-stained floor before her, stammered in disbelief.

"A-a priest can do all of that?" She pointed at the evidence of the previous night's violence.

Seraphel, a hint of amusement in his eyes, shrugged nonchalantly.

"Well, why not? For who else will deliver divine judgement when the gods… don't bother"

The peculiar admission lingered in the air, leaving the girl to grapple with the enigma of the man who, by all appearances, seemed to defy the conventional roles of his sacred calling. The morning unfolded, shrouded in mystery, as Seraphel and the girl stood amidst the remnants of the night.