Chapter 88: Father Caelen
The training yard had grown quiet.
Most of the guards had already retired for the night, leaving only the faint hiss of torches guttering in the wall and the smell of sand turned dark with sweat.
Jack rolled his shoulders, towel draped across the back of his neck, when the familiar shimmer of blue script slid across his vision.
[Notification: A Notable Citizen has entered Sorne.]
[Population Increased: +4 Citizens.]
Jack froze mid-breath, staring at the glow until it faded into the night air. He muttered under his breath, "Notable citizen?"
Before he could wonder further, armored footsteps approached from the gatehouse. A guard bowed stiffly.
"My lord. We’ve just received word. A priest and three refugees came through the gates. They were exhausted, but alive. They’ve been given a place to rest for now."
Jack wiped the towel across his jaw, then nodded once. "Good. Don’t disturb them tonight. They’ve walked far, I’d wager."
"Yes, my lord."
When the guard retreated, Jack made his way back toward the estate.
The night air carried the scent of woodsmoke and cooling stone, remnants of the day’s heat still radiating from the cobblestones beneath his boots.
Somewhere in the distance, a night bird called, its voice cutting through the gentle murmur of the river that wound past the city’s edge.
Seraphina waited for him just inside the door, lantern in hand. Her gray dress fell to her ankles, ribbons in her hair pale as moonlight. She tilted her head. "My lord?"
"Four new faces in Sorne," Jack said, dropping the towel into her hands. "A priest, and three survivors from wherever they came. Make sure they’re fed, washed, and given bedding tonight. I’ll meet them in the morning."
Seraphina dipped in a calm curtsy. "At once."
"Good," Jack said, stifling a yawn. He turned toward the hall, already thinking of sleep. "They’ve earned rest, and so have I."
As he climbed the stairs to his chambers, Jack’s mind wandered to the notification. A Notable Citizen meant someone with significant skills or importance.
Not just a trader or craftsman seeking work in a prosperous duchy. Whatever had driven these refugees to Sorne, it was serious enough to warrant the System’s attention.
--
Dawn came painting Sorne’s roofs with a golden light. Jack walked toward the factory dormitories, the steady rhythm of his boots echoing across stone.
The early morning bustle of the city was beginning.
Bakers lighting their ovens, guards changing shifts at the walls, merchants preparing their stalls for another day of trade.
Inside the common room, the air was thick with the comforting smells of porridge and fresh bread.
A hush hung over the gathered townsfolk. Curious faces peering from doorways to glimpse the survivors who had stumbled in the night before. Word traveled fast in a city this size, and the arrival of refugees always sparked both sympathy and concern.
Jack found them near the hearth.
Two children sat curled together on a bench, porridge bowls clutched tight in their small hands. A girl of perhaps eight years, with tangled brown hair and eyes that darted nervously at every sound.
Beside her, a boy no older than six, who pressed close to her side as if she were his anchor in a storm.
Beside them lay an older woman, her arm bound in linen, face pale but breathing steadily. Gray streaked her dark hair, and even in sleep, lines of pain creased her face.
At their center stood a man.
He was tall, broad in the shoulders, his robes torn and scorched. The fabric that had once been pristine white now bore the stains of smoke, blood, and desperate flight.
A staff leaned against his palm, its surface blackened by fire and claw marks that gouged deep into the wood.
His hair was silvering at the temples though he could not yet be old, and his eyes carried a weight that made Jack pause.
This was a man who had seen his world burn.
The System pulsed.
[Name: Father Caelen]
[Class: Arbiter]
[Affinity: Fire, Light]
[Level: 47]
[Status: Exhausted, Traumatized, Protective]
Jack raised his brows. ’Well, that explains the notification.’
Another glow followed.
[Quest Received: Aid the Refugees]
[Objective: Provide safety and assistance to the survivors led by Father Caelen.]
[Reward: ???, +20 Skill Points]
[Your people apparently think priests count as "important." Unusual.]
Jack’s lip twitched. ’You’re saying it like you don’t.’
[I simply measure usefulness. Priests are not usually high on that list. However, this one appears to have practical applications beyond sermonizing.]
Jack ignored the commentary and stepped forward, noting how the priest’s hand tightened on his staff at the approach. Battle instincts, even here in safety.
"You must be Father Caelen."
The priest straightened, studying Jack with eyes that missed nothing.
Despite his exhaustion, there was steel beneath the surface.
The kind of strength forged in crisis. He bowed his head, voice rough with fatigue. "My lord. We owe you thanks for your kindness." His gaze flicked to the children and the woman. "You gave us shelter when we had nothing left."
Jack waved it aside, pulling up a chair to sit across from them. The gesture was deliberate.
Meeting them at eye level rather than looming over them. "You’ll find no gates barred in Sorne. Sit. Tell me what happened."
Caelen drew a slow breath, his knuckles whitening against the staff. His words came measured, heavy with the weight of recent loss.
"We were a riverside village called Millhaven. Small, quiet. Perhaps two hundred souls in total. We lived by the water, by the nets we cast, and the fields we tilled. Nothing grand or important, just... home." His voice caught slightly on the last word.
Jack leaned forward slightly. "What changed?"
Caelen’s voice grew darker, and the children unconsciously pressed closer together. "Three nights ago, they came in the darkness. A pack of Gravehowl Jackals."
The name made the children shiver visibly, the girl wrapping her arms protectively around the boy. Caelen laid a calming hand on their shoulders before he continued, his touch gentle despite the strength Jack could sense in those fingers.
"They were no ordinary beasts. Giant wolf-sized predators, bone masks fused to their skulls like the dead wearing each other’s skulls. Their eyes burned red behind those plates, and when they howled..."
He paused, his jaw tightened with remembered terror. "When they howled, it was like every bone in your body wanted to snap. Men dropped their weapons. Mothers froze where they stood. My people scattered like frightened deer."
Jack had read about Gravehowl Jackals in the estate’s bestiary, but hearing about them from someone who’d faced them was different. The clinical descriptions hadn’t captured the psychological warfare these creatures employed.
"They hunted in perfect coordination," Caelen went on, his priest’s training helping him maintain composure even as he relived the nightmare.
"Like soldiers trained to flank and corral. Houses were torn apart by claws like sword blades. Anyone who ran was herded back into the pack’s killing ground." He exhaled harshly.
"I raised a barrier as strong as I could manage. My divine light held them back, for some time. But only these three souls escaped with me."
His gaze flicked to the woman and the children, love and guilt warring in his expression. "Margaret here threw herself between the creatures and these little ones. I managed to heal her after we escaped, but I can’t heal all wounds. The children... They’re Thomas and Anna, siblings. Their parents..." He shook his head.
"The rest... their screams still echo in my dreams."
Silence settled over the room like a heavy blanket.
Only the crackle of the hearth and the faint scrape of a spoon in a bowl broke it.
Jack could see the way trauma lived in their postures. The constant vigilance, the way they startled at sudden sounds, the protective clustering that spoke of people who had learned that safety was never guaranteed.
Finally, Jack said quietly, "Then we’ll deal with them."
Caelen blinked, clearly not having expected such a direct response. "We?"
Jack straightened, his voice sounded sharp and strong. "You told me what I needed to know. Dread-class jackals, acting in a coordinated pack. Dangerous, yes. But not invincible. We’ll kill them."
The priest shook his head, leaning forward with the urgency of someone who had witnessed firsthand what they were discussing.
"My lord, forgive me, but packs of Dread-class creatures are no trivial matter. Even seasoned adventurers fall before them. The coordination, the fear effects, the sheer savagery... We should gather more men, organize a proper expedition..."