Tom's Reflections
I was there when there was nothing. The light, a blight, held all. Nobody knew mercy. The weak bowed and prayed to a god who never cared and would let you burn for merely not being worthy of their mercy. So I came and showed a truth that none knew they wanted. The first was one of the lowest among them, a whore to others but someone I felt worthy of love. Her name was Vespera.
—Fragmented thoughts from Tom's reflections
The gate guard barely glanced up as Tom approached. To them, he was just another traveler passing through—another face in the endless stream of merchants and sell swords. The guards cared little for what happened in Sunstone. The goddess of light held the king in her iron grasp, and her champion Luan handled anything beyond palace walls.
The champion was dead—not that it would matter to him when the time came. Everyone would know soon enough. Tom's jaw tightened as he considered what the goddess would do upon learning of her champion's fate. It needed to be addressed, but first he needed to establish himself.
The tavern's familiar wooden door creaked as he pushed it open. Stepping into its smoky halls felt like coming home—the acrid smell of stale ale, the rough laughter of drunk men, the constant demand for another drink. This was where he belonged now.
He had been a knight once, coming to this very place in shame and desperation. But he hated the memory of that weaker self—the man he'd let die to follow his new god.
Something stirred deep in his chest—a distant ache, like an echo of exhaustion that wasn't quite his own. His lord was pushing himself hard, struggling to exist in a world that sought to burn him from existence. Tom tapped his finger against the scarred wooden table, considering how best to spread his lord's will without drawing unwanted attention.
"You want a drink?"
The voice startled him from his thoughts. A barmaid stood beside his table—one Jerry used to mock relentlessly during their meals here. She stared at him with growing unease, her brow furrowed in confused recognition.
She didn't know him, yet she did. He hadn't changed that much physically, but something fundamental had shifted. Her instincts screamed warnings she couldn't quite name.
Tom smiled, letting warmth creep into his expression. "Sorry, that was rude of me. Yes, please—a drink and food when you can manage it." He revealed a gold coin and placed it on the table with deliberate care. The coin was worth more than a week's stay at this inn.
"For you."
Her eyes darted between the coin and his face, searching for the trap she was certain existed. Her weight shifted toward the nearest exit.
"I just got paid well for completing a job," Tom said, his voice gentle. "I'm simply sharing the wealth."
The barmaid's hesitation stretched like a taut rope. She remembered him leaving days ago with Jerry—remembered the job they'd mentioned. Her hand hovered over the coin as if it might bite her.
Slowly, she reached out and claimed it, then backed away without turning her back to him.
"I... uh... will be back soon. And thanks." Her words carried the careful tone of someone addressing a dangerous animal.
The exchange drew a few curious glances from other patrons, but nothing more. Fights and cruelty were common currency here—no one cared about whatever drama might unfold.
When she returned with his meal, Tom had made no move to follow or threaten her. The gold had proven real, and he hadn't demanded its return. Her posture relaxed slightly, and genuine smiles began to replace her fearful mask. Her gratitude seemed to warm something cold inside his chest.
The gold meant nothing to him—leftover spoils from Jerry's failed hunt for the light champion. Still, it represented more wealth than the barmaid would see in months of service.
Tom wondered what lie Jerry had told the knight captain to secure such funding, but that mystery could wait. For now, he savored his meal and the simple pleasure of existing without fear.
The food tasted divine. Despite the background din of drunken arguments and clashing tankards, he felt only bliss—the ability to enjoy sustenance, to smile freely, to simply be. What more could one hope for?
Movement in the shadows caught his attention. A young woman pressed herself against the wall, trying to remain invisible while another patron cornered her with increasingly aggressive propositions. He recognized her—Vespera, though few bothered with her name. The other patrons called her the tavern whore, but Tom knew better. She was just a girl trying to survive in a world that offered few choices to women with nothing. Well, that, and she genuinely enjoyed intimacy—he thought with dark amusement, watching her deflect the drunk man's advances.
He'd been with her several times during his weaker days, when Jerry's abuse left him desperate for any scrap of kindness. She'd shown him nothing but tenderness and acceptance, treating his broken body and spirit with gentle care. It sickened him to know her other clients rarely returned such consideration.
Before, he could never afford to support her properly—Jerry would beat him senseless for any coin he discovered. But things were different now. The old Tom was dead, and this new version commanded respect.
For one thing, she was watching him even while the drunk man waved money in her face—something that never would have happened before. The rejection was making her would-be client increasingly hostile.
"WHATEVER, WHORE! YOUR HOLE ISN'T EVEN THAT GOOD!" The man's voice cut through the tavern's noise, earning a few disinterested glances before conversation resumed.
Tom's expression darkened. He despised seeing her mocked and dismissed, but the choice remained hers to make. Yet she continued watching him instead of pursuing easier coin.
The rejected patron stormed off in search of more compliant company. Vespera was free to approach. She moved with practiced stealth, sliding into the seat beside Tom as if she belonged there.
"Do you mind?"
"I'll leave if you ask me to." Her words carried the weight of countless rejections, her body coiled to flee at the first sign of dismissal.
Tom's gaze had grown cold during his observation, and he saw her flinch from its intensity. The reaction pierced him unexpectedly.
"Sorry, that was cruel of me. Long day." He softened his expression, offering a more genuine smile. "I'm happy you're near me."
She barked out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, that's what they all say until they're done with me." Her eyes traveled over him appraisingly. "Will you be using me tonight?" A practiced grin spread across her lips. "I don't mind offering a discount—saw you got paid well. Maybe you can share a little with me?"
Beneath her professional mask, Tom glimpsed deep sadness and longing. The sight of such hurt in her eyes ignited something protective in his chest. She shouldn't have to beg for scraps of human connection.
"I would like that very much, my lady."
A gentle laugh escaped her. "Please, I'm the furthest thing from a lady. But if you don't mind what I am, I don't mind sharing what I have."
She couldn't see her own worth—or perhaps she'd been taught too well to ignore it.
"You're worth more than the price you set on yourself."
"Oh my, this is a first—someone raising my prices instead of demanding I lower them." Her smile brightened with genuine surprise. "I take it you're looking for more than one round?"
Tom offered to buy her a meal, which she accepted with evident delight. They shared food and conversation before retiring to his room. There, they spent hours in passionate embrace. His old self, meek and constantly fearful of Jerry's retribution, had never been able to truly enjoy their time together. This new Tom held nothing back.
Later, as the night air grew still, she waited for the familiar dismissal—for him to remember she was just a whore, unworthy of lingering in his bed. She'd grown accustomed to post-coital cruelty, the sudden shift from desire to disgust.
"You don't have to go." Tom's words were matter-of-fact, but they made her entire body stiffen.
Something had changed in him, something fundamental that frightened and confused her. She had to know.
"Did you kill him?" Fear sharpened her voice to a whisper. "Is that why you've changed? You know you're going to hang, so you want to enjoy one last night with a whore before it's all over?"
"You are not a whore." His calm contradiction cut through her assumptions.
"You're sweet, but I'm not stupid. I know what I am, and so do you." She studied his relaxed form beside her, searching for cracks in his composure. "I remember you from before."
"You were more confident this time, but still the same man underneath."
How could he be the same? The cowering, beaten creature she remembered bore little resemblance to this self-assured stranger.
"What do you mean?"
"You're the only one who was gentle with me. Who treated me like a human being instead of a toy." Her fingers traced patterns on his chest. "Not that I minded the rough treatment too much—it's just when they got carried away, it hurt. But what do you expect for a whore?"
She brushed dark hair from her face, unused to actual conversation after intimacy.
"Do you trust me?" Tom asked, wanting to offer her the same choice his lord had given him.
"No. Why should I? So we fucked—you'll be dead tomorrow, and I'll still be a whore."
"Perhaps I spoke too soon. You need time before I offer such a choice."
"Ha! A choice? Let me guess—I won't be a whore anymore?" Bitterness crept into her laugh. "Got news for you, lover: I like sex, and fucking is my life. It's not going to stop just because I'm in your bed."
"You don't have to stop. I merely want to offer you a choice."
The words hit her like a physical blow. She rose abruptly and dressed in jerky, angry movements. This was worse than the usual post-coital cruelty—this hurt in ways she couldn't name or defend against.
Tom lay listening to the door slam shut, feeling his lord's presence settle deeper into rest within his soul. Abaddon wasn't demanding anything—this was Tom's choice, his method, his selection of who to save and who might listen.31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1zyFoa7Obb
and then Add to home screen.