Treatise Of A Failed Knight

"...."

Seth stands in the Bishop’s private chambers, the weight of revelation crushing down upon him like a physical force.

The rescue operation concluded several days ago. The Bishop has recovered from his drugged state, his mind clear again. Clear enough for Seth to finally ask the questions he’s been avoiding since their investigation of the Cathedral’s secret vault.

Questions about child trafficking.

Illegal experimentation.

The damning documents he found in that hidden room.

Questions about himself.

"Tell me the truth," Seth says, his voice barely above a whisper. "About my past. Where did you really find me?"

The Bishop—Father Gerome, the man who raised him, the only father Seth has ever known—sits in his chair, looking far older and more fragile than Seth ever remembered.

His weathered hands tremble as they clutch his prayer beads.

"Seth, my son, some truths are better left buried. For your own protection—"

"No more protection!" Seth’s voice rises, echoing off the stone walls. "No more secrets! I found the documents, Father. The records. The transactions with ’special organizations.’ The batches of children were handed over to unknown parties."

He steps closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I found my name in those records. Batch seven hundred and forty-three. One thousand children total. Tell me what happened to them. Tell me what happened to ME."

The Bishop’s face crumbles, decades of carefully maintained composure finally breaking like a dam under too much pressure.

"We didn’t know," he whispers, tears beginning to stream down his weathered cheeks. "I swear to you, Seth, we didn’t know what would happen. We thought... we believed..."

"What did you do?" Seth’s voice is cold now, emotionless. The tone of someone bracing for impact.

A long, terrible silence stretches between them.

Then, slowly, the Bishop begins to speak.

"Thirty years ago, a figure came to the Cathedral. They claimed to represent a special religious organization—one with similar ideals to ours, dedicated to serving the divine will. They spoke with such authority, such conviction. Their credentials were impeccable. Their knowledge of scripture profound."

The Bishop’s voice grows hollow, distant, as if recounting events from someone else’s life.

"They said they were conducting a great work. A holy undertaking that would elevate humanity closer to the divine. But they needed... materials. Subjects. Children of a certain age, with certain characteristics. Orphans. Those with no families to miss them."

Seth feels his legs weakening beneath him, but he forces himself to remain standing.

"They promised these children would be cared for," the Bishop continues. "Would be part of something greater than themselves. Would serve a purpose higher than any ordinary life could offer. And we... we believed them."

"How many?" Seth asks, though he already knows the answer from the documents.

"Thousands," the Bishop admits. "We gathered them from orphanages across the kingdom. Children with nowhere else to go. No one to ask questions. We told ourselves we were giving them purpose. Meaning. A chance to serve the divine."

"Over a thousand children, dozens per batch," Seth repeats, each word falling like a stone into still water. "You gave thousands of children to a stranger based on nothing but words and false credentials."

"Not a stranger!" the Bishop protests weakly. "They had documents. References from other religious institutions. They spoke of the divine with such certainty that we believed—we wanted to believe—they were genuine."

"What happened to them?" Seth’s voice is barely audible now.

The Bishop’s silence stretches on.

"What happened to the other children?!" Seth roars, the fury finally breaking through his controlled exterior.

Even he cannot believe he is talking to the Bishop this way.

A man he reveres above all else.

His Father.

"Only one came back," the Bishop whispers. "Several months later. We found you right outside the Cathedral, covered in scars we’d never seen before. You were only a child, and you had no memory of what happened. You couldn’t tell us where the others went or what had been done."

Seth’s world tilts on its axis.

"What did they do to me, Father?"

"I-I don’t—"

"What the fuck does that mean?!"

"Look, we never heard from them again," the Bishop admits, his voice breaking. "Never found them or received word from the organization that took them. We searched for years, we sent investigators, hired mercenaries, consulted diviners. But there was nothing to find. No trail. No evidence. The organization disappeared as completely as the children. It was like they simply... ceased to exist."

Seth staggers backward until his shoulders hit the wall.

His entire understanding of his life, his identity, his purpose—everything he thought he knew—rewrites itself around this terrible revelation.

The fact that this happened means his past is somehow connected to the great ones.

The Leviathans!

It all makes sense now... why he was always different.

"You knew all this," he says flatly. "You knew what I was. What had been done to me. And you never told me."

"We gave you a home!" The Bishop rises from his chair, defensive now. "We cared for you. Trained you. Gave you purpose and meaning when you had nothing! You were special, Seth. Your abilities, your visions—they proved you were chosen for something greater!"

"Chosen?" Seth laughs, the sound bitter and broken. "I wasn’t chosen. I was experimented on. Used. And the thousands of other children died for whatever sick purpose that Leviathan had in mind."

"We don’t know they died—"

"Don’t insult me with false hope!" Seth’s voice cracks. "They’re definitely gone. Dead. Consumed by whatever ritual or experiment that monster conducted. And the Church—you—facilitated it. You sold those children. You sold me!"

"It was God’s will," the Bishop says, and there’s conviction in his voice now, desperate certainty. "Don’t you see, Seth? Your visions—they never showed you this truth because the divine was protecting you. You weren’t ready to know. Even now, you’re not ready to understand the greater purpose—"

"There is no God."

The words fall like an executioner’s blade.

The Bishop recoils as if physically struck, his face draining of color. "Seth... you don’t mean that. You’re upset... confused, but you can’t possibly—"

"I mean exactly what I said," Seth continues, his voice steady now, filled with cold clarity. "I’ve seen too much. Learned too much. I always had my doubts, but now I know for sure that there can’t be a God in this world."

"Seth, you—!"

"The secret documents in your hidden vault: the trafficking... all those experiments. The deals you had with criminals and cultists. Heck, even the Dark Guild?! And you dare speak of God? How ludicrous! This Cathedral isn’t a house of God. It’s a monument to human corruption wearing a mask."

He walks toward the door, his decision crystallizing with each step.

"The only beings in this world with power approaching divinity are Leviathans. Beings who can manipulate reality itself. They made all those children disappear without a trace, just as whoever was involved in this abduction did. Since they fooled you and ran off, I can’t get any answers from you. But I won’t give up yet. I intend to find whoever made me this way—whatever they did to me."

"Seth, wait!" The Bishop’s voice rises, taking on a pleading edge. "Please, my son. Don’t do this. Don’t abandon your faith. Don’t abandon the Church. Don’t... abandon me."

"The Church abandoned those children," Seth replies without turning around. "The Church abandoned me the moment you handed me over to whatever twisted being or organization you guys were involved with."

"We didn’t—"

"You betrayed me first. I’m just returning the favor."

"Seth!" The desperation in the Bishop’s voice intensifies. "SETH!"

A hand clamps down on Seth’s wrist with shocking strength for someone so elderly. The grip is iron-tight, painful, preventing him from reaching the door.

Seth tries to pull away, but the Bishop holds firm, rising from his chair with surprising vigor.

"You’re not leaving," the Bishop says, and his voice has changed completely.

His demeanor is no longer pleading.

Instead, it is commanding—almost threatening.

"We invested too much in you. Do you know how much was sacrificed to nurture you? How valuable are you to the lord’s work?"

"Let me go..."

"No! You are not going anywhere, Seth!" The old man barks with a crazed look on his face. "You belong to the Church, Seth. You are the Church’s property."

Seth’s blood runs cold at the word

—Property.

"I said... let go," he says quietly, trying once more to pull his arm free.

"No." The Bishop’s grip only tightens, fingers digging into flesh hard enough to bruise.

Despite his age, despite his frail appearance, he displays strength that shouldn’t be possible.

"You will stay. You will continue your duties. You will forget this conversation ever happened. We have plans for you. Plans that have been in motion since we first brought you back."

"Let GO!" Seth yanks his arm with all his strength, but it’s like being held in a mechanical vise.

The Bishop’s eyes have changed.

No longer filled with paternal warmth or gentle wisdom.

Now they show something cold.

Calculating.

The eyes of someone who sees not a person but an investment that must be protected.

"We cannot allow you to leave," the Bishop says, and Seth hears multiple footsteps approaching from outside the chamber. "You know too much, and your gifts... your gifts are unprecedented. They extend far beyond simple priestly duties. We must... we must..."

The door behind Seth bursts open.

Holy Sentinels—the Cathedral’s elite guards, the same ones who guard the secret vault—pour into the room. Ten of them, fully armored, weapons drawn, positioning themselves between Seth and any possible escape route.

Seth recognizes their leader—the same High Priest who oversees the hidden chamber.

The man who must have known about every dark secret Seth discovered.

"I’m sorry it has come to this," Father Gerome says, though his expression suggests otherwise.

His grip on Seth’s wrist remains unbreakable.

"But you leave us no choice. You will remain here... under strict supervision."

"...."

Seth’s heart races, panic threatening to overwhelm his anger.

He’s surrounded—Trapped!

Father Gerome closes in, his dark gleamy eyes narrowing as he parts his lips perversely.

"Until you remember your place and your purpose."