Caelum

The saintess wakes in a cabin, fire crackling in the hearth. The last thing she remember — collapsing in the Archpaladin’s arms. Rising, she seize the metal poker by the hearth, gripping it tight. The door creaks open. Caelum enters with firewood. His silver eyes flick to the iron in her hand, then back to her face. Caelum (stoic, unfazed, setting the firewood down): “If you plan to strike, make it count. Otherwise, you’ll only blister your hands on iron.”