The clang of iron on iron echoed in the churchyard.
Daniel followed it around the rectory, hands in his sweatshirt pocket, the morning air cool on his face. The yard was empty except for the far corner, where Father Gabriel Moretti was working out again — but not with the strange weights from before. This time he was shirtless, running a length of chain between his hands as he performed pull-ups on a steel bar anchored into the side of the shed.
Each motion was controlled and deliberate. His muscles were cut from years, not months, and with every slow rise the chain rattled like distant armor.
Daniel stopped a few paces away, hesitating.
"Morning, Father," he said.
Gabriel didn't look down. "Morning, recruit."
The word made Daniel's eyebrows twitch. Recruit. The first time Gabriel had used it.
Daniel moved closer, watching the priest's shoulders and arms flex under the strain. That's when he saw it — as Gabriel lowered himself from the bar, his back came into full view in the pale light.
A single brand covered nearly the entire surface — not just a cross, but an elaborate map of symbols, circles, and runes burned into the flesh like a tapestry. In its center, a cross of equal arms stood inside a crown, ringed by intricate lines that radiated out like the spokes of a wheel.
Daniel stared. "That's… the same as mine?"
Gabriel dropped from the bar, landing softly. "Similar. Never the same."
"What do you mean?"
The priest picked up a towel, wiping his hands. "Each trial is different. Each brand carries its own gifts. They're as individual as the man who earns them."
Daniel's eyes lingered on the massive design. "And yours? What did you get?"
Gabriel slung the towel around his neck, gaze drifting toward the rising sun as if weighing the memory. "My trial put me at the head of the Crusade. Not a lone knight, not a defender in the mud — but the supreme commander of the Order. I never fell in battle. I fought campaign after campaign, conquered city after city. And when I could conquer no more… the world bent the knee."
Daniel blinked. "The world?"
"The world," Gabriel repeated, voice flat and certain. "In the trial's history, every kingdom, every caliphate, every empire fell under my banner. And I lived to old age, surrounded by the peace I had forged with my own hand."
He turned back to Daniel, eyes sharp now. "And when I woke, I carried the mark you see. My abilities were shaped by that trial — by conquest, by leadership, by the knowledge of war on a scale most men can't imagine."
Daniel tried to imagine it anyway, but the picture that formed was too big, too heavy. "So… every brand is like a… record of what you did in there?"
Gabriel gave the faintest nod. "A record. And a promise. The trial shapes you — but the man you are shapes the trial."
The chain still swayed on the bar, clinking softly in the breeze.
Daniel looked down at his own smaller, newer brand, the skin still faintly warm. "And me? What does mine say?"
Gabriel's mouth curved in something between a smirk and a warning. "That's what we're going to find out."