“Brother Micah has fallen. And it’s your fault.”
Preceptor Adam jabbed his finger into Gabriel’s chest. Gabriel fought the urge to snap it. He was a mere sergeant, and the preceptor was as human as he was. No man of the Order may raise his hand against another human, not for something as trivial as this.
And, more importantly, Adam was right.
“I accept responsibility,” Gabriel said. “I shouldn’t have signed off on his solo patrols.”
“We have the two man rule for a reason, Sergeant Gabriel. We are men, not angels. None of us are above the rule. Not even for someone like Micah.” He snorted. “Especially for someone like Micah.”
Again, the preceptor was right. Among the men he had served with, Micah was the best. He could go alone into the mists, become one with it, and return unscathed. He boasted often of his exploits, and took pride in them.
And pride was the first sin, the cardinal vice that led to the Deluge and the Second Fall of Man.
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