Free Storm of Prophecy: Book 1, Dark Awakening by Michael Von Werner, Felix Diroma Page B

old man would even come awake. Vincent also suddenly realized that he was famished and should probably eat before he left on his long journey home. Since there was nothing better to do, he decided to go to the central dining hall. He would have to wait there too, but it was better than staying in the infirmary one moment longer.
    After navigating through stone hallways and down two flights of stairs, Vincent was finally on the bottom floor. As he walked through the hall leading toward the dining room, the area lit by light orbs attached to the ceiling, he looked toward the opening of the staircase leading down. It was the one leading downstairs through the many floors to finally reach the vault. The intruders must have passed through this very intersection.
    He smelt the slightest hint that something had been burning here. When he looked around, he noticed one tiny charred flake of black material sitting on the stone floor. Whoever had done the cleaning had missed it. Vincent’s stomach began to turn and he was losing his appetite. He walked on faster toward the dining hall as much to flee from the unpleasant thoughts as the smell. His hurried footsteps echoed on the stone.
    Shortly after, the hall opened up into the central dining room of the keep, empty as it was. Light orbs hovering high in the air near the ceiling kept the vast square-shaped room lit even at this early hour. Rows of wooden tables with long benches on the sides of each were lined up in more or less the same direction he was walking. At the far side of the room was a lengthy rectangular window opening into the kitchen area. The window was where food was normally distributed. Another window in the stone wall opened into an area where dishes were returned for washing. Both were empty; he was far too early and would have to wait. He pulled the scabbard of his accursed sword out of the way so he could sit down but kept it hanging near his leg so that it wouldn’t stick out in the aisle between the two rows of benches.
    Vincent leaned over the table, placing his elbows on top, and rested his face in his hands. He felt deeply disturbed that he had killed anyone and even more disheartened because he was somehow not fully up to the task. He wasn’t good enough at killing people, and that was what everyone expected him to be. If he remained, he would have to do better, be better, at such a morbid, terrible deed. He wanted no further part in it.
    He was wrong to have ever come here in the first place and saw that clearly now. So many years, so much time and effort, and it had all been for nothing. Vincent had no purpose for being; his life was without meaning. He tried to keep his composure and to keep his eyes from glistening since he knew that sooner or later people would be coming along. He didn’t want them to see how distraught he was.
    At first, only the cooking staff arrived. Vincent ignored them but could hear the banging of iron pots and pans and the clanking of silverware and dishes as they prepared to feed the entire keep its morning meal. Later on, some of the earliest risers came, and one or two began to form a line to wait. Vincent reluctantly rose from his seat and took his place behind them. It wasn’t long before more people filed in behind him, and the food was finally being served. A few of the staff placed stacks of wooden plates on a table to the side of the window last, seemingly so that they would be taken now that the cooks deemed the first batch of food ready.
    Vincent took one of the wooden plates and forks when the line progressed and moved along to where the food was being given out. There wasn’t much choice this morning. It was just some scrambled eggs, a few pieces of bacon, and a bun. The serving persons dispensed each on each person’s plate by just slopping it on. Vincent thanked them and then went to go sit back down.
    He ate not seeming to care so much about what he was eating or how it tasted, wanting only to get it over