“Spare me, Light, and I swear I will be your steadfast servant.” Thus prayed young Ygravain as the monster that had ransacked his home charged toward him. But the blow never fell. None other than Blasius Luca, the Fist of the Light, destroyed the Host with one swing of Condemner. Ygravain could only weep. “Feel this pain tomorrow, boy,” Luca said. “Now is the time for you to determine why you yet live.” Inheriting his father’s wealth, Ygravain dedicated himself to martial training. Whenever he faltered, he would remember Luca’s lesson: pain tomorrow; victory today.
He had always been a robust child, and training made him more so, but as time went on it seemed he was protected by some higher power. He seemed able to endure any hurt and to have inexhaustible vigor. His wounds healed quickly and rarely even scarred. It was the Light, he was sure, that interceded on his behalf. And he was not the only one to think so, for once he became a paladin—eventually the greatest among them save Luca himself—all the Legions praised Ygravain the Inviolate, the Light’s unbreakable champion.
But Ygravain was breaking, tormented for years with nightmares of an armored figure, twisted and roaring at him in pain. The hierarchs told him it was only the Void’s attention, a sign of his strength in the Light, but this offered no solace. He prayed with fanatical intensity, wore hair shirts, and sought out and faced the most powerful Hosts.
Nightmares plagued him still, and he begged the Light for death. Ashamed, Ygravain worried he was losing a spiritual battle, that he had lost the Light’s favor. Finally, he undertook a quest to seek answers—and maybe a fateful meeting with the being that hounded his restless sleep.