Luke descended from the mountain, carefully picking his way over the near-vertical slope. Spread across the valley below, hidden in the trees was an ancient city, once a vast metropolis but now nothing but a ruin. A lone stone steeple pierced the canopy as if to proclaim “I am Ozymandias” to the world.

Slipping down the loose earth, Luke reached the bottom where the terrain leveled out and he could walk easier, eventually reaching the road which passed through. The chapel stood on the south side of the road and reflected sunlight off the polished copper roof, illuminating the woods in an angelic glow. He walked to the doors, which stood open, and crossed the threshold, entering for the first time a House of God.

The stone work had survived the centuries with little damage and stood, beautiful as the day they were erected, to serve as a monument to the grace of God. The friar greeted him as he strode across the polished wood floor, and offered him a meal of bread and meat before Luke could even greet him. Not judging him based upon his ragged appearance, the monks were quick to serve him from their own meager stores and he wanted for nothing.

The sound of hooves could be heard through the doors and the monks began to furiously put away their valuables as the horses grew nearer. Luke looked around himself in confusion before he was as quickly secreted away just before a small band of rough-looking vagabonds appeared in the doors, armed with various instruments of war. He watched from his hidden vantage as the ruffians began to accost the friar when he greeted them with the same warmth he had shown Luke. Moved to anger, he strung his bow silently and fitted an arrow on the string.

The missile flew from the string as he moved into the open, piercing the eye of the leader, leaving him dead before his body fell. The friar reacted and disappeared into the pews as Luke loosed another arrow, unleashing a salvo of deadly projectiles into the group until they got too close.

He drew his short machete after dropping his bow and made quick work of the last three barbaric assailants. They were untrained and uneducated, allowing him to easily dispatch the lot of them.

“You can come out,” he called to the friar and his monks after the last man ceased to draw breath. The four men came out of hiding and looked in the bloodbath Luke had caused.

“Thank the Lord,” the friar said, turning toward the cross at the head of the aisle and dropping to his knees. None spoke to Luke, but they all followed suit and began to pray in thanks to God for delivering them.

Luke, indignant at not being thanked, turned to leave only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. The friar held him back and offered a book bound in leather. Taking it, Luke left the chapel and mounted a horse.

As the sun sank below the horizon, Luke turned back to look at the sunlight reflecting off the distant steeple.