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"Where is my son!?"
The voice of Lord Morgenstern echoes in the desecrated chapel. Dark blood covers the beautiful tapestries. A handful corpses lie among broken benches and shattered glass. But the body of the brave Ephraim is nowhere to be found.
"My Lord ..." Brother Phineas holds his hand to the side of his head to stem the blood. "My Lord ... I am terribly sorry ... your son was not with us."
It is only slowly that Erich Morgenstern turns around to face the old monk. His expression is as cold and hard as the rock on which the castle stands. Brother Phineas, on the other hand, shivers. The fear and pain in his face is not caused by his wounds.
"My Lord, he knew not what he was doing. I pray. Forgive him, my Lord."
Erich Morgenstern drops his battlesword to the floor with a loud clang and the mosaic of a dove is broken, never to be restored.
"Ephraim ... rest his soul ... he sided with Ignatius and Pararhazes. Your son has gone to the Enemy."