Abbot,
I thought about writing a letter to Isobel in case I die tomorrow.
But I couldn’t.
Saying farewell like that to my sister is too hard.
So I write to you.
Four years ago, I arrived on your doorstep a broken man—wanted for murder, with nowhere else to turn. I said I sought repentance. That I desired peace. But what I truly needed was help chaining the ever-growing, corrupted anger inside me.
I don’t know how much you truly knew. I never lied to you, I just never told you everything. When I arrived, I was one step away from letting it consume me. I put all of you in danger. And for that, I am sorry.
It was a calculated risk. But where else could I have found the peace I needed to fight the demon inside me?
I stood before you and said I wanted a new life. That I couldn’t forswear the vows I had once taken, but I could no longer follow them. I'd already paid the price—paid it in the blood of someone who was like a brother to me.
You asked what I stood for now, and I gave my vow:
“I protect those unable to protect themselves. I am their shield and blade. I stand for right against the storm. I am the light against the darkness.”
I waited as you considered it, hoping you'd find a loophole—some way to offer me peace and a place to be something better.
Finally, you nodded and said:
“Then let your vow be devotion to the Light, and to love and preserve life where possible.”
I nearly walked away then. What good would that do? How could those words quiet the fury inside me?
But then you smiled.
“Have faith, Brother William,” you said.
“You walk the right path, just let the Light guide you where it needs you to be.”
And somehow… I chose to believe you. To believe in you.
I waited four years in that monastery for some great enlightenment.
It never came.
Faith was never meant to be my path.
But I see now—you had faith in me. In who I could become. That I’d do the right thing, when it mattered.
Like the night I ran after that foolish monk who only meant to help. If I hadn’t, many might still be alive.
But my sister would be dead. And I couldn't live with that.
So now I ask—wherever you are—have faith in me once more.
We take on one last task. For a friend. For something bigger than ourselves.
And if we succeed… maybe I can balance the scales. Just a little more.
Yours faithfully,
William