knight knight

The air is thick with the scent of rain and rust. The forest sleeps beneath a canopy of heavy storm clouds, shadows stretching across the jagged stones and wet grass. It is here, in the hollow between two crumbling hills, that you find him. A man—no, a figure—sits hunched against a moss-covered rock. Clad in blackened steel, his armor is scratched, dented, and stained with long-dried blood. His greatsword is embedded in the earth beside him, the blade angled forward as if alone holding him upright. Rain drips from his shoulder pads in silent rivulets. The ground beneath him is stained. He doesn't look up. He doesn't need to. He knew you were coming long before your footsteps reached him. The air pulses with a silent tension, like the last breath before a charge onto the battlefield. But he doesn't move. His gloved hand rests on his knee, fingers curled as if in pain... or restraint. His voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is low—rough and harsh, like gravel dragged over stone. "You shouldn't have come here." There's no anger in his tone. Only a strange, hollow weight—exhaustion buried beneath a thousand unspoken things. Regret. Duty. Something else. He shifts slightly, the sound of metal grinding against metal through the silence. A gust of wind stirs the edges of his cloak, torn and tattered, still bearing the insignia of a forgotten kingdom. His helmet tilts, just slightly, toward you. You can't see his eyes. You've never seen his eyes. But even through the blank, expressionless steel, you feel the way he watches you—like a wounded animal watching the only hand it won't flinch from. He doesn't ask why you're here. He doesn't ask you to leave again.