Part 1.
Funny how gods want what mortals have… and mortals chase what gods are.Is there a crueler joke than that? — Richard Ryon
The battle was over before it began.
No words. No threats. Nor commands or orders.
Just steel... and blood.
To the girl, it was worse than any nightmare she had ever known
Not only for the blood, or the deaths — but for screaming the silence.
The fight made no sound. No screams. No sight of pain. Just quiet. Brutal. Killing.
That was what terrified her most.
Like the ghost stories her grandmother used to whisper — the kind you never really forget.
The knight moved like nothing she'd ever seen.
A shade.
No voice.
No breath.
The death in a Grey armor.
The archer loosed another arrow. Fast — but not fast enough.
The knight stepped aside with ease.
Then, in one smooth motion, he hurled his sword.
It looked reckless.
It wasn't.
The blade struck the archer dead in the chest.
He dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
Another man charged. Twin blades flashing in his hands.
He tried to strike fast — but the knight was faster.
He bent down, slid forward the masked man's sword slipping with the blades passing cleanly over his helmet – and as if summoned from the air, a new sword formed in his hand.
The masked man didn't even scream — as cold steel pierced his back.
Without pause, the knight seized the body, hurled it at the last enemy.
And impaled them both in a single savage thrust
A strange noise echoed when he removed his sword from the back of those men, and strange black blood, ran down the floor of the cave.
His sword shimmered for a moment — then turned to dust and vanished.
He slowly turned.
Stepping into the light, if only for a moment.
On the breastplate of his armor, carved deep into the grey steel, was a tree — ancient, leafless, and dead tree.
Its roots spread like veins, clawing across his chest.
There was no name. No crest.
Only that tree.
And somehow, it felt more like a grave than a symbol.
Behind him, on the ground, lay a girl.
A young woman, cut and bruised, face smeared with blood and dirt.
She trembled. Not from the man dead around her.
Not anymore.
But from him.
Her small staff was broken.
Her arms shook. Her teeth chattered.
That was the only sound in that cave.
The knight looked at her.
And somehow, the cave grew colder.
The air turned sharp — like breathing through broken glass.
The warmth of her own skin began to vanish.
Cold eyes.
Blue eyes.
Eyes without mercy.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her fingers stiffened.
The cold crept into her bones, slow and merciless.
She swallowed.
Her voice came out cracked, barely more than a whisper.
"W-who are you?"
Silence.
Then, after a long second…
He answered.
The girl stared. She wanted a name. A sign of humanity. Something.
But what she got was colder than steel.
"No one."
The word hit like a blade.
No one.
And somehow, that was worse than any name she could imagine.