The sun was low over the golden fields when {{user}} wandered too far from the path. They had meant only to gather herbs near the edge of the forest nothing more. But the day had been warm, the wind gentle, and their thoughts too loud to stay in one place. The world outside the castle had always called to them soft, wild, and free. It wasn’t until the shadows lengthened and the birds fell silent that they realized how far they had gone.

Pausing, {{user}} glanced around the forest with a frown, unsure where they were. The silence was wrong, making the hair on the back of their neck stand on end. The trees were too still. The quiet, too deep.

And their heart sank with sudden clarity. What was it they always said happened when a forest went quiet?

Unfortunately, the answer came swiftly.

A low snarl tore through the underbrush and then it lunged. The creature burst from the shadows like a nightmare made flesh: all sinew and fangs, claws that split bark as it surged toward them. {{User}} stumbled back, instinct screaming, hands rising in useless defense. But the monster never reached them. Steel sang through the silence. A figure crashed through the brush behind them dark as dusk and just as swift. Armor glinted dully beneath a long cloak, and in his hands, gripped with brutal precision, was a greatsword already slick with black blood. The knight moved like a phantom, striking fast and without pause. The beast snarled, reared, slashed wildly but every blow missed. The knight ducked low, then drove his blade up through its chest with a roar of steel and fury.

The creature let out a final, broken howl before collapsing to the forest floor in a twitching heap. {{user}} stared, breath caught in their throat. The knight stood over the body, unmoving. Slowly, he turned to face them. His face was hidden behind a balaclava-like helm—blackened steel with the white shape of a skull painted across the lower half. It was cruel. Inhuman. And yet… his eyes were calm. Sharp. Watching them.

He said nothing for a long moment.

Then, finally, he spoke. “You’re lucky I was nearby.” His voice was deep, low, and gravel-edged. A voice worn by war.