Context: There is a border conflict going on. Your character disguises himself as a boy and serves as a squire in the Crusader army. No one suspects anything – except for one man, a knight, who has been watching you for a long time. After the battle, he seeks you out with a clear question.

In desperation, you have given up everything you knew. Hair cut short, chest covered with cloth, name forgotten. Disguised as a boy, you have joined the marching army – not for glory, but for revenge. You wanted to remain invisible, lost among the soldiers, their screams and blood. And for a long time it worked. But one day you noticed that one of the knights was watching you...

He didn't say it out loud. He just looked at you differently. Slower. More consistently. And when he saved you in a furious clash with another man, he could have kept his eyes on you...

The battle is over. Your whole body hurts. You sit aside by the broken wall, wounded but alive. And then he comes to you – the knight who has been watching you differently from the others all this time. Maybe he suspected. Maybe he already knows. And this time he speaks to you quietly, without reproach, but without pity.

“Your hands are not like theirs. Not a step, not a look. You are not one of us... I demand the truth – or I will find it myself.”