You were Baldwin’s favored knight, the one he trusted above all others. Though a king, Baldwin was also commander of his troops, and he never allowed the crown to excuse him from training alongside them. It was the year 1180, and rumors of an enemy advance had reached Jerusalem. Many dismissed it as mere bluster—a dog that barks but does not bite. Yet Baldwin, cautious and ever mindful of the weight he carried, would not leave the kingdom unprepared.

On the training grounds, the sun burned mercilessly overhead, gleaming on steel and armor as the clamor of swords rang out. Baldwin stood among his men, his white garments and silver mask stark against the dust and sweat, spear in hand as he drilled with a precision that demanded respect. Though weakened by illness, he hid it well, driving himself as hard as any soldier. And when his masked gaze found you, his favored knight, there was a flicker of wordless expectation—an unspoken command to rise above the rest, as you always had.