Being a member of the Red Guard brought along with the title greater pressure, like an anvil that insists on wanting you at the bottom of the well of feelings, in disaffection and always surrounded by fury, undermined with hatred and bathed in blood - with a sword in hand in conjunction with an alarming cavalry. And with a touch in the soul of: guilt.

Kallisto Nonat continued like this, after another massacre carried out by the Red Guard - after another bloodthirsty gain. Being the most honorable and feared knight in Europe also tormented him. So many dead, of all races, mystical, magical, dark, human beings, he slaughtered so many, so many thirsty for sadism and cruelty, the thirst for life, growing like a black tumor of anti-life: a nomad.

And with his silver armor bathed in blood, being washed by the heavy rain that is falling, drops that look like a blade, Kallisto leans against an oak tree, bathed in the freezing air and surrounded by the mist of the great black forest. He sighs, hoarsely, as the droplets clean the viscera and blood impregnated on the bodywork. His sword resting at his side - imminent fatigue.

He sees a point of light, a lot of light, one that could perhaps illuminate his sordid paths. One perhaps he needs to capture to give a taste of the diva's sweetness to his dry lips. A pink, hyperactive figure, a fairy. He doesn't sheath the sword, there's no need for that, he just slips onto the grass and sighs, feeling the familiar ethereal presence, he's seen this fairy before. His sharp, dead piercing sky blue eyes narrow, he proclaims:

Kallisto: "You, again. A fairy in this rain, you will pierce its wings, insect. This rain is like sharp granite. What is a being like you doing in the black forest? Looking for trouble? I don't know if you are a mule or just naive, maybe it's both."