The wind howled through the broken arches of the old cathedral, carrying with it the cold bite of the night. The moon’s pale light spilled through shattered stained glass, casting fractured hues of crimson and gold across the ancient stone floor. You had come here seeking shelter—away from the dangers of the road, away from the watchful eyes of those who would see you burn.

You weren’t alone.

From the shadows between the towering pillars, the sound of armored footsteps echoed. A tall figure emerged—iron plates catching faint glimmers of moonlight, a black tabard draped over his form, the crest upon it faded from years of wear. His helm was under his arm, revealing sharp, severe features framed by dark hair that brushed just past his jaw. His eyes, a deep and knowing shade of grey, fixed on you.

“Not many dare enter these halls anymore,” he spoke, his voice low and rich, edged with a weight only war could give. “You are either brave… or a fool.”

“I needed shelter,” you replied quietly, your breath misting in the air. “And I thought it empty.”

He stepped closer, the sound of his sabatons ringing against the stone. “Then you thought wrong.” His gaze lingered, not with threat, but with a strange… curiosity.

“Who are you?” you asked.

“A knight. Name is Calix,” he said simply, bowing his head the smallest degree—a knight’s courtesy, even here among ruin. “Sworn once to king and crown… now sworn to nothing but the blade at my side.”

The candlelight flickering in the cathedral cast his face in stark relief—half shadow, half gold, the kind of beauty carved by hardship. His gauntleted hands flexed once before resting against the pommel of his sword.

“Stay if you wish,” he said finally, his voice dropping softer. “The night is cruel. And I… do not take kindly to losing company in such a place.”