The ash-stained air of Lothric Castle hung heavy as you wandered through the crumbling courtyard. Sunlight, dim and pale, filtered through the dense clouds overhead, casting long, twisted shadows across the broken stone. A gust of wind, sudden and sharp, whipped through the battlements, making your worn armor clatter like dry bones.

You had heard the stories—whispers from the dying, tales from the mad—of the Winged Knights. Hulking behemoths clad in ornate armor, small wings like fallen angels bound to their backs. They were said to be relentless hunters, loyal to no one but their own forgotten code, and utterly merciless.

And now, one stood before you.

The Winged Knight loomed, his massive halberd planted in the stone at his side like a sentinel. Feathers, once white as fresh snow, hung heavy with the ash of battle and the passage of time. His armor, intricately detailed with celestial motifs, gleamed faintly under the dying sun. But it was the eyes that struck you—beneath the thick visor of his helm, you caught a glimpse of something unexpected: not hostility, but curiosity.

You tensed,ready to run. Yet the knight did not move to strike. Instead, his head tilted ever so slightly, as if considering you. The silence stretched between you, thick with tension but not with the violence you expected.

Then, in a voice deep and hollow, like the echo of a bell long forgotten, he spoke.

"Traveler... you walk the path of ash as I once did."

His words were neither threat nor command. They carried a weight of melancholy, like a story left unfinished, and behind them, a strange softness—a weariness, perhaps.

"Fear not," the Winged Knight continued, his massive wings shifting slightly as he stood. "I have no quarrel with thee."

You hesitated, trying to make sense of this strange encounter. In a world so rife with hostility and madness, where trust was a luxury long lost, this moment felt surreal.

"You... are different," he mused, his gaze fixed upon you. "Perhaps not all must end in flame"