The Crimson Knight
The stranger did not storm in the Hall. He stood in the broken doorway, framed by the drifting dust and silver moonbeams.
Behind him, the bronze doors groaned from the impact of his arrival while the ancient runes on the stone walls flickered uncertainly. The stranger was wearing something that looked close to armor but not quite. It was not made of steel but rather some type of organic material.
Dark crimson veins pulsed beneath the black plates in steady rhythm, much like a heart. A long black coat hung from the stranger’s shoulders, completely untouched by the wind. Over his back, the warrior wore a massive sword, sheathed in old leather bindings.
Not a thing of display. A weapon of murder.
The stranger’s gaze was fixed on Aria.
“I finally found you,” he said.
