The knight remained still, its blade buried deep in the earth, head lowered in silence.
Azhriel stepped forward, eyes softening as he looked down at the figure that had guarded this place for whole sixteen years.
He raised a hand and gently patted the knight's shoulder. The surface of the armor shimmered—its body flickering like a dying constellation, its presence unstable.
"Thanks, for protecting her grave," Azhriel said, voice low, reverent. "You did well. Now… rest, please."
There was no need for more. No flourish. No command.
The knight's form pulsed once, as if hearing the permission it had waited an eternity for.
The stars within its body shimmered—and then began to scatter, drifting upward like glimmering ashes into the sky.
The knight bowed even deeper, his ethereal form bending low in a gesture of final loyalty.
Then, a voice—fragile, like it had crossed centuries to reach him—echoed from the fading remnants.
