The sun hung low in the sky, a swollen amber orb bleeding its last light over the shattered village of Grey Hollow. The road into the settlement was littered with broken carts and splintered wood, remnants of a life torn apart by war and fear. Alex's group moved cautiously, the weight of silence pressing down on them like a shroud.
Kaelen's sharp eyes scanned the ruins, her bow never far from her grasp. "This place… it's like the shadows themselves have swallowed it whole."
Lira's soft voice broke the quiet. "The air tastes of sorrow. I can feel it in my bones."
Toma, clutching his worn cloak tighter, glanced nervously at the empty streets. "Where is everyone?"
As they stepped into the village square, a few wary faces peeked from behind shuttered windows. Mothers pulled children close, and men with haunted eyes watched from the shadows. The village elder, a gaunt woman with silver-streaked hair and a face carved by hardship, approached them slowly.
"I am Mother Ysolde," she said, voice brittle but steady. "You come seeking aid or salvation?"
Alex bowed his head respectfully. "We come to help, if you will have us."
She studied him with eyes that had seen too much pain. "Help is a fragile thing here. The Ashen Knight watches us all."
A chill ran down Alex's spine. "Ashen Knight?"
Ysolde nodded. "Once a hero, now a curse. He demands tribute, punishes those he deems weak. We live in fear of his return each night."
The group exchanged uneasy glances. Alex's heart tightened with a familiar ache — the weight of loss, the burden of protecting those who could not protect themselves.
That night, the village gathered for the Festival of Ashes, a somber remembrance of lives lost to war and darkness. Lanterns flickered in the gathering dusk, each flame a fragile beacon against the encroaching night.
As Alex and his companions joined the circle, he felt the heavy eyes of the villagers upon them — hope mingled with despair, trust tempered by fear.
Mother Ysolde's voice rose above the murmurs. "We honor those we have lost, but we tremble for those who remain. The Ashen Knight's shadow grows longer with each passing night."
From the darkness beyond the square came the slow, ominous sound of armored footsteps—each echo a death knell.
The Ashen Knight had come.
The villagers froze as the armored footsteps drew closer, the sound reverberating off the stone walls and echoing in their chests. The lantern flames flickered, casting long, trembling shadows across the square. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
From the darkness at the edge of the square, a figure emerged—tall, broad, and swathed in blackened plate armor that seemed to drink in the lantern light. Ash and soot clung to every seam and joint, and the knight's helm was forged in the grim likeness of a skull, its eyes burning with a baleful red glow.
A hush fell, broken only by the whimper of a child. Mother Ysolde's voice, usually so steady, faltered as she stepped forward. "Sir Garran…"
The knight's gaze swept the crowd, pausing on each face as if weighing their worth. When he spoke, his voice was distorted by the helm—deep, hollow, and edged with pain. "You gather to remember the dead, but you do nothing for the living. Weakness breeds only more ashes."
No one dared reply. The villagers shrank back, some clutching their children, others bowing their heads in silent dread.
Alex stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "This is not justice. You were once their protector. What have you become?"
The Ashen Knight turned to him, the red glow of his eyes intensifying. "I am what this world made me. Mercy is a lie. Only strength endures."
Kaelen, ever bold, drew her bow a fraction. "You terrorize your own people. That isn't strength—it's cruelty."
The knight's gaze flickered to her, then back to Alex. "Outsiders. You do not understand what it takes to keep the darkness at bay."
Alex's voice was quiet but firm. "Then help us understand. Let us help you."
For a moment, something flickered in the knight's stance—a hesitation, a memory. But it vanished as quickly as it came. "If you wish to help, prove your worth. Bring me tribute by sunrise—food, weapons, or a champion to face me in combat. Refuse, and I will take what I need."
With that, the Ashen Knight turned and strode back into the night, his footsteps leaving blackened prints on the cobblestones. The villagers sagged in relief, but the fear in their eyes remained.
Mother Ysolde's hands shook as she gripped Alex's arm. "You see now why we are afraid. He was once our hope. Now he is our doom."
Alex looked to his companions—Kaelen's jaw was set, Lira's eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Toma stared after the knight, fists clenched in silent rage.
"We'll face him," Alex said softly. "But we'll do it our way. No more innocents will suffer."
Later That Night
The group gathered in a small, firelit room above the tavern. The walls were thin, and every sound from the street below seemed magnified by tension.
Kaelen paced, her boots scuffing the floor. "He's not just a man in armor. There's something… wrong about him. Did you see his eyes?"
Lira nodded, her voice trembling. "I felt it too. It's like he's carrying a wound that never heals. A curse."
Toma, still staring into the embers, spoke up. "If he was a hero once, maybe he can be saved."
Alex placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "Maybe. But we have to be ready for anything."
Mother Ysolde entered quietly, her face drawn. "There's something you should know. The knight was once Sir Garran, our bravest defender. He lost his family in a demon raid. After that… he changed. He found a suit of armor in the ruins—old, blackened, and cold as death. He said it gave him strength, but it took his heart."
She pressed a small, battered locket into Alex's hand. "This belonged to his daughter. If there's any hope of reaching what's left of him, it's through her memory."
Alex nodded, closing his fingers around the locket. "Thank you. We'll try."
Midnight: A Village on Edge
Outside, the village was restless. Lanterns burned low, and families huddled together in silence. Alex walked the empty streets, the locket heavy in his hand, his mind turning over the knight's words.
He paused at the edge of the square, looking up at the moonlit clouds. Somewhere in the darkness, the Ashen Knight waited—haunted, broken, and dangerous.
Alex whispered a silent promise to the night. "I won't let you fall any further. Not if I can help it."
Behind him, the first cold drops of rain began to fall, washing the ashes from the stones but not from the hearts of Grey Hollow.
End of Chapter 20