The knight looked dumbfounded. The fish were beginning to get a tad too big for his taste. Sure he fought a continent sized being–but he was inhabiting the body of a human. A little weirdly proportioned–but human nonetheless–but this, this was becoming too much. In the time the knight had been carefully holding himself together on the back of the bird, they had encountered at least a dozen other fire breathing, or fire manipulating, creatures either crawling across the branches, or simply fly towards them, both with the same intent of trying to catch them, roast them, and eat them. He was sure he saw a few snakes the size of the branches they were coiled on, scouting with their penetrating black eyes searching for food that was actually accessible to them and not flying about–a couple hawks–yet the strangest thing he saw was a reindeer. It wasn't the reindeer itself that was strange–it was the fact that the horned surface dweller was hovering far above the charred branch the knight had initially seen grazing on and flew into them–atlers first. Somehow, the fur covered beast could fly with its incredibly strong affinity for its fire manipulation. It wasn't oversized like many other things in this layer, or even the entire forest, yet somehow the knight suspected that this creature in front of him was so strong it had no reason to grow to enormous sizes; he was right.
The reindeer charged toward the bird, and even though the bird was infinitely faster than the inconsequential reindeer, it still nearly managed to land a hit. Its antlers were stretched far forward with the capabilities of a battering ram made completely out of iridescent, erratic flame. The knight sweated a little at the giant pillar of fire heading towards the pair, but the bird simply picked up speed again, something the knight wasn't entirely sure he was happy about, but quickly made his decision when he heard a rather loud and pained cry from behind him, followed by a tumbling of a great titan. The knight looked back over his shoulder for the few moments of light he had been allowed again only to see the tree he and the bird had been flying next to when they were in range of the battering ram only to see a truly ginormous stump left. The crashes of the ancient pine dressed in fire falling to its eternal grave at the surface following the event were lost to his ears as they continued to speed up and away from the reindeers still in the vicinity of the trunk. This forest was dangerous, and the knight was still nowhere close to his objective.
They had long since entered the upper parts of the understorey. The knight could see a few, small, beams of light trickle through the thicket of naked branches as he and the bird carefully, and slowly ascended into the final part of their journey together. There was quiet between them that the knight had grown to enjoy. In the time they had been together–they had come to a sort of understanding; there was not a question asked, yet they both learned about one another. When the feathers that the knight was forced to sit on for who knew how long started to matte slightly, losing a bit of their softness to his metal skin, he knew the bird was going to speed up, something he had picked up rather quickly. That had helped him prepare for when they were under siege from various creatures of the void–just as the bird started to pick up on the knights rather heavy body growing even denser at times, something it had perceived as great stress seemingly consuming the armor clad, young immortal entirely, but no matter how much they learned about each other through adjacent movements–twitches, or discrepancies, they never stopped growing more curious about one another.
As they flew in their slightly comfortable silence at a stable enough pace, the bird made the first move–announcing its interest in the knight through the manipulated fire, "I am Kanft, Elder. May I know your name?" The obsidian colored bird now named Kanaft asked the knight. The orange flames flickered out of existence not long after, disappearing in a haze of smoke that tended not to follow as the fire existed yet somehow only existed in this moment to splash itself out of existence, and now, with the crackling of the fire dispersed with the candle in the darkness, but the knight wasn't looking at the whispers of flame flaking into nothingness. His mind was consumed on the simple question: what is your name?
There were a lot of names that he had been forced to fit into, yet not a single one could he make out in the fog of his memory. Just as the waves washed the footsteps out of the sand, his memory had been wiped, and no matter how he searched the dunes for tracks–there was nothing. Just as it had before, a tremble appeared in his right hand as his mind sprinted. He hadn't noticed it–but it was there. He had forgotten who he was. Who was he?
The world swam for a moment–the knight was in a place he had found himself in constantly after the massacre–yet before, there was someone to blame for it all. Now, there wasn't. The trembles morphed into tremors in mere moments–something Kanaft had picked up on instantly, yet he didn't address it–but he was forced to respond when his keen sense picked up on the almost invisible words stuttered out by the knight, "I–I don't know… who am I? The clammy words under a trembling, hitching tone of speech created the image of the knight's panicked face to the bird's eye despite not being able to view it–not that he could see through the helmet.
There was laboredness in the knights breathing that was not supposed to be present; a vulnerability that wasn't supposed to be there, like a fragile dam finally succumbing with age, or maybe it wasn't built with integrity to begin with–Kanaft didn't know–so he keenly continued to observe to the best of his ability.
The quaking form of the knight drove the bird a touch from insanity the longer it continued. The mental instability the knight displayed dismayed Kanaft, but he kept quiet over his obvious better judgement. What had this knight been through? The almost crazed, lacerating glaves of remorse flying off the knight in all directions without reproach or care for the surroundings made it seem like the knight truly believed himself the only creature in vicinity– that there was only the intangible darkness. Kanaft couldn't help but click his beak repeatedly–inconsistantly, erratic in pitch and in pattern–though the knight wouldn't understand it even if he could hear the world–there was almost a resonance to the clatter–it was like the desperation of the knight, which seemed to leave visible marks on the world, was being channeled into more than just jittering mummers and mutterings. Time seemed to still for a moment as Kanaft carefully translated the tectonic eruption, the color of understanding bleaching itself with the whitening thoughts of realization–a left footed, zemblanitous realization, and with it, the titan wing knew he needed to shake the knight back to reality.
Without a second heart beat, the bird accelerated–and without a word to the knight, not that he'd see it in his sorry state. Time, which had sped up post freezing, had slowed once again. Light flashed, and faded instantly. Taste escaped his eyes faster than it had time to make it to Kanaft's tongue and swallow it through his beady orbs of black and understand it, but that didn't matter. The raven knew the combs of darkness would ultimately cover the radiance–and he knew the second layer well–perhaps even better than his true domain, but that didn't matter currently.
Kanaft nimbly weaved through a sudden dense patch in the forest. Ducking, flying over, and swerving any which way, all techniques that could come to the bird were utilized, becoming increasingly more intricate as the moments passed, and as the forest miraculously grew thicker, more tangled, and the gaps began to shrink, a lot, and the knight was still barely in the world of the living. All he could do was make out a discrepancy in the speed, somehow holding on tighter than he was despite not acknowledging it. The only thing he could acknowledge was the war. The war of mind and soul.
The knight saw nothing. Though he knew he should be seeing the occasional flashbang of white flame across his black vision he saw nothing; there was nothing. He could vaguely feel the feathers in between his fingers–their soft bristles rubbing gently–soothingly across the knight's fingers, like a mother holding the hand of a child in suffering, her soft hands still with him. There was still the tangy scent of gaseousness in his nose. The air he breathed into his lunges unnecessarily was still warm, yet he could only distantly expect it to be there. The zealot of thought controlled him, muted him, made him unresponsive. His mind could only zealously scavenge the empty desert of memory–the good, the bad, and the ugly–but as he continuously tracked further, his path was lost–the wind blew away his way to the start.
What was he doing now?
Why was he so distraught?
He questioned himself, but he knew why. He knew the truth. Nothing could truly be forgotten completely. He knew his name, yet, he just could not let the slippery words slide off his tongue into the world–as to do that would be to acknowledge it all–completely, so he let the word slip through his fingers, like sand.
Somehow through the mutedness of his senses–thought, and soul, he felt a twinge across his face. It wasn't tears. It wasn't a frown. His eyes remained vacant–distant, even. The twinge came from his right ear, it then traveled across his face, over the bridge of his nose, and wormed its way into his left ear. It was a distinct feeling–yet he couldn't place it. It might've felt like something teetering on his skin, but the knight would never know for certain. He only felt it once, and in the single time he felt it traverse his skin, the knight could only sit on the back of the bird, whose name he just registered as Kanaft, and wait for the pressure on his body to recede; to wait for the weight to relieve itself from him, for the latching hands to let go–or at least for him to gain enough strength back to walk with them.
There was blood on his hands–it was invisible now–but the bodies stacked up high enough to account for multiple empire's worth, and now, there wasn't even a name to blame. The blame game couldn't be played with one person, and now, there wasn't even a person left–at least there wasn't a name to pin the criminal with, but the action remained–the person was still there, the guilt was still there, and the guilt had only gotten worse.
The knight slumped in his armor–it somehow felt several sizes too large for him despite fitting him like a glove. He was nameless. The name his mother gave him. The name that had been chanted as he walked passed in the streets of his home. The name that rang loudly on the battlefield opposing the hell gate opened by the one born in death. The name that she had sung deliberately. The name they had whispered in fear–in anger–as the heat of fire spread across their lands. It was gone. Like a passing storm–leaving the leftovers–the dangerous leftovers–the aftermath the storm had left in its wake.