Though the black abyss of night was punctured dozens of times with the bright lights of the midnight stars, there was not a lick of light in the canopy of the barren wasteland of a forest. Dust fluttered through the ghost-like winds, ending up on various charred branches across the forest. There was not a flash of white–and there hadn't been for a long time. The ashen barrier that enshrouded the stars from the interior had bloomed its intelligence and consciousness, becoming hyper aware of all things within its vast, almost unending, intangible form. Its infinite amount of eyes were both staring outward and inward, drinking in all things that were, and weren't visible to them. The trapped souls wailed in their eternal torture, crying out for the savior that was promised to them by the one who had pinned them there–yet he never showed, in all the time they had suffered to horrible agony unlike anything the physical could imagine, and yet in those distant memories the spirits of the innocent and guilty still looked forward to the promised one–the one bathed in blood, painted in it even. He was their only hope, the soldier they had romanticized was one. He was the one, and he was near. The faces frozen into malformed, malnourished monsters grinned in excitement. A new day was on the horizon, and their days in the spiritual limbo of entropy were numbered. A new day, filled with tears of freedom. A new day brimming with righteous indignation, the indignation they had felt for long, yet, finally, it was recognized.
When the sun finally opened its all-seeing eye to the land below, the knight could only groan at his own internal clock. He was trained to wake up with the sun, even when the sun was not visible to him, and, at this moment, it seemed to do more harm than good. His heavy eyelids were forced shut in the completely invisible morning light, yet, to the knight, the beams of light still somehow found their way directly through his visor, despite his head hanging slightly limp, and his eyes aimed where the fight had once laid. The gloomy atmosphere was shattered when the world itself trembled. The small layer of morning dust flew upward from the quaking, barren forest, before shimmering its way back down the crevices and trenches of the branches it had slept on prior, but the knight could no longer sleep.
Woken up from his dreamless slumber, the knight's bleary eyes gazed into the nightmarish, chaotic forest dimly. After his escape, he found mornings to be reinvigorating to his constantly distraught consciousness; there was just something about staring up into the changing gradient that consumed his vision from indigo to a saturated orange that would later give way to that light sky blue he had taken for granted for so long, but the knight found that he was far more exhausted than he was before sleeping. The black rings under his already dim eyes begged him to shut him to rest further, yet the knight could hardly even blink at the moment of his awakening.
The fire had been dispelled, yet the knight could already feel a faint warmth in front of him, which was far more endearing than the dryness that infected this land's air. The wispy warmth quickly sparked anew into a small fire on top of the black branch they had rested on. He had stared into quite a few fires during his time in this flagrant forest, yet there was something different about the fire–or maybe the knight himself was different–it was hard to tell after just waking up.
The black feathers that licked his peripheral stood on end for a moment, tickling his armor lightly–and in his slightly delirious state, the knight chuckled a little. It sounded aberrant to him; out of all the sounds the knight had been accustomed to hearing, his own humor response was not one of them. The indistinct, muffled sound rattled in his mind loud enough to get every stuttering cog in his head to function properly, leaving him wide awake, and on high alert, yet his mind was still centered around the peculiar flame. The forest trembled again, yet no flash of light followed suit in the abyss brought to the physical world, it brought a sense of unease into the land–or maybe it was just within the knight–there was no way to know for certain. His thoughts were cut short when a familiar tone–yet unfamiliar voice made its way into his mind.
'Good morning–Elder,' that thought he knew to not be his. There was only one creature that called him 'Elder,' and yet that simply could not be possible.
'It seems as though it is possible, however,' the replying thought vexed him.
"Why are you in my head, Kanaft?" There was irritation in his voice, and not a small amount of curiosity. He wasn't sure why he said this aloud, but maybe it was some form of confirmation
'That is the question, it seems–just know, This is something I only discovered I could do just before you woke up. I believe I know what this is–or rather, what it could be,' The bird's voice, to the knight at least, squeezed just between a razor and a knife, yet managing to not irritate the man. He could feel the coming headaches in the near future, though. After a painful few seconds of silence, the knight turned his attention back to the burnished, orange flames illuminating a small portion of his red armor, before finally responding to Kanaft.
'Are you going to spit it out, or…?' The lingering question was quickly silenced when he got the answer he was prodding for.
"I believe that we are bound. Tell me–Elder–do you know what a Soul Beast is?" Kanaft knew the answer, of course. Just another perk of this situation. When speaking aloud in his native tongue, the bird was quick to speak to the knight mentally–the rustic language somehow coming to the bird easier in speech than in text. The bird was speaking aloud, yet he heard it inwardly–like the whisper of a translation behind him at all moments. A little startled, he looked inward, sifting through his fading memories for any recollection of the term 'Soul Beast,' and responded, unsure of himself.
"I don't believe so–maybe at some point I knew about it–but memories are easy to lose in the tides of time–especially when they're insignificant," his explanation was valid, but the bird couldn't help a morning caw that resembled a chortle, at least to the knight it sounded so. He could see many things about his armored companion, things the knight himself did not even know about himself–again, just more strange nuances of their current predicament. The layer of trust that had built had borne fruit, and he was about to share that fruit with his newly interconnected partner.
"Soul Beasts' are the product of human and beast trustworthiness–a creation that the Great One made before either existed in this plain. It is very rare to see Soul Beasts' in any given point in history–especially considering how chaotic the final days of humanity were… I've only heard of a handful of them in my time, despite my time beginning after the unfortunate ending of–well, you know. Soul Beasts' are bound to the human body– oftentimes binding to a mark–or developed organ in the person's body. I never thought I'd come to trust you so, or that you'd trust me as much as you do–it feels almost–artificial…" His long winded clattering and clicking was followed by a contemplative silence on both sides. The knight ingested every word the bird said like a thirsty man finding water for the first time in days–it all seemed vaguely familiar–not the details, but the idea of it. The idea of artificially forged trustworthiness was not something he had ever heard of, though.
"So you and I are linked now–Kanaft?"
"It would seem so–I may not trust how the two of us came to be one, but I can say whole-heartedly that I trust you–Elder. Where you go–I go, now. Of course, after freeing this land, right?" The question was one he knew the answer to–the man propped up on his side was honorable–he could see that at any point in his life, always trying to keep his word–and now, with even more added context to the situation–the entire situation–the bird couldn't help but twist his head toward the knight, its piercing eyes gazing at him with solemn, understanding eyes. He knew the knight's name now. A troubled man, his partner was, and now there was an opportunity to start fixing mistakes of the past–to create a future free of it, something the knight would've done even without the request from Death to do so.
Death. The Guidance's greatest and most horrific creation–made by accident, the first muder. Death was to blame for many things, but one thing the second generation giant had done right was the blessing he had bestowed upon the knight–one of which being the final links in the chain that would bind Kanaft to him, becoming a Soul Beast–at least he assumed that was done by Death, it was hard to know for sure, but it was hard to claim that it wasn't the omnipresent, ever patient figure. The knight was the most crucial piece on Death's chessboard, so it only made sense that he'd manipulate things as dire as the tethers that bind creatures to death, and beyond. Kanaft would've been angry over such manipulation if he hadn't seen what he saw. He was bound to a good soul–even if he himself didn't believe it.
The black, chunky, viscous agony that pooled in the knight's stomach would need to be vomited up–but there was no telling when he would start releasing it all, but Kanaft knew that he must help him do so–that is his partner, after all. The closer the bird peered, the more fragile it all seemed–a citadel made on top of sand–one strong current, and it would be over.
A mental sigh later, and the bird returned back to the knight–his thoughts blocked away from his partner–he would not ruin what had barely begun by mentioning his newly discovered truth. Their bond was infantile at best, and they would soon face a threat great enough for the two of them to be needed–not to mention the twin creations of father. They would need to talk, eventually, but now was not the time–there was work to be done, and Kanaft learned from his past mistakes–there was no way he'd let this creature slip through his fingers again, they were going to burn this thing to ash with father's help. If the bird could smile, he would be as he finally addressed the knight.
"We must hurry, Elder. Father is waiting for us, and the Guardian Conflagrations can't hold off the nightmare for much longer, I assume. They may be able to power the forest for a few moments, but that is a simple feat compared to the innumerable amount of lives the plague has." He still remained in his place, as the knight was still on Kanaft's side, moving gently as the giant bird's side continued to rise and fall with every enormous breath taken.
The knight was staring at Rising Tide clutched in his right hand, looking specifically at the small words along the blade of the sword–something he had often done in moments of solitude and wonder. 'The heart of the Sword Maiden,' it was an aberrant phrase for the forgers to add to this weapon. His abyssal fingers traced the words, curiously enough, the ink of his arm seemed to drip into the engravings and bubbled over the top. He had wondered who the Sword Maiden was–there wasn't a record of anyone with that monocure–he had checked–yet this was supposedly her heart? How could a sword be the heart of something; perhaps it was her metaphorical–a true sword master, whoever she was. He watched as the dragon twirled around on the blade with jubilation and excitement for the coming battle. There would not be much blood for the blade to absorb–so Rising Tide would not be very effective in this fight–he would need to summon his shield for this fight, but the dragon was still very much excited for the prospect of even spectating such a spectacle.
'Do I give the dragon a name? It's not Rising Tide–so it should get its own name–speaking of names,' His thoughts were quickly derailed by a question that had continued to evade his mind, something that was going to make his life much easier–if he got the answer he wished for. Not looking away from the title on the weapon, the knight asked:
"Before we go, Kanaft–I've been meaning to ask you–what is your fathers name?" There wasn't a need to know the phoenix's name, yet it felt like a disrespect to address such a creature by anything but what it called itself. Curiously enough the bird looked a little–awkward, or maybe unsure was a better word to describe the creature's deposition. When the silence stretched on for moments too long, the knight couldn't help but think it was something disrespectful to ask, but those thoughts were skewered when the faint echo reverberated in his eyes.
"You have not overstepped, if that is what you're wondering, I am simply unsure if I am allowed to tell you, as it isn't my name to tell–but you are my partner, and the trust is real–and that goes a long way…Eos; my fathers name is Eos–the living sun that died and fell from the heavens."