(Arin's Perspective)
I clung to Mother's arm, burying my face in the rough, dusty fabric of her dress. The air around us hung heavy, a suffocating cocktail of cold sweat, the copper tang of blood, and the foul stench of wet mud. Huddled behind the damp ruins of a stone wall, we pressed against strangers as we shared our terror in silence. We were little more than sewer rats, trembling as we waited for the ground to shake. It was the signal that our predators had arrived.
Mother stole a quick glance at me. Her eyes betrayed a panic she tried desperately to hide before she pulled my head firmly against her chest. She held me so tight my breath hitched, as if she were trying to absorb my body back into hers to ensure nothing in this world could touch me. I wanted to cry, to scream out the horror freezing in my chest, but I swallowed it back when I saw her pale, trembling lips forcing a reassuring smile.
But even with my ear pressed against her, the frantic thrumming of her heart could not drown out the nightmare from beyond the wall.
The footsteps.
THOOM... THOOM...
The earth shuddered violently. Dust and pebbles rained down from the ceiling of our hiding place and coated our hair in gray ash.
A handful of royal soldiers retreated until they were backing into our shelter. Their condition was wretched; dented armor, dull blades, and faces drained of blood. Their eyes were hollow, sunken pits that had lost the light of life. They did not look like gallant protectors anymore. They looked like walking corpses waiting for their turn to die. The way they looked at us hurt more than the fear. It was as if we, the helpless refugees, were just dead weight dragging down their final breaths.
Despair is contagious, and the air grew colder.
Then, the atmosphere shifted.
A strange wind whistled through the ruins, carrying with it an alien warmth. The soldiers, who had been staring listlessly at the dirt, suddenly snapped their heads up in unison. Someone on the front line screamed. It was not a cry of death, but a roar of joy so intense it sounded nearly hysterical.
I dared to peek out from the shelter of Mother's loosening grip.
There. Right at the edge of the gray, smoke-choked battlefield.
A golden silhouette stood tall, burning bright against the gloom.
He walked alone, his steps calm and assured, moving against the tide of thousands fleeing for their lives. A massive piece of golden metal was gripped in his right hand. It had to be a sword, though its size defied all logic for a normal human. There was not a shred of hesitation in his body language. He strolled casually, as if he were parting a flower garden in the afternoon sun, not crossing a slaughterhouse littered with severed limbs.
I squinted against the stinging dust, trying to burn his image into my memory. Before him, a horde of black monsters stood as tall as hills. They roared and bared fangs that dripped with corrosive saliva. They were hideous, slimy abominations radiating an aura of pure death. Yet the golden figure did not pause. He did not even change his pace.
Slowly, he raised the sword.
My breath caught in my throat. Time seemed to stop, freezing the dust motes floating in the air. That sword was not just forged metal. It was the sun, condensed into a blade! Its light was so blinding my eyes watered and stung, but strangely, I refused to blink. I did not want to miss a single second. My heart raced, pumping hot blood through my veins. Was this sensation what Mother called Mana? It felt warm, dense, and so majestic it made the hairs on my neck stand up.
The Knight said nothing. No war cry, no roar of anger. He simply swung his arm in one fluid motion.
SHING!
Just one line. Simple, yet absolute.
A thin streak of golden light sliced through the air, silent and swift, leaving an afterimage burned onto the retina of anyone who witnessed it.
The world seemed to fall silent. The monsters froze in mid-motion. Their roars were cut off instantly, as if their vocal cords had been plucked out. A terrifying silence gripped the battlefield for a full second.
Then, reality caught up.
The massive bodies of the monsters began to slide, accompanied by a wet, sickening sound. Their upper halves slipped off, separated cleanly from their lower halves by a cut that was too perfect. In an instant, every eye in the horde was split in two.
Black blood sprayed into the sky like a dark, torrential rain, but miraculously, not a single drop of the filth touched the Knight's golden armor. He remained gleaming, a pristine beacon in a sea of blood.
The soldiers' cheers exploded, shattering the silence. Mother stood up, her hands covering her mouth in disbelief, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. Without taking my eyes off that golden back, which was already beginning to walk away, I tugged at Mother's dress with a trembling hand.
"Mom... who is he?" I whispered, my voice nearly swallowed by awe.
With a trembling voice full of reverence and rekindled hope, Mother answered. "He is... a Knight."
So that is a Knight?
He was real? He was not just a bedtime story invented to soothe a crying child?
My heart beat faster, but this time, it wasn't from the fear of death. A new feeling blossomed in my chest; an ambition. If I managed to grow up in this crazy world, I wanted to meet him. I wanted to see that golden shine up close, to feel its heat. I wanted to know... were there angel wings hidden behind that sturdy back?
But more than curiosity...
I clenched my small, dirty, scratch-covered hand into a fist, digging my nails into my palm until it hurt.
I did not want to be a sewer rat anymore, hiding and waiting to be saved. I was sick of being a burden. I wanted that power. I wanted to be like him.
I wanted to be a Knight.