'Strange…'
This was the first thought that crossed the mind of the white knight, Lancelot, upon encountering the young human before him.
'What is this thing?'
A human soul... yet somehow not?
In his eyes.... the young human was an existence that defied understanding, one that by all logic should not belong—yet somehow, unsettlingly, felt as if it did.
His queen's orders were clear: find and bring her the anomaly, the force disturbing her carefully woven spell.
He had anticipated a longer search, but here, in this vast white expanse, it seemed the source of the disruption was standing directly before him.
His mission felt laughably simple now, almost trivial.
The human was weak, barely worth the title of "anomaly."
And yet…
'Why does my instinct keep screaming at me to run?'
