The sun hung high in the sky, casting the village in a sweltering noon heat. It had been several days since the battle against the dire wolves began, and Raymond could feel the weight of his responsibility bearing down on him more with each passing hour. As he walked along the outskirts of Eldemor, Sonya silently followed him, her footsteps light but filled with the unmistakable presence of concern. Despite the external calm, he could feel her gaze lingering on him, her unease growing stronger with each moment. She had been trying to get him to rest, to take care of himself, but Raymond knew better than anyone that there was no time for rest. Not yet.
Sonya had become increasingly worried about his condition—his lack of sleep, his refusal to eat, the fact that he never drank even a single drop of water. She hadn't voiced her concerns directly to him, but he could feel it in the way she watched him, the way she asked him if he was alright, only for him to shrug it off with a few half-hearted excuses. But there was no denying it any longer. Sonya was perceptive, and Raymond couldn't keep hiding the truth forever.
It wasn't that he wanted to keep her in the dark—Sonya had proven herself as someone who could be trusted, someone who had stood by him in battle, someone who understood the weight of their situation. But the truth was too complicated, too bizarre. How could he explain to her that he wasn't just a man, but a cursed being, an undead warrior bound to his past? How could he tell her that the reason he didn't need food or water was because he was no longer truly alive?
It was impossible to explain everything, so he'd kept the truth locked away. But as they stood there, alone together in the afternoon heat, something shifted. Raymond knew that he could no longer hide the truth from Sonya. She deserved to know, to understand the reason behind his strange behavior, his cold distance. She had already seen too much to not wonder what lay beneath the surface.
Sonya stood in front of him now, her brow furrowed with worry as she studied him intently. Her arms were crossed, and she was silent for once, waiting for him to speak. Raymond could feel the weight of her gaze like a gentle but unyielding pressure, and it finally broke through the barriers he had built around himself.
With a deep sigh, Raymond lowered his head slightly. "Sonya…" he began, his voice soft but firm. "There's something I need to tell you. Something I've been keeping hidden."
Sonya's eyes softened, her expression uncertain but attentive. "Raymond, you don't have to—"
"No, I do," Raymond interrupted, his voice steady but tinged with something that could almost be called regret. "I've been keeping something from you. And I think it's time you knew the truth." in Raymond mind: at least i can tell her about my game character background.
Raymond reached up slowly, his gloved fingers touching the edge of his helmet. He had never removed it in front of anyone. It was part of the armor that kept his undead nature hidden—his skull, his bones, the unnatural stillness that defined his existence. But now, standing before Sonya, he knew there was no more room for secrets. She needed to understand what kind of man—or rather, what kind of being—she was working with.
He hesitated for only a moment before slowly lifting his helmet. The metallic clang of it being removed echoed in the silence, and the air around them seemed to still as Sonya took an involuntary step back. Raymond's skeletal face was now exposed. His features were sharp, a hollow void where his eyes once were, the dark energy that pulsed within them now hidden beneath a cold, bone-white surface. His jaw was set, and his expression was unreadable, but his aura was unmistakable—unnatural, cursed.
Sonya stood frozen for a moment, her eyes wide in shock. But she quickly composed herself, the concern on her face deepening. She didn't recoil or scream; she didn't flee. Instead, she looked at him as if searching for the man she knew beneath the bones and decay.
Raymond took a deep breath, the weight of his decision pressing down on him, but he forced himself to speak. "I was once a paladin—honorable, revered. I served my kingdom with everything I had, leading armies, fighting for peace, and defending our people. They called me a general, a hero even. I believed in those words, believed that my efforts were building a future of safety and prosperity." His voice wavered slightly, but he steeled himself. "But I was wrong. So painfully, foolishly wrong."
He looked down at his hands, now skeletal and weathered, his fingertips tracing over the bone that had replaced his flesh. "Betrayal took root within our walls, and it was like rot spreading through our lands, unseen until it was far too late. My closest allies, those I trusted, had already set the wheels of our ruin in motion. When the kingdom fell, I fought to the bitter end. And in those last moments, I was cursed by the hand of our enemies, a twisted punishment to match the kingdom's fall. My flesh turned cold, falling apart, leaving only bone behind. My heart ceased to beat, and my armor became my prison. My very soul… bound to undeath."
His words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of the past he carried with him, a past that he had never shared with anyone before. The curse that had transformed him into a Dark Knight was his punishment for his failure—a failure to see the rot before it was too late, to stop the betrayal of those he had trusted most. And now, all that remained of him was this hollow, cursed shell of a man.
"I am a Dark Knight now," Raymond continued, his voice cold but filled with an undercurrent of something raw, something almost human. "A symbol of the ruin I once fought to prevent. My very existence is a testament to that failure, a reminder that no honor or power can shield one from fate's cruelty. But I refuse to let that betrayal be my legacy. I will fight for redemption, hunt down those responsible, and uncover the truth behind the fall of the kingdom I loved. I am damned, but if I can carve a path of vengeance and redemption, maybe—just maybe—I can lay this cursed soul to rest."
There was a long silence after he finished speaking, the weight of his confession settling over them like a heavy fog. Raymond's hollow gaze met Sonya's, and for the first time since they had met, he felt a strange vulnerability—a longing for understanding, for acceptance, even though he knew he could never be the man he once was.
Sonya didn't immediately speak. She simply stood there, her face a mixture of disbelief and concern. Her eyes flicked over his skeletal form, as if searching for any trace of the man he had once been. Slowly, her expression softened, and she stepped forward, her voice quiet but steady.
"I don't know what to say…" she began, but there was no judgment in her words. "This… this is a lot to take in, Raymond. But I understand. I understand what you've been through, and I won't leave you. Not because of what you are, but because of who you are now."
Raymond felt something stir inside him at her words, a warmth that didn't belong in a body long since dead. He didn't know how to respond, but he didn't need to. Sonya had already accepted him—not the man he was, but the man he was trying to become.
Raymond lowered his gaze for a moment, then slowly replaced his helmet. The cold metal clanged as it settled back into place, hiding his skeletal visage once more. But something had changed in that moment. Something inside him had softened, just a little. Sonya had seen the truth of who he was, and instead of recoiling in fear or disgust, she had accepted it.
"Thank you," Raymond said, his voice muffled by the helmet, but the sincerity was evident. "I don't expect anyone to understand, but I appreciate you hearing me out."
Sonya gave him a soft smile, one filled with understanding. "We're in this together, Raymond. You don't have to carry it all alone."
And for the first time in a long time, Raymond believed her.