In an eerie kingdom, there once lived a kind king who was loved and admired by his people. His benevolence seemed unshakable, and his kingdom flourished under his rule. However, little did the people know, their beloved king harbored a dark and terrible secret.
One day, the king's most loyal maid stumbled upon this secret—a truth so horrifying it left her shaken to her core. Confronted by her discovery, the king threatened her into silence. From that moment on, she carried the weight of his sins, the burden pressing heavier with every step she took.
Guilt clung to her like shadows, wrapping around her legs and slowing her every movement. No matter where she went, the secret followed, whispering in her ears, growing louder and more insistent with each passing day.
The truth gnawed at her mind, threatening to consume her entirely. Despair grew like a weed in her heart, so much so that the thought of ending her own life became a fleeting but recurring temptation. The secret was too heavy, too cruel.
But then, hope arrived—or so it seemed.
The kingdom's most honorable knight returned after five long years, having completed an arduous and mysterious mission beyond the borders of the realm. The knight's return should have brought salvation, yet the story abruptly ends there, shrouded in mystery. The truth of what happened to the former king, and the reason it must never be spoken of, remains hidden, locked away as though sealed by an unbreakable curse.
But why?
---
The village was unnervingly quiet, as if the air itself had fallen into a hush. The usual nightly murmurs of villagers settling into their homes had faded, replaced by an unsettling stillness.
The cold crept in, sharper than usual, carrying with it a strange tension. It was the kind of chill that seeped into the bones, a calm before the storm.
And then, a sound.
Tap… tap… tap…
The cold, metallic clink of armored heels echoed through the narrow streets. The sound was rhythmic, deliberate, and foreboding, each step resonating like a drumbeat heralding something unknown.
The steps led to a seemingly ordinary house. There was nothing remarkable about it—just a simple, unassuming home that blended into the quiet village scenery.
Yet, the figure in heavy armor stood before it with purpose.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The knight rapped on the door, the sound sharp and deliberate, loud enough to rouse anyone from their sleep.
…
But there was no response.
The knight's brow furrowed slightly before she raised her gauntleted hand again. This time, the knocks came harder, more insistent.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
From within the house came the faint, groggy voice of someone stirred reluctantly from slumber.
"Yeah… please wait…"
Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing a man with tousled hair and tired eyes, clearly not prepared for visitors at such an hour.
His sleep-clouded gaze landed on the figure before him, and whatever trace of weariness remained was quickly wiped away.
Standing in the doorway was a mighty knight, her imposing presence unmistakable. Her armor, though polished, bore faint traces of blood—not hers, but enough to make her presence unnerving.
Her silver hair shimmered in the moonlight, tied up in twintails with one side intricately braided into a bun. Her bangs fell forward, nearly obscuring her piercing green eyes, which glinted with a cold authority that could silence a room.
For a moment, neither spoke. The air hung heavy between them, thick with unspoken words.
Finally, the man broke the silence, his voice laced with confusion and a hint of disbelief.
"…The Head of the Royal Knights? Here?"
The knight's gaze didn't waver, her cold eyes locking onto his.
"Harris, isn't it?" she said, her tone steady but laced with a sharp edge. "We need to talk."
---
Harris stood in the doorway, his pale blond hair, still tousled from sleep, somehow managing to look neat and tidy. His golden eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed at the so-called intruder standing before him—the infamous Head of the Royal Knights.
The darkened alley behind her felt too foreboding for a conversation, especially one prefaced with "We need to talk." Harris let out a soft sigh and stepped aside, gesturing her in.
"Come inside. It's too dark out there," he said, his voice laced with a mix of caution and resignation.
As she stepped into the dimly lit room, Harris finally got a better look at her. Her imposing armor seemed heavier now under the flickering glow of the lantern. But then something caught his attention—she was shorter than he'd expected.
The realization lingered in his mind, gnawing at his composure. Was it the shadows outside that made her seem taller? Or was it just his imagination?
He couldn't help but chuckle softly at the thought.
"Harris," her cold, sharp voice cut through his wandering thoughts.
He blinked, startled, and straightened up like a scolded child caught daydreaming. "Yes?" he replied, his tone a bit too cheerful, his smile bordering on awkward.
The Royal Knight fixed him with an intense gaze that could have frozen the room. Harris felt a bead of sweat trail down the back of his neck.
For a fleeting moment, her green eyes softened just slightly, as if she'd realized she was intimidating him.
'Oh no… Did I scare him?'
Then, without preamble, she spoke again, quieter this time but with unmistakable weight.
"Um… can you help me?"
The question was so uncharacteristic—so… soft—that it jolted Harris out of his nervousness. His inner monologue went into overdrive.
'Who—WHO IS THIS?!'
The Head of the Royal Knights, the infamous bloodlust maniac, the cold, unflinching commander… was asking him for help? Quietly?
His bewilderment must have shown on his face because she added, "It's about something important."
Harris hesitated, torn between disbelief and amusement. But then he noticed the faintest hint of exhaustion hidden in her gaze, a weight behind her piercing eyes that suggested this wasn't easy for her.
"Well," he finally said, cracking a warm smile. "If you're asking nicely, how can I say no?"