The kingdom of Veydris has once sung songs of Sir Aldrich, The Ashen Knight. His blade had cleaved through the demon hordes, his shield had withstood dragon fire, and his name had been etched into legend. But legends rarely tell of what happens after the hero's final battle.
Aldrich sat alone in the ruins of a forgotten village, the embers of his fire flickering against the rusted edges of his armor. His sword, Dawnfang, lay beside him dulled and chipped. The last war against the Demon King had ended years ago, but Aldrich had lost more than he had won. His companions-dead. His king-betrayed and slain. His purpose-shattered.
A shadow loomed beyond the fire's glow. He did not reach for his blade. If death ha come for him, so be it. But instead of a demon's claws, a child's voice spoke.
"Are you the Ashen Knight?"
Aldrich looked up. A boy, no older than ten, stood there, wrapped in tattered cloth, his eyes wide with both fear and hope.
"That name belongs to a man who no longer exists," Aldrich murmured barley above a whisper.
"But you still have your sword."
Aldric's gaze fell to Dawnfang. What good was a sword without a reason to wield it? Yet as he looked upon the boy-hungry, frightened, desprate-he felt the stirrings of something long buried.
"The village is gone," the boy whispered.
"Demons took my mother. Ther's no one left."
Aldric closed his eyes. He had told himself he was done fighting. That his war was over. But perhaps the war had never been about kings or crowns. Perhaps it had been about people like this boy-those who still needed someone to stand against the darkness.
With a weary sigh, Aldrich grasped his sword and pushed himself to his feet. His body ached, his heart heavy, but the fire within him was not yet dead.
"Come" he said. "Let's find your mother."
And so, the Ashen Knight walked into the night once more, his legend not yet finished.