here's a story, the story of a knight. not a righteous one, like those in fairy tales, for righteousness is a virtue that hangs dangerously close to the abyss. so he was not a knight in shiny armour, not by far - as a matter of fact, his armour was rather worn out, its once polished metal plates dull and lifeless, scratched and dented. he wasn't a dark knight as well, for not all things righteously good in the face of the earth are necessarily evil. he just was. he just wandered, like a wreck of a broken ship waiting to be cast ashore. and it happened that he was to face the heart of evil, to see that so many good and brave men see only to fall into despair. and he fought it, as the evil took the shape of a black knight, a wicked one, riding a black wyvern. the wyvern flew around the forgotten battlefield, and its shrieks made life turn away in terror. but our knight never did. he stood his ground, and forced the black warrior to come down to him, to fight him in his own terms. and they fought, swords clashing relentlessly, tears and sweat dropping to the dusty ground. even. they were even, for they were truly one and the same fighting each other. they were not alone though, for not far in the battlefield, watching the battle with an empty gaze, there was a woman. the dark knight saw her, and laughed, a bitter laugh that no mortal ears should have ever listened. but the weathered knight knew. he understood, and he fought even more fiercely. for her. for himself. and he managed to draw the first blood, to slash through the dark knight's skin and flesh. he didn't kill him though; he could not bring himself to kill him. and as such, he let the demon warrior go, to ride back to his lair of sorrow, knowing that one day he would return, more powerful than before.

the woman was there, waiting for the knight. and there they stood, staring into each other's eyes for a long while. they should have left together. they should have locked their hands, they should have held each other in their arms and swore never to leave. only, they didn't. and the gaze they shared in that god-forsaken battlefield was also their last. she left, vanishing in the dust the same way she came. and he left, left to wander again in a bitter freedom that he know to be over one day, perhaps not that far away.

and there he is now, riding the black wyvern as he embraced his shadow instead of fighting it back. giving into fear until becoming fear itself. never giving pause, never letting go. what happened to him is no one's tale, for no one truly knows. all that it's know is that he become a shade of what he once was.