[???]
The knight stood unmoving at the edge of the high promontory, they were but a solitary figure.
There was nothing performative about their stance. No rigid posture meant to command attention, no ceremonialism meant to inspire awe. They simply stood, balanced at the cliff's edge as though stone and wind had quietly agreed to hold them there. Their armor bore no sigil of kingdom nor oath—no mark that claimed loyalty—yet every plate fit seamlessly.
Silver-dark metal flowed into pale seams that caught the light, unmarred by scratch or dent. The helmet enclosing their head was smooth and whole, without visor or slit, an unbroken surface that reflected the world rather than revealing anything of the one within. No breath fogged it. No sound escaped it. The knight might have been mistaken for a statue if not for the subtle rise and fall beneath the armor, a steady pattern.
Below them stretched the world of Aethel.
