The bluster of wind was something the knight was very familiar with, yet this specific brew of bluster was one he was failing to adapt to the wind drying his open mouth. On the back of a bird that could control fire with just a thought, the knight convinced himself that it was going to be alright. The pair had been flying for some time after their quick perch, yet the knight was still unsure of exactly where they were going as they seemed to be flying in a direction completely alien to the knight. For some reason, Kanaft was maneuvering in the sky like there was still a knotted thicket to dodge, yet there wasn't–or as if there was a thicket, but only the bird could make it out, and no matter how he tried to get his attention, Kanaft would just ignore him, like he was too caught up in his own minor world, trying to place the puzzle pieces together, so the knight was left to his own devices for some time–to his thoughts for some time.
Laying on the soft meadow of black grass, the knight stared high into the dark canopy, while holding on for dear life. The chocolate brown eyes hidden, protected, by the void of black created by his helmet stared out with his lifeless eyes. It was dark out, he knew that much, due to the lack of random light rays shining through the canopy, but that didn't stop the knight from staring beyond the last stretch of wood into the vast, inviting sky of cheery stars, and lovey lovers that covered a grand portion of the sky. The sky never appealed to him when he still lived in the confines of a kingdom–in the confines of her sight–there was just something else gravitating his eyes away from such a beautiful sight–yet now, there was only the sky. It was turbulent. The beautiful night sky rarely showed its face on the bloody world of the humans, yet, it was always there for him–watching over, and he had never paid it any attention. He chose to ignore the beauty that had only ever emerged from the deep, impenetrable layer of clouds when he roamed the empty streets, or sat alone on a countryside bench on some distant, beaten path–too busy thinking of her, and her eyes, and how those shifty pearls gifted him meaning in his meaningless existence, but now, his old meaning had long since departed the land of the living. A wandering spirit of a past forgotten to the past in a present that didn't exist.
Sighing through his nose, the knight swallowed whatever saliva had built up lining his gums, saturating his drying, slightly choked up throat, which quickly expanded his throat while dispersing the clot building in his throat. Calming his nerves, he opened his eyes again, unsure of just when he had shut them so tightly. There was something stinging his eyes, he wanted to rub them so badly, but simply couldn't throw the helmet, so he let his face wetten more–wait what? When did his face feel so–uncomfortable–no, that wasn't the right word–red. Red with something the knight could not describe–yet it was the perfect word. An ugly admission for sure, but it was a blatant emotion that the knight felt the need to identify–to place a marker on, as if expecting himself to feel this hot emotion again–like this agonizing realization will strike like the Lord himself smited the knight once again. It was an overwhelming feeling–to know that you would face it again was a strange expression that would need to lead to acceptance at some point down the line, yet the knight just simply could not grasp the idea. He was being emotionally immature, and he knew it too, but he simply pushed it all away–and let his wet face, and red emotion dry up till there was nothing but famine.
Kanaft held no need for the knight's exceptional tracking capabilities, as the titan-wing was a creature that far outclassed him in that aspect, so, in his boredom, the knight decided to theorize about the Plague of the Canopy. There wasn't much to go off of, especially since Kanaft had simply started flying instead of informing his only ally in the fight of what he knew, but the knight was sure it would all come in time. The lingering whispers of his previous state of mind were echoing through him, so he shoved them into a box built of stone, letting his restless mental war rest momentarily. The whooshing of Kanaft's large wings filled his ears, but he tuned that out too, and circulated the little he knew of the Plague in his mind. There were several things the name 'plague' could mean, as to be a plague would mean to affect a great quantity of living beings–like a disease, which Kanaft had also described this creature as–meaning it could somehow be in many places at once–or that's what the knight expected at least.
The knight was sure that at the very least, this thing was not an escapee from the shadow realm–as this entire forest wouldn't exist if a single adolescent was stronger than a second generation giant–if what Soven stated could be taken seriously. It was a dangerous game to play at, and the knight was exactly all for it, but it was all he could go off of. Something else his nose had picked up on instantly was the distinct scent of the creature painted in the shadows. It was rotten, maybe even to its very bones, yet it was a tortured rot, which was a taste the knight had only ever smelled around the man who made the monarch, and his own shield. The vile smell of the trapped, weary, agonized wails into the dark. It was one of the few things that succeeded to exist when one of the forbidden spells was used from the infinitely paged book–the one that created this thing. If it had that revealing stench, then there was no doubt in his mind, that the creature lurking through the top layer was one of the horsemen–but this one had a different task from the rest: a task to guard the slumbering phoenix–to stop outside forces from calling upon it whilst trying to wake it up. The knight figured that people had tried in the past, and the cryptid's were all that remained of them–though he had no way of confirming the last bit of information, but he was thrown out of his thought process by a jarring lurch that pulled him out the train of thought that was nearing its second of precipice.
Blinking, the knight zoned back into reality to find himself in a strange position; he wasn't facing the sky anymore, instead, he was facing the canopy itself, its lack of greenery creating an almost ominous appearance draped in dread and fear of lurking predators, and directly in front of him were words highlighted in the blazing text of Kanaft's speech, reading: "Its nest is in front. Be aware of its rather–troublesome abilities to–"
He wasn't able to read the rest of the passage as Kanaft left its standstill position on what the knight could only assume to be the side of a great stem of a tree, and entered a realm of complete, and undefeatable darkness. The world around him was consumed by it, until not even the entrance they had entered this place on was nothing more than a speck of slightly lighter shadow–they had entered the lion's den, and the knight was quite frankly not prepared yet.
In a few moments, the knight's panicked mind summoned Rising Tide to his left hand instinctually, his mind chilled, and his nose quickly picked up the scent that had haunted him for a very, very long time. Taking a shuddering breath, he prepared for Kanaft's inevitable dive for the surface to drop him off, but was not expecting to see the bird instead summon thin, nearly imperceptible rings of fire around them, that grew in radius and height the further they flew away from the center, or the one that created them. The rings of fire revealed several things to the knight that he noticed quickly: they were inside a nest of sorts, with the various twigs, branches and other assortments creating a bed of sorts at the very bottom of the nest–which would've taken quite a while to reach by falling. Another thing that quickly caught his eye was the creature itself, on the floor, staring straight at him with those thoughtless, expressionless triad of eyes, forming a triangle in the center of its mouthless, noseless, earless, and hairless head. It was humanoid in shape, but anything but human. Its skin was replaced by a clearly disgusting, rotting tar-like substance that stank with age that didn't seem to disappear after any point in time. Its head was proportionally small compared to the rest of its body, with an unsettlingly long neck and a nearly non existent torso, but was perhaps the most bone shuddering of all the features that were present, were its lack of legs, which were instead replaced by a second set of hands, enabling the creature to run on all fours like a primitive beast–yet those eyes stung with clear intelligence, clear hatred, and clear agony. Agony the knight resonated with. It was depressing looking at the creature in front of him, but there was no time to think deeply of the creature, its suffering would soon end, by his hand. Gripping the hilt tighter, the knight only then noticed the third, and final thing in the arena the trio would be fighting in.
It was a light cling–almost a chime that reverberated across the room, drawing all seven eyes towards it. Then, it was followed by a second, and a third. The darkness hid the corporate for a moment, but the knight would know those keys anywhere, they were Death's keys, and on queue, the fire finally made it to the edge of the enormous arena, and The Guidance and its instrument were revealed to the three. Death was sat on the same worn, ugly bench, with more tears in the leather than there was the remaining, which was placed on a pristine marble column far below the knight and Kanaft, yet still equidistant from the not-so-mindless beast below. The column was distinctly bland, remaining a simply cylinder of white, that contrasted the darkness that still watched from the corners of the nest with great interest, well enough for the creature to notice it within moments of its reveal–yet it did not attack the pillar haphazardly–or even at all–this beast was keeping quite the distance between itself and the physical manifestation of what would soon engulf it.
The knight stared at Death for a moment–truly contemplating what it is this "fool" as Soven would call him, would want with him. Well–he knew what Death wanted, he was the only weapon that Death had at its disposal, so it was only natural that It'd spectate his matches? He wasn't entirely sure, but that seemed to be what was going on–at least at surface level. Once again, the knight found himself irritated by the fact that he could not understand everything–or rather, anything, and, once again, he doused those ideas in cold water for the umpteenth time, there was too much at stake to focus on the gaunt figure of Death that would forever remain an enigma to the brunet.
When the knight read the words created by Kanaft from a single spark of fire, he prepared. They were simple words, words that could mean many things in other situations, yet they only meant one thing in this situation, with only one outcome in mind, the bird dropped, and soared to the floor of the room with lances of manifested fire wisping their way into existence. Once at a good level, the knight dropped from his position on Kanaft's back, and fell to the floor, with only fiery words playing in his mind.
'We must win–for Moyra.'