The forest was too quiet.
Even the wind refused to pass through the skeletal branches, as though afraid to disturb whatever had taken refuge there. The soil was damp with age, and the smell of iron lingered, like the breath of something ancient buried just beneath the roots.
El Como sat cross-legged on a slab of cold stone that looked suspiciously like a forgotten altar. His runes pulsed faintly beneath his skin — the bright-black lines flickering in rhythm with a heartbeat that wasn't quite his own. He had been waiting.
Waiting always irritated him.
He sighed, picked up a broken twig, and poked it at a puddle of stagnant water nearby. "Any minute now," he muttered to himself. "Any minute he'll come swooping in, all shining feathers and righteous breath. Maybe I should clap."
His voice sounded small, almost swallowed by the air itself. A part of him wondered whether he'd been tricked into coming here. The Eagle Knight didn't seem like the sort to keep appointments. He was the kind of being who appeared, like thunder — not one who arrived.
El Como's eyes caught movement across the mist — a ripple, like heat distortion, in the stillness. The puddle trembled. The air changed temperature in waves, and the world grew thick.
Then came the sound. Not wings — not exactly. More like the slow, dragging sound of metal scraping through fog.
A shadow split the mist. It wasn't human, but it wore a shape close enough to one. The armor glistened faintly in the gray light — not silver, not gold, something older. It was tarnished, etched with glyphs that seemed to crawl even while standing still.
The Eagle Knight stepped forward.
His visor was down, but behind the slits, light flickered like dying embers.
"You came," El Como said, leaning back with mock relief. "I was starting to think I'd hallucinated you, which would've been disappointing — hallucinations tend to be more punctual."
The Knight didn't answer immediately. The fog around them condensed, pulling close like an audience. The forest no longer existed — just that patch of stone, the altar, and the heavy, haunted air.
When he spoke, the Knight's voice came like the echo of a forgotten cathedral — hollow, resonant, and uncomfortably alive.
"You shouldn't exist."
El Como tilted his head. "That's the warmest greeting I've had all week. What do you mean, 'shouldn't'? I'm right here, aren't I? You can't argue with existence when it's sitting in front of you."
"You are an echo that learned to speak. A parasite given shape."
"Flattering. You make it sound like I'm a miracle of biology." El Como scratched the back of his neck, eyes narrowing slightly. "But you're wrong. I'm not an echo. I'm… more like a bad decision that refused to end."
For a moment, there was silence — a silence so deep it felt as though sound itself had been murdered. Then the Knight moved closer. His armor groaned, the runes engraved along it glowing faintly — gold, but sickly, as if poisoned by time.
El Como's runes responded — a faint shimmer of dark luminescence beneath his skin. The air between them rippled as if reality itself were unsure which of them was more real.
"Do you know what you are, creature?" the Knight asked.
"Oh, absolutely," El Como replied. "I'm a walking existential crisis with great hair and questionable morals. A perfect balance of chaos and charm."
"You jest to hide it."
"That's what humor is for," he said, smirking. "If I start taking myself seriously, we'll both start screaming."
The Knight's hand moved — not to attack, but to rest on the hilt of his weapon. It wasn't quite a sword — it looked like something that wanted to be one, but kept remembering it used to be something worse. The blade hummed quietly, almost sympathetically.
"You were not meant to persist after the breach," the Knight said. "When the defenses collapsed, all that was supposed to remain was silence. Yet you survived. A whisper in a world without air."
El Como leaned forward, his grin fading a fraction. "So I was supposed to die. How touching. You came all this way to tell me I'm a clerical error?"
"You are a wound. The world cannot heal with you inside it."
"Well, maybe the world should invest in better medicine."
The Knight didn't move. The mist swirled tighter around them, pressing against their skin like invisible water. The sky — if there was still a sky — dimmed further, and the sound of distant bells began to fade in and out of existence, as though someone were ringing them from another realm.
El Como's runes flared again. His body trembled briefly, not from fear, but from recognition. Something about the Knight's presence was familiar — the weight of it, the rhythm in the air, the subtle hum that matched the pulse of his own sigils.
He squinted. "Wait. You've been here before, haven't you? In the Castle. When the sigil started speaking."
The Knight said nothing, but the air thickened in agreement.
"Oh, wonderful," El Como muttered. "So you're the voice of doom that likes to ruin my dramatic moments."
"I am the one who guards what remains of order," the Knight said. "And you — you are the thing that cracks through it. The seed of the aberration."
"Wow. 'Seed of the aberration.' That's poetic. You rehearse that?"
"You mock even as your existence corrodes."
"That's my brand."
Something shifted — not in the air, but in El Como's perception of it. The mist grew darker. The Knight was no longer just a figure of metal and light. His armor was starting to move, subtly, as though something inside it was breathing — something larger than the space it occupied.
For the first time, El Como's sarcasm faltered. The faintest tremor rippled down his arm.
"What are you?" he whispered. "Because you're definitely not just a guy in fancy armor."
"I am what the world built to remember discipline," the Knight said. "When the first breach occurred, when the boundaries between will and consequence began to blur, I was born — not from flesh, but from oath."
"That's lovely," El Como said. "But you're talking like I was there. Newsflash: I didn't sign up for whatever ancient cosmic punishment this is."
"You were born from the same breach," the Knight continued. "You are its echo — the distortion that consciousness left behind when it tried to reshape reality. You should have dissolved with the others."
"Others?" El Como asked sharply.
The Knight's visor tilted slightly. "You remember nothing of them?"
El Como tried to speak — and found that his tongue didn't quite move the way it should. His mind flickered, and for a moment, he saw shadows moving through the fog — outlines of forms like his own, blackened and broken, reaching upward as though drowning in light.
He blinked, and they were gone.
The Knight stepped closer still. "The runes on your skin are the remains of their cries. Each mark a voice that failed to separate from you."
"Lovely," El Como said hoarsely. "So I'm basically a group chat of the damned."
"You jest because you cannot accept the truth."
"Or because it's funny," El Como snapped. "You ever try not taking yourself so seriously? You might live longer."
The Knight's gauntlet tightened. The air screamed — a high-pitched vibration that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. The stone beneath El Como's feet began to crack, faintly glowing from within. His runes pulsed brighter, answering the sound instinctively.
"Stop," El Como hissed, standing. "You'll wake them."
"Them?"
"The humanoids, the things that lurk where the fog gets too thick." He glanced around, nervous now. "They don't like it when reality yells."
"They are drawn to imbalance," the Knight said. "Your presence feeds them."
"And yours doesn't? You're basically a walking cathedral."
"Mine purges. Yours decays."
"Oh, that's rich."
The silence between them stretched. The Knight's sword was still resting against his palm, but now it began to sing — softly, like a choir hum rendered in metal. Each note made the air shimmer.
El Como stared. He could feel the resonance crawl along his skin. The dark lines of his runes began to shift, changing pattern, forming circles that tried to align with the humming sound.
"Don't do that," El Como whispered. "You'll make it remember."
"Make what remember?"
"The thing inside the breach," he said. "The one that saw me first."
For the first time, the Knight paused. "You recall it?"
"Not clearly. Just pieces." El Como's eyes went distant. "A face that wasn't a face. A voice that called me 'returning noise.' I thought it was being poetic. Turns out it was just... accurate."
"That was the Architect," the Knight murmured. "The first will that built the barrier."
"Then why do I exist?"
The Knight raised his head. "Because even the Architect made mistakes."
That sentence hit something in El Como — something deep and metallic, like a hidden chord struck inside his chest. His runes spasmed, flaring so bright the shadows recoiled.
The Knight's blade rose slightly — not in threat, but in readiness.
"You are unstable."
"Oh, really?" El Como spat, struggling to keep still. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had to pass a sanity test to exist."
The Knight's tone softened — barely. "You were not made to endure awareness. Each time you act, you devour fragments of what should remain buried. You are tearing open what little peace exists."
"Then stop me," El Como said. "If that's your job, do it. End me."
The Knight didn't move.
"Come on," El Como barked. "You think I haven't tried? Every time I close my eyes, I see them — the fragments, the hands, the faces I never had. I'd end it myself if I could."
"You seek death because you do not understand rebirth."
"Oh, now you're a philosopher."
"I am warning you," the Knight said. "The more you dwell in form, the less you will remain yourself. You will become the breach."
El Como looked down at his hands. The runes had begun to spread past his wrists, crawling up his neck like vines made of lightless fire.
"Too late for that," he whispered.
The Knight took a step back — the first retreat he'd made since appearing. His armor dimmed slightly, as though processing what it saw.
"You can still be contained," he said. "But not for long."
"Contained," El Como repeated. "You mean locked away again. In the Castle. In silence."
"It is the only way."
"I'll pass," he said. "I've seen what silence does. It forgets you."
"Then you will bring ruin."
"Then maybe ruin needs company."
Something cracked — not stone, not air, but the space between them. The fog tore open in a jagged seam of colorless light. The Knight's sword lifted itself, drawn toward the rift. El Como's body arched, every rune blazing in panic.
The Knight shouted a word — not in language, but in meaning. The light slammed shut.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
El Como dropped to his knees, panting. His sarcasm was gone now — replaced by raw, trembling exhaustion. The Knight stood over him, silent again.
"Was that supposed to convince me?" El Como muttered weakly. "Because I'm really not feeling the 'divine intervention' vibe."
The Knight knelt, bringing his helmet level with El Como's eyes. For a brief moment, the glow behind the visor dimmed — and within it, El Como thought he saw a face. Not human, but not alien either — a memory of what faces used to be before definition was invented.
"Listen," the Knight said quietly. "The world remembers you only through pain. If you linger, it will feed on that. Do not give it more."
El Como looked at him, half-smiling, half-shaking. "That's... almost kind. Coming from you."
"It is not kindness. It is duty."
"Same thing sometimes."
The Knight stood. His armor straightened, gleaming faintly again. "When next we meet," he said, "I may not come as words."
"Yeah," El Como said softly. "That sounds like a threat wrapped in prophecy."
The Knight turned. The mist parted to let him through. Each step left behind faint imprints of light that dissolved as soon as El Como blinked.
"Wait," El Como said. "You never answered one thing."
The Knight paused.
"Why me?" he asked. "Why was I the one that stayed?"
The visor tilted, and the voice that came was almost mournful.
"Because you laughed when the others screamed."
And with that, the Knight vanished into the mist.
El Como sat there for a long while, the fog slowly creeping back in around him. His runes pulsed, softer now — weary, as though they too were trying to process what had just been said.
He lay back against the cold stone, staring at the sky he couldn't see. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of the world exhaling reached him — faint, like a sigh after a nightmare.
He laughed — quietly, bitterly, almost tenderly.
"Guess that's my legacy," he said. "Laughter in the dark."
Then he closed his eyes.
The forest was still. The mist whispered nothing. And beneath the surface of the earth, something stirred — listening.