A rhythmic thumping, like the sound of a hammer crushing bone, echoed in the corners of Kaelen's mind. It wasn't the call of dawn; it was the lingering echo of his last battle with the Rust Walkers, whose fangs had left deep gouges across his metal plating.
Kaelen opened his eyes slowly. His eyelids felt so parched it was as if fine sand had been shoved beneath them. He stared at the rocky ceiling of the small cave where they had taken shelter. There were no beautiful rays of dawn—only that dismal gray light that defined Aether in its early hours.
"Five hours of sleep," he muttered, his voice thick with a raspy rasp. "In a fair world, the knight who just saved a Sovereign would deserve a feather bed and a silent maid. But I'm in a novel written by someone who seems to hate rest as much as I hate rust."
He tried to move, but felt a massive weight resting atop his armored chest.
Elaria had claimed his armor as her bed. She was sleeping with a peace that was frankly provocative. Her great white wings were spread out to cover them both like a celestial blanket, while her hands were tightly gripped onto the edges of his pauldrons with a strength that betrayed her delicate appearance.
"Elaria," Kaelen said, trying to gently nudge her head away using his iron gauntlet. "Wake up. The sun hasn't risen yet, but trouble is already warming its feet."
The Sovereign stirred lazily, opening a single golden eye. She looked at him with a gaze that blended sleepiness with utter disgust. "You... the sound of your rusted metal woke me from a dream where I was feeding you to the crows. Why are humans always so loud in the morning?"
"Because we have something called a 'Survival Instinct,' Lady of the Wing," Kaelen retorted as he sat up with difficulty, forcing her to slide off his chest and sit beside him in the ash. "And that instinct tells me the scent of the monsters I killed yesterday will attract something worse. Now, step aside and get out of my face for a moment; I need to check my 'condition'."
Ignoring her biting glares, he began to unfasten his armor straps. It was like cracking a complex code; every piece of iron removed revealed a leather gambeson soaked in sweat and old scars that told stories he shared with no one.
Kaelen suddenly recalled legends of "Pattern Vision" or "Heavenly Runes" that appear to heroes upon awakening. He focused his gaze on the cave wall, imagining for a second that a text would pop up to inform him of his "Rank" or "Abilities."
"Nothing," he mocked himself, wiping sweat from his pale face. "No 'Temple Disciple' rank, no 'Divine Traits.' Just a 'Tired Knight' with the rank of 'Lucky Survivor.' This is my reality, and it's stronger than any magic."
He turned to Elaria, who was watching his strained back muscles with a feigned indifference. "What are you staring at? Starting to realize I'm not a 'Royal Pillar' but a human of flesh and blood?"
"I'm staring at how filthy you are," she replied, looking away and trying to hide a slight flush on her cheeks. "You're covered in scars. This means you're either a failed warrior who always takes the hits, or you've faced things an 'ordinary' human shouldn't have seen."
"I'm the second type," Kaelen said, pulling on his only clean shirt. "In Aether, the difference between a failure and a success is that the survivor still has skin to carry the scars. Now, I want to know one thing... those monsters that attacked us yesterday weren't just Rust Walkers. They had extra limbs, exactly like those 'Shayxan-Class' demons the scholar Isaac mentioned in his memoirs."
Elaria froze for a second. "How does a knight like you know about the 'Lower Hells'?"
"I told you, I read reality," Kaelen replied, tightening his sword belt. "And speaking of reality, we're being followed. Not by corpse collectors, but by something more organized. Something like the 'traitors' who leaked your location. Now, we need a disguise. Your wings must remain completely hidden, and this dress... it needs some 'dirt' to look less attractive."
"I will not put dirt on my dress!" she snapped, her wings flashing for a moment to clear the dust from the cave.
"Then you'll be a beacon for every enemy," Kaelen said coldly as he headed toward the cave exit. "The choice is yours. We can be 'Ordinary' and forgotten, or we can be dead heroes in Chapter Four. Choose quickly; I hear the neighing of horses that don't belong in this valley."
Elaria looked at him, then at the filthy ash on the ground, and then at Kaelen, who was snapping his helmet shut once more with a final metallic click. With suppressed rage, she leaned down and grabbed a handful of ash, smearing it onto the hem of her crimson dress.
"You will pay for this, Kaelen," she whispered bitterly. "I will make you polish your armor with your tears when we reach my forbidden realm."
"I look forward to it," Kaelen replied, stepping out under the gray sky. "But for now... step aside, and let me see who decided to ruin our morning."
The horses Kaelen heard weren't ordinary; their neighing had a metallic resonance, caused by the heavy horse armor covering their necks. From the fog of Wailing Pass, a group of knights emerged wearing shimmering silver armor that stood in stark contrast to Kaelen's dusty gear.
At their head, riding a massive black stallion, was a man radiating both dignity and threat. His armor was polished so finely that the ash didn't dare cling to it. Behind him, a flag fluttered, bearing a strange emblem: a broken circle with a blade emerging from it.
"The Circle of Liberation," Kaelen whispered, his voice carrying an old bitterness. "What a cursed coincidence. Out of all the pursuers, they sent 'Rollkommando Colon'."
The knights stopped ten paces away. The leader dismounted slowly, his movements speaking of a strict military discipline that knew no humor. He removed his helmet to reveal a hardened face, short blonde hair, and eyes as blue as two shards of ice. This was Sir Sigmund Schroeder.
"Kaelen," Sigmund spoke, his voice as calm as a guillotine before it drops. "You've come a long way with that dilapidated body of yours. But the game is over. Hand over the 'Entity' with you, and I will grant you a death befitting a knight, instead of leaving you to rot in this ash."
Elaria stepped out from behind the rock, shaking the ash from her crimson dress with a visible pout. She looked at Sigmund, then at Kaelen, and said loudly, "Kaelen, is this man your new hairstylist? He seems far too concerned with his grooming to be a real fighter."
Kaelen almost laughed, but instead settled for adjusting his grip on his sword. "Sigmund is a man who believes the world needs 'cleansing,' Elaria. And he thinks you're the raw material for that cleansing."
"I am not raw material for anyone," Elaria replied, reclaiming her usual haughty chill as she boldly rested her hand on Kaelen's armored shoulder. "Kaelen, kill him. He's ruining the scenery."
"It's not that simple," Kaelen muttered, breaking the fourth wall with a quick glance toward the reader. "Sigmund isn't a thug like the corpse collectors. He's a 'Hero' in his own story, and heroes in this world usually have unbreakable swords and physiques that defy logic."
Suddenly, a shadow shifted from behind Sigmund. It wasn't a knight, but a strange being wearing provocatively colorful clothes and a tilted hat that hid his eyes. He moved with an unnatural lightness, a wicked smile never leaving his face. This was EyDieki.
"Oh, Sir Sigmund, don't be so boring," EyDieki said in a manipulative tone. "The ordinary knight protecting the beautiful angel. Isn't it such a classic story? Why don't we play a little with their perception of reality?"
The ground beneath Kaelen's feet began to shake—or so it seemed. He felt as if the ash were turning into blood, and the screams of Wailing Pass became words whispering Kaelen's old sins. This was EyDieki's magic: hypnosis and the distortion of reality.
"Kaelen, your eyes!" Elaria screamed.
Kaelen closed his eyes completely. He relied on his sense of hearing, sharpened by years of fighting in the dark.
"Sigmund," Kaelen said as he lunged forward with his eyes shut, using the weight of his armor as a projectile. "You believe in liberation? Fine. I'll liberate your head from your shoulders. That's the only liberation I understand."
The fight erupted. It wasn't a dance of swords; it was a brutal collision between two ideologies. Sigmund struck with celestial power, while Kaelen defended with earthly wit. With every strike, Kaelen realized his mid-thirties body wouldn't last long against this young "Hero."
But Kaelen had something Sigmund didn't. He had "Logical Meanness."
As Sigmund prepared for a finishing blow, Kaelen suddenly ducked. Instead of parrying the sword, he flung a handful of "tainted ash" he had secretly gathered in his gauntlet directly into the slit of Sigmund's helmet.
"To hell with you and your honor!" Kaelen roared, thrusting his blade into a gap beneath Sigmund's armored armpit.
The sound of tearing skin followed, and Sigmund retreated, screaming in rage. In that moment, EyDieki stepped in, attempting to cast another spell, but Elaria wasn't just spectating.
Her white wings burst forth suddenly. With a single strike of her feathers—which were as hard as steel—she knocked EyDieki away. "Step aside," she said with a terrifying chill, "and get out of my face, you clown."
The knights of the Circle of Liberation retreated to protect their wounded leader. The air was boiling with tension, but Kaelen knew this was their only chance to escape.
"Elaria, now!" he shouted as he snapped his helmet back down, grabbing her arm.
They lunged into the depths of Wailing Pass, leaving behind a Sigmund vowing revenge and an EyDieki laughing hysterically amidst the dust.