In the not-so-glitzy landscape of this grimy, fireproof forest, where not a hair of reluctant noise showered the land, it lurked. It lurked for a long, long time, yet its vision never unblurred. Its penetrating gaze watched as it was torn apart by the bird made to combat his assimilation, and return to the wall of ash–slowly. In the beginning, its innumerable number of eyes were slow to shut, yet as the years of hard fought battle came to a climax–its eyes began to shut quicker–and with each shut eye, another glob of ash was taken with it to the great barrier surrounding the forest. With each eye's destruction the creature grew smaller–more insignificant, which made it far more daft to the war-bred bird than a threat, and it was in those moments of foolery did the creature slip away–never to be seen again. At least, that's what Kanaft had told the knight. For the most part, the story made sense; the bird had grown slothful in the last moments of the fight, and because of that, he lost his prey. The knight too would be shamed greatly if he was the reason his natural enemy was able to evade the punishment he deserved. The knight, however, had more questions dodged than answered, and he was determined to get those answered.
Some time had passed since the disease reawakened to its full power–and the knight could not be more conflicted on the situation. He had only laid eyes on the barrier of ash once, and that was before he had entered the forest, and to learn that that entire thing was a single creature was a tad difficult to understand–despite the continent-size corpses, and comatose giants all underneath the surface being something the knight had never seen, and now it was back, and ready to assimilate the forest–whatever that meant.
When he asked the bird what he meant by 'assimilate' all he got in response was a shake of the head, which could only leave him wondering about what he had managed to drag himself into. There was also the question as to how Kanaft knew exactly where the plague was hiding despite supposedly having no idea where the creature was for thousands of years. That's when the creature had started getting agitated–or just plain more defensive due to the constant questioning–even though none of it was truly the knight's business to know about. Something the knight found particularly funny was how–when Kanaft was angry, or agitated, or anything like that–a thick, black smoke would exist of out his nostrils, and he was leaving so much smoke in their enormous, yet still confined space, that they had to leave the safety of the nest, due to dim visibility and the knights lungs–despite not needing to breath to survive–filling up with a great amount of the black smoke, leaving him a coughing mess for a majority of their remaining time in the cavernous nest.
Now the pair were on an obsidian branch, not too far from the nest where they had fought the final remnants of the initial plague, and there was small fire between the pair, as they sat across from one another. The knight had let the questions go momentarily, but the far more constant flashes of light from above, and the occasional shudder of freight did nothing to fully quell the knights inquisitiveness towards the situation. They both stared into the fire without blinking, watching as the small portions of the main body blew away from the main body like a child drafted for war. Sighing, the knight let his words die in his throat once again, unsure on whether it was truly worth questioning the knight of this forest any further. He decided on not speaking until he was addressed by the slightly fuming bird, ultimately, which led him down his own thoughts, which were promptly thrown into the fire–giving it the nutrients from the negativity.
They sat in silence for a while longer–with not even the ambient sounds of a dying forest filled his ears–there was only the impenetrable silence of lingering misfortune. A light breeze passed through their campsite. It felt nice on the knight's metal outer layer–the heat may not have been noticeable during his initial exploration, but if he had noticed anything about the forest, it was that it took time for things to reach their fullest potential, and, just as all things in the forest climbed, so did the heat, and the heat was reaching that pinnacle, so the wind was a nice change of pace through all the sweat, and dry eyes. Letting the chill creep up and down his spine, the knight felt the warmth radiating off of the hearth leading to the breezes' cancellation, much to the knights dismay, but he pushed it aside when the small bonfire between the two of them twisted and churned, turning into a message to the knight, in front of his very eyes.
"Your questions are warrented–yet I cannot answer them, for I do not hold the answers you seek, Elder." If the knight was forced to categorize this statement with a single word, he'd have to choose odd, for it was an oddity that the bird would say such a thing. There was no way Kanaft could not answer any of his questions–but to his credit, the knight didn't let the believed lie affect his outlook on the bird. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, he stared at the bird on the other side of the fire, trying to figure out the words to object to such a preposterous claim.
"If you think I can be fooled so easily, then, Kanaft, you may as well fly off and leave. There are many horrible things I've done–most of which I promised myself to never speak of again, however, out of all the negative things that I could be referred to as–I can never, or will never be referred to as a liar, as liars are by far the people I hate the most–so please don't lie to my face," It was the most the knight had said without pause since–well, he'd rather not remember those bloody, hazardous hours. The bird picked up on the ever silent hostility in the knight's voice, mostly washed away with the great age of the Elder, yet nothing could ever truly disappear entirely. Kanaft would have to tread carefully moving forward.
There was a silence between the pair for a moment, but after the silent awkwardness had nearly reached its pinnacle, the words in front of the night transfigured once again: I bare no ill will towards you, Elder. The reason I don't bare the answers you seek is because father controls the forest, and everything inside it. Despite his coma, he still sees all and knows all that happens in this forest. It is my father who tells me these things–or simply overrides my conscience with his own, to do simple things. When you first met him–he let his being waft into all of your senses, Elder, yet that is not something that must happen every time, he simply wished to introduce himself to you, so please believe me, Elder." It was a lengthy read that gave the knight pause on several occasions. He tried to find a reason to be an unbeliever in this perceived lie, yet there was no lie. The bashfulness rose deep in his chest and up to his face the more time went on, he simply could not believe what was happening. After several more moments of embarrassed staring, the knight whispered his thoughts.
"I apologize greatly, Kanaft. I have shamed myself greatly because of my own accusation. I–I have no excuse." He gulped and averted his eyes from the fire, into the flashing darkness. If Kanaft cared about the accusation, he didn't answer, instead choosing to stare down the knight, who felt more like a petulant child than a legend in human skin, but eventually, the words did shift once again.
"There is no need to be so bashful, Elder–or even apologize, for that matter. You have been through much–I am unsure what you have seen, but I know you have seen it, and that is meaningful. Elder, we reached synergy in those few moments in between the first and second eyes destruction. Let's not devolve, and instead evolve together. There is no reason for us to bicker, let's finish this, together." The slightly repetitive nature of the text did not seem to bother the knight in the slightest–but, rather, the good naturedness of the phrasing and the metaphorical and literal warmth resonating in them affected the knight positively.
Even though his bashful feelings lingered, the knight once again found the courage to look his partner in the eyes. The smolder of responsibility had dampened in his eyes behind the darkness, but he knew Kanaft to be right. They had achieved something in those minor fractions of moments, and that unity was meaningful; they could not waste it, especially before the knights departure from these lands.
There was a supernatural ease between the two, and how they were able to systematically dismantle the three remaining eyes that the knight simply could not understand. It was like they were kindred souls, united in some way, but that's where the knight found the greatest oddity: He had never had this synergy with anyone, so how could this have been someone returned to him? Why was it so easy to slip into such precarious tactics with Kanaft after a mere glance at each other?
In the past, he had worked solo, despite being in a team of five, despite there really being six of them. He was their leader for sometime, guiding them in their training, leading them on the battlefield, yet he had never had a partner to always have his back–at least on the battlefield. His brother always had his back–at least before. Maybe it was time to entrust that spot to someone. Was this all just meant to be? Did The Guidance play a role in their rather odd meeting? There were so many missing pieces–and the knight hated loose ends–maybe even more than liars.
Caught up in his thoughts, his eyes wandered about his field of view, until, concluding their journey through this darkness to settle on the pair of eyes opposite of his own, but before the knight spoke up once again, another question at the tip of his tongue.
"Kanaft, do you–-do you remember the force we will be facing soon? The plague didn't look to be very powerful from what I've seen, but since you've fought this thing at its full power, I assume you could give me more of an idea of what we will be facing." It was an honest question–albet, not the one he wanted to ask, but it was better to save certain questions for the phoenix. Kanaft paused, likely gathering his thoughts, and swiftly shifting the words again.
"I did not fight the plague at its full power." The short statement was quickly changed once again, finishing the thought completely before the knight could respond to it.
"Father was the first to fight that thing, and he eliminated many of its eyes, but he then fell to his slumber. Umor and Shreifaya were the ones to fight it after him. I came some years after, to completely finish it off, but on that note, It was still a force to be reckoned with. The fraction of power I fought could still cover a quarter of the forest's canopy, and it was something that pushed me to my limits in my young adulthood." The knight stared at the words colored orange with a strange expression behind the mask. He was close to panicking, but his expression could also be closer to bafflement. What they were going up against, obviously wouldn't be a simple kill. Slowly, a new question left the knight's lips.
"Whats stopping this thing from simply coming back again after we eliminate all of its eyes again?" The pessimistic question may have left the knight's mouth like acid, but he needed to cover all bases before going toe to toe with foes such as these.
"That I don't have an answer for. That is why we must wake father soon. With him here, the forest will be lush for the first time in my lifetime, and he will know how to end the abomination, but if I were to attempt at an answer at your question–I believe the souls of its body have already left its body–all of them powered the being–meaning without its energy, It won't be able to come back." It was a good theory, but the knight was sure there was more to it. In that damned book filled with texts more ancient than the word itself, there was never something so simple.
Sighing, the knight looked up and into the eyes of the almost maroon raven with a mixture of emotions that the bird really could not put into words even if he tried. The convoluted expression of his inner thoughts manifested in the form of a tremor racking his right hand, but he forced it to heel. He was about to speak, but the words in front of him were quickly transformed again, leading to a lengthy silence that draped the small space the pair were currently staying in.
"We both must rest, Elder. There are many trials for us to overcome in the coming days, but for now, we must rest. The links between us must strengthen, and our synergy must tighten till we with less than a thought required. Let father tinker on us–let him batter the wall separating us till we see it all–knit us from two tapestries into one while we take this short break–tomorrow we shall come forth stronger than ever, together, and defeat this plague, for good, together." There was a momentary pause in the statement–which gave the glossy eyed knight a moment of understanding, before the fire continued churning into a new well of words. Together. It was a word that the knight had loved for a long time–a word that had become murky after the ink had been spilt on it, but it seemed like it was finally time to let the distrust go, to let his instincts rest. Who needs a beast on the battlefield that was closer to a disaster to both sides, when you had two fighting back to back, holding each other back–pulling each other accountable. It sounded like the scent of a perfectly taken care of rose, to the knight. Before the knight could consider anything further, his gently smiling face noticed new words manifesting in front of him.
"If you so wish–you may rest your head on my side. There are few beasts on this layer of the forest without intelligence like my own, and even they know not to invade us as we rest; it is a simple perk of being the population's champion. There is nothing more to be said." With that statement concluded, the knight found himself agreeing with the bird. A flash of white later, and the knight was already on his way over to Kanaft, his metallic footsteps clambering across the vicinity loudly, echoing their location. There was a trust building between the two, almost fully constructed, something the knight had noticed since the first time they sat in front of a fire together, on opposite sides, and now, they were on the same side of the fire, looking at it together, from the same angle.
He turned to face the fire, and lowered himself to the charred branch beneath him. With a light thunk from the heavy armor, the knight soon found a comfortable position, then, finally, leaned his head back against the soft, obsidian painted feathers. His head sunk into the side of the bird slightly as he grew more comfortable. He felt the expansion of Kanaft's body, as the magnificent bird breathed in the arid air slowly. As sleep claimed him, his mind wandered back to Kanaft, and the small smile he had prior crept back onto his face.
"Trust is fickle–easily broken, but my trust in you–it is… different. I don't know why, but I trust you. Trusting you sounds nice. Not being alone–it sounds… nice." The hopeful tone in his light murmurings wistfully exclaimed his unsaid insecurities, though he didn't fully understand that he had said that outloud. As the knight's ramblings ended as slumber took hold of him; his uneven, strangely uncoordinated exhaustion finally catching up with him.
The quiet clicks of agreement from Kanaft were not heard by the knight, but they were the last sound that permeated the area as the fire was released from the bird's will–dispersing into sparks of fire that flickered out of existence entirely. Without a sound, Kanaft's eyes shut, and their small, yet warm, section of the branch they set camp up on, was smothered in a silence equal to the darkness, nothing could pierce it, and nothing could interrupt it. In their sleep, they would become the ash–and like his father, they would come out of the ash, new: Soul Beast and Knight.