“Once upon a time, in a far away forest, there lived a great and mighty Boar. The Boar was a proud, confident beast, for they had a snout that could sniff out any predator, powerful stumpy legs to deliver a devastating kick, and a thick skin that could deter even the sharpest of fangs. Indeed, the Boar had everything to live a comfortable life, and often did they spend their days lazing where the sun shone brightest.

“However, one day, a tiny Snake came up to the Boar. With slick, shiny scales and eerie slit eyes, it spoke to the beast of a proposition both curious and alluring. ‘Greetings to you, o’ regal beast,’ it said. ‘May I perhaps have a moment of your time? I promise it will not take long.’

“The Boar paid no heed to the Snake’s words at first, but there was something about its words that drew their interest. ‘Very well, speak quickly,’ they replied with a big huff. ‘You are interrupting my precious grazing time.’

“‘Oh, thank you! Truly, thank you. You see, I had recently heard tale of a marvelous fruit hidden not so far away from here. Its juice is said to be sweet as honey, and its flesh is so delectably tender.’

“‘Why, that sounds positively salivating! But for what reason have you sought my aid?’

“The Snake gave the Boar a conflicted look before speaking again—this time with a hint of embarrassment. ‘The problem is, the tree growing this fruit is said to be hiding deep within a cave. And as I am a feeble, lowly Snake, such places give me ever a fright. But you are a Boar, a great beast of the land, and so all I ask is that you bring me but one of these fruits. The rest shall be yours to keep. What do you say, will you help me?’

“The Boar saw no reason to decline such a generous proposal, especially if they could taste this mythical fruit for themself. ‘Hahaha! Why, how could I refuse? Worry not my new friend: The two of us shall be partaking in a feast by the sunset!’

“And so did the Boar part ways with the Snake. Their heart was light, mouth dripping with drool… and soon, greed began to blind their better judgment. They did not think to ask themself how a tree could possibly grow in a place without light, nor did they ever realize that such caves are the dominion of those who slither in the dark. The beast only wished to take hold of that oh so tantalizing fruit, and so they trotted obliviously to the cave until its dark, all-consuming maw was within sight.

“The Boar took a few steps in, and then they descended into the darkness. Step by step did they trudge through the cold, damp underbelly, yet never did any sign of life or green come within view—much less a fruit tree. There was only a frigid air and a vague feeling of being watched.

“By the time the Boar realized their mistake, it was too late. The Snake emerged from within the shadows, and it bared its venomous fangs.

“‘I really did mean it when I spoke of a fruit,’ it said to them. ‘Only… not the one you were thinking of. No, the fruit I’m seeking is gorged with blood.’

“The Snake opened its mouth very wide, and it swallowed the Boar in one gulp. Such was the result of the Boar’s hubris: a quick end, one that could have been prevented from the very start.

“There is nothing of worth in the underground. To traverse it means your end is nigh.”

- The Boar and the Snake: An Old Polus Fable

———

The Knight

It is an astonishing thing indeed to stand before a venerable sea of mankind. To witness them all in their glory, in their unceasing sprawl jutting out into the horizons far beyond reach, and to hear the rhythmic stomps of their steel-clad greaves as the very earth shakes in tandem with the movement of this great moving mass. They are the union of Polus’s finest—knights, all: from every Order, from every corner of the nation, all gathering together to march through both plain and muddy soil. It is in these moments one is reminded of the terror of the human will—how grand they are when joined in a shared cause. It is both frightening and awe-inspiring to see in person their resolve; how fortunate such ire is not directed towards the Knight this time.

But will they brave the underground is the question…

A week has passed since the army departed from the Polus capital. In this time, not much has changed. Their pace is moving swiftly as usual, and despite the increased hurry, not a single knight or aide has fallen behind. One would struggle to spot even a hint of fatigue on their stoic exterior, and the main force leading at the forefront is quickly approaching the canyon where the underground’s entrance lies. Soon, they shall enter the Knight’s old dwelling.

Ages ago, it has not been able to traverse so openly. The time of Ladislava has presented many challenges, for no matter how it changes its appearance, the connection between Comet and Constellation cannot be so easily hidden. A single look is all it takes for Cosmos’s champion to identify it, and so it has once sought refuge in the domain far below earth.

Ah, that brings back memories. I was hunted constantly back then… the tunnels were my only refuge—away from the prying sight of that Comet of Starfire. It was a shame I failed to slay her during her youth, but at least I was able to rid Polus of the Valkyrie. I would have never gotten into Arthur’s good graces if Ladislava wasn’t so desperate to find me.

How did I feel during that time? I do not remember. No, perhaps it is more that I can’t. I was the same as I ever was—unfeeling. Unthinking. I emptied my heart, and I smothered my longing, for it was all I could do to make the days pass without ache. The me back then was merely existing, but that was the intention. I did not deserve to be like humanity—to frolic in a world of change. No, the underground fit me well. It was a realm of nothing, hidden from the wider world: a cold, earthly coffin. One where I could wallow endlessly in darkness.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

I once wished to stay in that realm for all of eternity, but now… I do not know. My soul rejects it now. It wants to stay here. It wants to trick itself into being human.

Suddenly, it feels a warm touch by its hand. It is a familiar touch, one ever so persistent in its life these days, and it gently kneads at the Knight’s palm as if to ease the tension growing within.

“What are you doing, Ascalon?” it asks. The great, mighty King of Polus walks along its side - visage wreathed in authority as he personally leads the march - and despite being within clear view of the army behind, he comforts it plainly for all to see.

“Mm, I wonder?” he replies with not a hint of shame. “Do you feel better?”

“… Yes. Did I look troubled?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“I had a feeling.”

The Knight lowers its head and refuses to say another word. It can’t, for its throat is seized by pain as if glass shards are digging at its flesh—suffocating. So, so suffocating. It wants to retch.

And yet, the Knight doesn’t let go. It holds onto his hand, and it lets itself be held close to his chest. For the rest of the way, the two remain together. They stride in unison, one step over the other, until eventually the vast grassland is replaced by a rocky chasm. It is there that a great, gaping hole is etched into the stone’s side: their destination at last.

It is not comfort the Knight feels here—but dread. Dread that it shall return to those days of being alone. Of turning back into a hollow, empty Shell.

“… I’m sorry, Ascalon,” it whispers to him. “I am not as fearless as I thought I’d be. Even now, just looking into that great abyss… it terrifies me. It feels as if I’ll be swallowed by the darkness, never to return. Never to feel the light again. Pathetic, isn’t it? For all my words of letting the people prove themselves, to think I’d falter before the decisive moment. I’m just a hypocrite.”

There is no great monster waiting lurking within. Even if the whole mountain is to collapse, it will not bring harm to the Knight whatsoever. And yet, it can’t escape this mysterious urge to flee. It struggles to breath, chest rising up and down in sporadic bursts as it gazes deeper and deeper into the umbral gloom. And soon enough, the shadows inside begin to twist, and a familiar sight reveals itself before it: of an ocean. An endless, inescapable ocean of murky ink.

“… Lorelai…”

It doesn’t want to go in there. It doesn’t want to go back.

“Lorelai—”

Because if it does, then this dream will shatter. This ever so blissful dream it has sought so long after… it will all disappear, only for reality to set in. The realization of its true nature. The duty it must complete.

“Lorelai!”

Ascalon grabs ahold of the Knight’s shoulder and gives it a little shake. The force sends it into a daze, and the ocean’s illusion begins to disappear. The world returns to its normalcy, and when it looks back, all it sees is a simple cave.

“You are not pathetic,” he says. “Even I find myself shuddering at the thought of entering that impenetrable gloom, but nonetheless I feel comforted. Do you know why?”

“… Why?”

“Because we are not alone. There are so many others with us, sharing in our fears, and yet here we are—all gathered to face the underground, together. When our body wavers, we can grab hold of another for reassurance. When the shadows sway in and out of sight, we merely need look up to find ourselves surrounded by countless of our fellows.

“And, above all else, I feel comforted because I know you are here.”

The Knight attempts to speak, but no sound is uttered forth. What can it even say? How should it react before that gaze filled with such adoring love?

I wonder… can I truly consider myself as one of your people?

The truth is that it never will. But even so, it can trick itself into upholding this lie. This precarious, ever deceitful lie—both agonizing and tender.

“I’m okay,” it says to him: and perhaps to itself as well. “Thank you. I think I’m ready now.”

The King squeezes its hand, and he lingers near it for a moment—peering at the Knight with his radiant amber eyes as if to ask if it is truly alright. When Ascalon finally receives the confirmation he seeks, he raises a hand and bids forth a shrouded figure from the army’s backside.

The other Polus knights quickly separate into a great divide, forming a path for the summoned soul to walk forward. And so it is that the visage of the Sovereignty's Templar comes into view: the mute Soloman and his rather curious weapon. Instead of a long blade or a heavy cudgel, a sparkling violet orb floats above him - size no greater than his head - and it pulsates with a strange, mystical energy.

The Astrologians have always been one to wield unconventional armaments, but this is the first that the Knight has witnessed such a unique catalyst. The material appears to be made of glass, and a potent concentration of Creation has settled within its hollow dome—swirling about with a playful air.

“The time is now, Soloman,” Ascalon says whilst giving him a pat on his shoulder. “Your sorcery shall be essential from here on. Can I trust in you to light the path forward?”

The man responds with a silent nod, and he raises his orb high into the air. Soon, tiny specks of light begin to trickle out, and they quickly spread throughout the entirety of the army’s ranks as an aurora of color is formed from the rolling, shimmering waves. It envelopes them all, coating the knights in a shiny coat of luster, and all the while Soloman maintains this sorcery with not a hint of exhaustion.

“Thank you.” Ascalon returns the Astrologian's act with a polite nod of his own, and then he raises the Mattatron for all to see before speaking out with a powerful, booming command. “The way is lit. The darkness shall assault us no longer. Children of Polus, fear not the underground’s peril, for together: We are strong! We will persevere through this age-old terror, and we will mark a new chapter in the history books. A hopeful one, a brighter one, for let it be known on this day that Polus shall conquer not just the skies but the earthly realm as well. We will prevail, united as one!”

A flame quickly spreads through the knights—an emboldened flame. One of bravery, of courage, and of fervor. And they release that fervor now, shouting out to the Stars with their great, mighty cries and thundering cheers.

Nothing shall halt their march now. With renewed resolve, Ascalon and the Knight take a big step forward into the seemingly-bottomless cavern.

And they do so together, tenderly joined in hand.