“Do not mourn me, my beloved. I… for so long I had been broken: drifting without purpose in this cold, miserable expanse. I suffered endlessly, beset with a gnawing emptiness that saw no escape, but then I met you. And this accursed gift called Creation no longer seemed so terrible.

“That is why I do not regret my fate. You, our children, and every blessing we have brought together: I wish to protect it all. And some day, they will grow, learn, and prosper in a world where anything is possible.

“So do not let me chain you here. This burden does not need to be carried by two, and… if the time ever comes when you may encounter a love just like ours, please do not hesitate. My only wish is for you to be happy."

- ?

———

The Knight

The evening arrives, and the Knight sits at the bedside of its private dwelling. Such is the benefit for those of higher standing; unfortunately for the common personnel, they must reside in densely-packed quarters. It does not particularly mind mingling with the others, but Aegis quite enjoys having his own space.

However, he is not here at the current moment. Just outside, the entire encampment roars with a cheer as they gorge on meat and drink and merrymaking. The Knight has already done enough socializing as to not draw suspicion; the child, on the other hand, still soars about and enjoys the raucous atmosphere. It is a bit worrying to have him be by his lonesome, but there should be no issues for as long as he maintains his invisible veil.

Yes, it is entirely alone for the first time in a while. Long has it grown accustomed to Aegis’s presence, and now it feels a bit pensive without his babblings to distract it. How humorous: it thought it would feel much better after acknowledging its feelings towards Ascalon, yet its mind is caught in a clumsy fog.

The Knight does not quite know what to make of these emotions. How should it act from hereon? It’s been ever so long since it has felt this way, like a naive maiden smitten over their sweetheart. It wants to see him now, but it cannot gather the courage to do so. There’s a slight awkwardness still dwelling in its gut; the cause is most likely due to its current appearance.

The Knight grunts and tears away its lustrous armor, tossing it on the floor with not a care. This face, this skin, these scars on its flesh… this is not who it is.

It is a fake, a wretch with false identity.

But, what is identity in the first place? The Knight’s original appearance is featureless, containing not a hint of humanity anywhere in its vessel. Even its organs and bones are an imitation.

It is a construct far different from Ascalon. Can two unlike beings love the other? And even if such a distinction is inconsequential, he still believes the Knight to be Lorelai. Every time it whispers in his ears and garners his affection, his image of her grows ever fonder.

Ascalon does not love the Knight. He loves a memory long departed.

… It does not want to fool him any longer, but to do so would mean putting an end to this dream: this bitter, and addictingly sweet, dream.

But, dreams cannot last forever. Eventually, one must wake up to the cruel reality.

Suddenly, someone knocks on its door. The Knight needs not hear their voice to know who waits on the other side.

“Pray forgive my intrusion,” Ascalon says. “May I come in?”

The Knight remains silent for a moment, but eventually it rises and walks over: hand lingering above the handle. It knows it should not open it, but what to do? Its body moves before the mind can, pulling it open and revealing the man who has so thoroughly stolen its heart.

“I am surprised they let you go so soon,” it says. Ascalon smells faintly of wood-fire and ale. “What brings you here?”

“Nothing serious,” he replies with a chuckle. “It is just… I wanted to check up on you. The others were baffled that you left a mug still half-full—they wouldn’t leave me alone unless I came to visit you myself.”

“Oh, they’re overreacting. I am not much of a drinker.”

“I see…” His tone implies a deeper understanding, but what exactly is unclear. He simply stands there, fidgeting as if unsure what to say next.

“Well, I do not mind the company.” It welcomes him inside, and the two sit at the end of the bed. They stare out the window, neither one saying a word.

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Ascalon seems to be preoccupied with something. He is hesitant, body shifting as if about to speak, but in the end he decides against it and continues to look at the outside.

“I do hope I wasn’t interrupting your sleep,” he says, eyes glancing at the cluttered armor on the floor.

“No, I… I just needed a breath of fresh air for a bit.”

“I understand. It does get stuffy after a while,” he chuckles, his hands grazing over his own plate. “Perhaps I should join you.”

Ascalon reaches up to his head, and he takes off his helm.

Long hair cascades forth, gently brushing against his shoulders and dangling in streams of curls and gentle waves. Its tinge is a pure, glossy white - like the first snowfall of the winter season - but amidst the moonlight’s glow, it twinkles even brighter, exuding a delicate, almost divine glow as if he is closer to a moon-kissed spirit than of humanity.

Even his skin is of pale complexion, just like his face: a fair, soft feature blurring the lines between man and woman. Yet, there is an age within him. It lingers in dark circles, in his haggard cheeks, and in the corners of his tired smile. Years of lordship have weighed heavily on Ascalon, but nonetheless his eyes remain ever bright: determined and shining with flecks of amber crystals.

“Is something the matter?” he asks, snapping the Knight out of its daze.

“Hm? Oh, pardon me,” it replies. “I was just surprised. This is the first time I have ever seen your face.”

“Really? Yes, I suppose it is the first,” he says with a sad murmur. “I tend not to remove my armor very often.”

“Why is that so? I find your appearance quite dashing.”

He giggles. “Thank you for that, but… I am not very fond of it myself.”

Ascalon brings his hands together and looks down at the floor, reminiscing of a time it cannot see. “You know my last name, correct? Of the order of Power.”

“I do.”

“Then you know the noble line favors in their children the mighty and strong. And indeed, their figures represent that ideal quite plainly: bulging muscles, large frames, and weapons that span the length of an entire person. But above all else, there is one trait they value most of all. Do you know what it is?”

It shakes its head.

“Red hair.”

He twirls the white strands with his finger, voice quiet and lowering to a mumble.

“It is said Sir Kay’s appearance was that of an inferno. His locks flickered like flames; his eyes smoldered with a blazing hot red. And ever since his passing, the descendants of Power have sought after the manliness he so embodied. For one not to have red hair is a telling of their diluted blood.

“And I was born a far cry from that noble image. Even though my family was but a distant relation, their red hair was still a source of pride. My parents, my departed siblings, and even Surasha… all but me. Perhaps that is why I have always been so feeble. No matter the training, now matter how much I gorged myself on food, this body remains ever so daint.”

The Knight grabs at his hand in an attempt to comfort him. “Oh, Ascalon. Your worth should not be determined by their ideals.”

But he only laughs in response. “I appreciate it, but believe me I have long distanced myself from the Powers. Their meddling was quite annoying during my first few years as King. At first, they were elated to have one of their own bear Freedom’s mantle, but as time went on their support turned into a subtle superiority. They flattered me when it benefited them, and shunned me when it didn’t. Only when I suppressed them with my authority did they finally deign to behave themselves.”

Ascalon sighs and rubs his brow, the memory appearing to have been a most tiresome ordeal.

“Though this blood courses in me, I do not consider myself one of them. No, I am simply Ascalon: a man of my own.”

So he says, but his voice conveys a slight melancholy.

“Still, you wished to bond with them, did you not?” the Knight asks. “They were the closest you had to a family. It must have been painful to be denied a chance at growing closer.”

He purses his lips, but Ascalon cannot deny its words.

“I really cannot hide anything from you, can I?” he chuckles, shuffling closer and leaning against its shoulder.

Ascalon looks more vulnerable now than ever before; yet, he exposes his weaknesses freely, trusting in the Knight to allow express his truest self.

“It was painful,” he says. “If it were not for Lorelai and Gadreel, I do not know if I would have ever been able to conquer the loneliness I felt then. But, the Power’s seclusion is not why I dislike my appearance.”

His voice quivers, and he clenches his fist as if attempting to draw blood. The Knight can feel it: a wish. A longing he has sought after his entire life.

“… In every legend and story I’ve read, the hero is always gallant: bold and with a figure that draws all towards their noble cause. With a single glare, their enemies cower in fright. Just by gazing at their face do the people feel at ease. and I… I can never achieve that with my appearance. I must always wear this plate, for to do so otherwise would reveal to my subjects who I truly am: unworthy. I—”

But before he can speak further, the Knight wraps its arms around his neck, and it stares right into his eyes. There the two stay - beholding the other in a split moment of eternity - and here, right now, it realizes the words it must say.

Ascalon has shown it such a wonderful dream. Now, it is the Knight’s turn to save him.

“Hush now, Ascalon. You have worked hard, fought admirably all this time. But everything is alright now,” it says. “For you are already a true hero.”

It leans in close, waiting for his permission.

And then they kiss. A gentle, affectionate kiss, as if in all the world there is only them.

When they finally break away, the two break out into a laugh, and they embrace each other with a wide, loving smile.

“… May I stay the night?” Ascalon whispers in its ear.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

With those final words, they share another kiss and fall atop the bed’s sheets.

The night is long, but they spend every moment of it together. United as one.