In the depths of the dark armory, concealed within its shadows, lay an enigmatic suit of armor, Its eerie presence seemed to linger, as if possessing a life of its own. In the corner, the armor began to tremble and vibrate, defying the laws of nature. Yet, there was no one within, no human soul to command its movements. It was as though the dormant metal was awakening, its ancient fingers twitching and trembling with an inexplicable energy. Like a child taking its first uncertain steps or a soul returning from the realms beyond, the armor seemed to stir with a mysterious force, an enigma that defied reason and sent shivers down the spine of anyone who dared to witness its spectral dance in the solemn silence of the armory.

With a human face, he would have worn a triumphant, manic smile. Finally, a glimmer of success surfaced, evident in the trembling armor, seemingly bound by invisible shackles.

In his relentless pursuit, he sought the elusive golden ratio, infusing more essence into the threads to set the metal in motion. Yet, challenges arose as he tried to inject the essence and maintain thread cohesion. Each attempt intensified his exhaustion, and fatigue, a long-forgotten sensation, now haunted him relentlessly, shortening his periods of wakefulness.

Though unable to precisely gauge the time, he would have estimated roughly four hours—merely four hours of wakefulness!

This made his experiments more challenging and time-consuming, but he was determined to complete this step before sleeping. He had grown weary and impatient, running out of patience. However, in recent days, he sensed haste and tension in the footsteps of those entering the armory. He didn't know what was happening, but he was certain that frequent visits to an arsenal were not a good sign. He didn't want to be defenseless when danger struck.

With renewed excitement, he delved into intensifying the "density" of the threads. Suddenly, he found himself involuntarily reverting to his normal vision in panic.

Yet, had he maintained panoramic sight, he would have witnessed the threads forging a deeper connection with the armor. The essence pumped like a frantic heart, igniting green fires that spread beyond the confines of the metal, forming a fur-like appearance on its joints and apertures. If any human were to witness this, shivers would run down their spine at the sight of the cool blue-green flames emanating without heat from the heart of the armor, and the eyes of the same hue gleaming within the iron helm.

He quickly discovered this as he saw bursts of flame emanating from his neck, feeling a connection with the armor. Like a paralyzed man feeling his limbs tingle after ages of immobility, he sensed the drain. Despite the exhaustion, he tried to move as much as possible, and with a triumphant feeling, he managed to bend his finger.

Overwhelmed by joy and attempting to exert more force, he lost balance and his gaze shifted to the ground. His metallic body collapsed with a resounding crash, breaking the deadly silence of the armory, while his spirit leaped in terror.

"F*ck the*!@#$_&$$#@$!" Every foul word that crossed his mind was uttered under his breath as he focused on the armory door. Hearing approaching footsteps, and knowing he couldn't return to his original position, he quickly dropped to the ground, abandoning all efforts to infuse the threads with the essence's density. The flames receded rapidly, leaving no trace of the anomalies, and the armor appeared ordinary once again.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

At almost the same moment, The intruder's boisterous yells echoed as the storage door creaked open. Their gaze fell upon the fallen armor, and they advanced cautiously, their hand hovering near their weapon's hilt.

He could only whisper a silent prayer as the armed individual approached, and he closed his imaginary eyes while listening to the nearing footsteps. When the person reached the fallen iron armor, they surveyed the surroundings cautiously. Finding no apparent threat, they knelt and tentatively lifted a piece of the armor before placing it back in its position. With a sigh of relief, he heard the sound of the armory door closing, knowing he hadn't been sent to the foundry or relocated like before.

Attempting to move the noisy armor in a confined and silent space didn't seem like the best idea

...

Throughout this time, he swore he was not a cautious person. On the contrary, he had always been spontaneous and lazy. However, this time, he was not willing to take many risks, especially without the ability to defend himself. His intuition seemed to agree with him on this.

Since his last attempt and the misadventure of moving the armor, he had become more prudent. After all, he had entered a new world, unsure if his luck would be as favorable as in his previous one. During the estimated 30 cycles of sleep and wakefulness, he returned to his previous entertainment. He imagined a group of people in thread-like forms, each performing different movements. Believing that this exercise would help him improve his motion quickly if he ever had another chance to move, he focused his efforts on visualizing various scenarios that might require movement. As he observed the people moving in the armory from time to time, he honed his understanding of the threads' movements and began to anticipate their actions.

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Khaled gazed at the unfolding destruction and chaos through the windows, which threatened to shatter under the pressure of his hand, slightly pierced by glass and wood shavings. Cursing under his breath, he despised everything in motion or still, everything in existence.

Though he had anticipated the war, even before the lord himself, he never expected it to reach this area or any populated region. The scene of devastation, as his retirement approached, caught him off guard.

His aging bones were ill-prepared for the magnitude of this war.

However, even if he were prepared, he knew his skills alone wouldn't be enough. It wasn't due to his weakness; he was confident in his abilities. The issue lay with the orders he had been given. He had to prioritize the safety of the castle's residents and the smooth functioning of its operations. The castle held a strategic position, and that couldn't be ignored.

Yet, despite the strategic importance, his heart clenched as he witnessed the reflection of fire devouring homes in his pupils. The sight of terrified people fleeing and their screams piercing his ears was a familiar, yet unsettling scene he had encountered throughout his long life. However, what he wasn't accustomed to was the inability to intervene.

Throughout his years, he had either arrived too late to witness the aftermath of war on the civilians or intervened to halt the conflict, whether it was the enemy's troops or his own. He couldn't deny that his army wasn't always the finest, especially during most of his military career.

But this scenario? without the ability to do anything, was new. New enough to make him close his eyes momentarily, sigh, and lament the weakness of his aging heart and body....As he opened his eyes, they widened in astonishment, fear gripping his soul as he beheld a massive stone ball expanding before him. Panic surged through him, forcing him to retreat hastily, shouting, "Damnh tis life! They've deployed trebuchets!"