She looked down at the dying man; her expression stilled as she studied him. From his odd choice of words, she thought him to have likely gone mad while he stood on the very precipice of death’s door.

The man began to cough up a fit, letting loose a spraying mist of blood with each forceful, thick breath he bellowed out. As the fit drew to a calm, he composed himself and asked, “I take it by the way you’ve yet to answer me, you don’t believe me. Then, to that, I say simply, look down below the torn rags you wear, see what lies in place of your belly.”

The girl hesitated to heed the Knight’s uncomfortable request and again expected his ramblings the unfortunate perceptions of a man fading. While she had felt his words likely false, she could not deny there was indeed something off about her. She bent her head but could see only the shredded rags unevenly covering her midsection. Worry and dread swelled within her mind; just what was awaiting her under these rags? Another wheezing, mucus-filled cough intrudes the girl’s rising anxiety, and with the tension cut, she unveils what may lie hidden behind the curtain of the torn and dangling rags.

“It’s. It’s not possible,” the girl said, staring down at the dried, empty husk of her stomach.

“Ay, and I would’ve agreed with you had I never come to this poisoned land. But, you are without a doubt one of them. Though, you certainly don’t act like the rest of them.”

The girl’s disbelieving eyes fixated on what appeared the stomach of one who had been dead for centuries. Hollowed and dry, her abdomen absent entirely and still yet held together by a spine tangled with wet grass within clumps of mud caught in the empty bone crevices. Her frozen eyes stagnated and fell into a decaying blur the longer she peered but then refocused as she noticed it was not only her belly that had been this way. Her arms, emaciated with exposed bone covered only by the thin, dull sheet of her taut, gray skin. She extended her forlorn sight towards her hands and found them in just as sorry a state; sunken impressions between the bones sprouted from her wrists appeared barren and skeletal. She gawked in sorrowful silence while further inspecting her body and, to the girl’s dismay, found it all more of the same throughout.

“What happened to me? How?” In mid-sentence, the girl choked up as the reality around her began to collapse in on her. The sudden realization that she truly understood nothing, nor could she recall anything prior to her recent awakening. Anxiety now bubbling like a boiling cauldron at the brim, she felt the very air around her oppressive and overwhelming. In a panic, she shut her eyes and attempted to slow the world down in her mind; finally, after a few deep breaths, she obtained control again.

“Who are they, the ones you keep referring to?” the girl asked calmly.

With a groan to clear his throat, “Wish that I knew. All I found here was death. Mindless and crazed walking corpses, they are. They look just like,” the man paused and averted his eyes from the inquiring girl, but the sympathetic frown he wore lingered.

She ignored his gesture and continued, “Are they to blame for that?” as she pointed down at his wound.

“No,” he replied in a defeated tone. “No, this came from that monster at the capital gates,” the man ground his teeth in frustration, revealing blood-stained gums. “When I’d first arrived, those walking corpses proved little challenge but that… thing. It’s an abomination, a cruel mockery as it wears the once venerable armor of the Templars of Aquilesca.”

“Aquilesca?” the girl repeated.

“Surely you know the land on which you stand?” the bloodied knight retorted, then stopped and corrected, “Apologies milady, I know not your circumstances.” The man removed his soaked glove and rung it, expunging the pooled blood onto the uneven and broken, wooden cabin floor. He returned the glove onto his hand and said, “You see, Aquilesca was once a Kingdom of prestige, a jewel of prosperity, and a mighty force to reckon with…” The man shifted his focus to the gloomy setting surrounding him before returning to the conversation.

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“Alas, …such is a historic tale. For at least a century, it has become this putrid land of death,” he finished.

“If what you say is so widely known, why come here?” the girl asked.

“Now that is the question to be asked, indeed, milady. I may have the appearance of a low-level Knight, but the dull blood that flows from me is quite common, you see. Both my mother and father perished from sickness, and instead of living the mundane life of a potato farmer, I took my meager inheritance and commissioned this here suit of armor. With some coin left over, I found a trading vessel willing to drop me off on a raft some distance from the coast.”

The man momentarily broke from the conversation and brought the torch to his side, positioning it closer to his body so that the flickering flames might allow for better warmth. “I once had family that migrated to Aquilesca long ago and thought I might discover…” He interrupts himself. “No, that’s not why I came. In truth, I sought glory. I sought to solve the mystery of what truly happened here. I sought to prove to myself that even I, Baldwin, the lowly potato farmer, could rise up and save Aquilesca… As Knight’s do.”

“But look at me,” Baldwin murmured as he peered down to the mortal wound in his belly. “I’ve failed.”

His head rose to meet the girl’s gaze, his wet pupils shimmering against the reflection of the dancing torch. “I never belonged in this nightmare. But you, and I mean no disrespect, but you’ve been cursed by this place. I’d not suggest any venture into the heart of Aquilesca, less they seek death, though,” Baldwin’s pale face frowned as he spoke his following words, “It seems death has already found you, milady.”

The girl’s sunken eyes looked away in unease.

“I’d wager you might find answers within the capital. Though you’d have to get past that Bucket Knight and if by some miracle you manage that, I’d shudder to imagine what could lie beyond those gates,” Baldwin said, looking off into the distance.

“Say, might I ask your name?” he requested.

The girl proceeded to respond yet instead found a tongue unwilling to oblige. With great frustration, she attempted to rack her brain though no name revealed itself within the depths of her limited memory. “I don’t think I know my name,” she finally answered.

The two proceeded to say nothing and a solemn, silent moment filled the broken cabin.

“If I ever had a daughter and my wife allowed, Id've called her, Gwen. Always found that name beautiful. Why don’t you borrow it, just till you can recall your own?” Baldwin said.

“Gwen,” the girl repeated to herself.

“Elegant and strong I always thought it sounded,” Baldwin stated.

“Okay, I’ll borrow it,...for now.” the girl replied, smiling subtly.

Baldwin smiled back at the girl now named Gwen, though, his grin interlaced with a pain he found unable to hold back any longer.

“Gwen?” Baldwin said softly before once again clearing his throat. He now spoke in a raspy and low-pitched tone, “I’m going to rest now and I doubt I’ll ever wake. I had a shield but dropped it on my way here. Not sure how much it’ll help you, that monster did a number on it. I’d lend you my blade too, but after fighting that thing, I seem to’ve lost it. Damn shame too, was a family blade passed down to me.”

Baldwin’s eyes shut, and his head fell into his chest, bobbing up and down a few times, each slower than the last as Gwen watched in silence.

With his head still down, he mustered the last remaining strength in his body and whispered, “I ask you…Gwen…carry on in my stead.” With that, Baldwin let out a final, long exhale until his body remained still.

Gwen stood in place a few more minutes; she wished to be with Baldwin a while longer as she considered his words.

When she felt the time was right, she stepped over to him, gently closed the visor of his fluted helm, picked up his torch, and said softly, “Goodbye, Baldwin the Knight.”