"What am I supposed to do with this human who disturbed my slumber?"The same voice spoke again, dripping with contempt.
Sikakama swallowed as she stood before the ancient creature, a godlike being of immense power and might—the Guardian of the Heavens, the Lord of the Winds and the Mountains."So... it's real. You really are the Guardian's spirit, and you can speak the language of humans."
The Guardian's reply came cold and cutting. "Are you another fool who has come here with your head filled with human nonsense?"
Sikakama steadied herself and spoke calmly, recalling everything Mirelle had told her. "They said there was a Guardian's spirit sleeping at the top of a gray tower, waiting for the day when his knight would finally appear. And when that happened, the Guardian would awaken, and everyone would know that he had—"
"The eternal hunger of humanity."
The Guardian interrupted her in his deep voice, cutting through her words as though he were listening to nothing more than a childish fantasy. "Your endless struggle for titles, for recognition, for something with which to fill your pride. Yet none of it changes the truth. The summit remains eternal, while you are mortal."
A flash of irritation crossed Sikakama's face, breaking through the calm she had struggled so hard to maintain. "I'm not seeking titles! I just want to prove that I—"
"Then leave."
"What? I can't until you—"
"Go below and tell them whatever story you wish," he interrupted again. "Tell them the gods have blessed you. Tell them the heavens have chosen you. Tell them you are a saint selected by forces beyond their understanding. Humanity has always believed whatever it wanted to believe. They will grant you the position you seek, and once they do, you will have the recognition you so desperately desire. As for me, I may return to my eternal sleep."
Faced with the overwhelming presence of a creature that spoke with the arrogance of a tyrant, Sikakama answered with criticism she could no longer keep to herself. "You speak of pride, yet you talk about humans with such arrogance, as though you know every one of us. But you don't know me. What are you, anyway, but a coward hiding inside a crumbling tower?"
For the first time, the creature did not answer immediately. Something almost resembling amusement stirred within the darkness, as though the words of this insignificant human—who had just dared to belittle him—had awakened a curiosity that had not been there moments before.
The empty space around Sikakama began to ripple, and the darkness shifted as though the two of them had suddenly been transported into another place. Before her stretched a vast bridge leading toward the gates of a distant city, while an army marched across it beneath enormous banners. Thousands of people filled the streets beyond the gates, gathered from every corner of the land to welcome their returning heroes.
Sikakama stood among the scene as though she had somehow become part of the events unfolding before her. The images did not merely appear before her eyes; they surrounded her, carrying her into a world that felt strangely real.
Flowers rained from the balconies as the victorious knights passed through the gates on horseback, their armor gleaming beneath the sunlight. Trumpets sounded from the rooftops, musicians filled the air with triumphant melodies, and the crowd erupted into cheers as the procession made its way toward a magnificent palace. At its head rode a knight clad in armor and a crimson cloak, mounted upon a horse as white as snow, its ornate saddle gleaming beneath the sun. As he reached the great gates, he removed his helmet, revealing a man with blond hair.
Even beneath the scars that marked his face, he had retained a distinctly masculine handsomeness, carrying himself with the strength and dignity one would expect of a great warrior. He embodied, in every sense, the grandeur of the title "knight," and for the first time, Sikakama was looking at one.
The words seemed to escape her without conscious thought, as though she were still under the spell of the scene before her. Her lips parted slightly, and she whispered, almost as though she had finally found the image she had been searching for all her life, "These are knights."
"Look at them all," the Guardian said, his voice carrying a strange gentleness, as though he were indulging a mortal soul in the depths of its most cherished desires. "Is this what you long for?"
The visions continued to unfold around her. The knight knelt before a king in a magnificent royal hall, surrounded by nobles dressed in splendid garments, while a ceremonial sword was raised over his shoulders to complete the rite of knighthood. Beyond the hall, golden chambers resounded with music, while statues were raised in the knights' likenesses and monuments were built to preserve their names.
"Power, honor, glory... recognition!" the Guardian said, as though giving voice to the deepest desires hidden within the human heart.
Every scene seemed to seize her gaze, each one giving form to everything she believed the word knight represented: someone whose name would remain etched into the halls of history long after death, someone whose deeds would continue to matter even when their bodies had returned to dust.
The Guardian watched her as the images continued moving, until, without warning, everything changed.
The crowds vanished, and the golden sunlight faded into a dull, lifeless gray.The knight appeared once more, but his armor was now shattered, darkened by blood and grime. He dragged himself across the battlefield, each step leaving a faint trail behind him, while hundreds—perhaps thousands—of corpses lay scattered across the earth, some half-buried beneath the mud, others twisted in the remains of broken armor. The air hung heavy with the stench of blood and ash, and a deathly silence had settled over the field .
At last, he stopped among the dead. His sword hung loosely from his hand, its blade stained and dulled. He stood there alone, surrounded by the remains of everything that had once marched beside him, as though the world itself had abandoned him and left him behind to witness its ruin. He seemed, in that moment, to be standing utterly alone at the edge of the world.
"What happened?" The longing and pride that had filled Sikakama's face moments earlier had vanished. She stared at the ruined path before her, unable to tear her eyes away from the devastation.
The Guardian's voice came quietly through the darkness. "Humanity has always looked only at the summit. You strive toward it without understanding that the road leading there demands sacrifice. Do you still wish to walk this path? Are you prepared to pay that price, even if it means sacrificing a mortal life?"
Then, somewhere within the darkness, a melody began to play.
It seemed to come from nowhere, each note carrying its own sorrow and brokenness, yet also traces of hope and disappointment, of beginnings and endings. The music lingered over the devastation, and the silence that followed its final note felt heavier than the sound itself.
Sikakama slowly raised her eyes toward the horizon stretching beyond the ruins. There was an unexpected stillness in her gaze, something as calm as the sky above and as deep as the sea beneath it.
"I don't care how difficult it is," she said quietly. "I'll do everything I can. I'll become strong enough to keep moving forward, even if I have to face everything alone. And if becoming a knight means sacrificing my life for it..." She did not hesitate. "Then I'll sacrifice it."
The Guardian's crimson eyes remained fixed upon her. There was no mockery in them this time, nor admiration, nor even the contempt he had shown before. There was something else—something Sikakama could not understand, as though he were looking at an answer he already knew was incomplete, while knowing that she had not yet reached the point where she could give him a better one.
His gaze remained upon her for several moments, and then the darkness around them seemed to grow unnaturally still.
Sikakama's consciousness was still trapped within that strange space when a sudden flash of black lightning tore through the air around her physical body. It struck her wrist, followed by another flash, and then another. With each burst of unnatural light, a dark trace was left beneath her skin, as though the lightning itself were carving something into the flesh beneath the surface.
Meanwhile, everything around her had already begun to disappear. The darkness, the distant shapes, even the space itself started to dissolve, while Sikakama felt her consciousness drifting away, as though an unseen force were pulling her out of that mysterious realm.
"You're telling me you're not going to get up?" Sikakama protested, her voice echoing through the empty space.
"Everything comes in its time, little human," the Guardian's voice answered from somewhere beyond her sight.
At the same moment, one of the armored knights standing beside the Guardian's statue suddenly moved. Its head rose slowly, and two eyes glowing like fire appeared beneath the darkness of its helmet. It raised its weapon above Sikakama's suspended body, and the blade began to descend.
Before it could reach her, Sian appeared behind her and caught her in his arms, carrying her out of the chamber in a single leap. The blade came crashing down where her body had been suspended only moments before, striking the stone floor with tremendous force. The ancient stone shattered beneath the impact, sending cracks racing across the chamber.
Alistair was already outside the gates when Sian slipped out through them with Sikakama in his arms. The moment they cleared the gates, Alistair struck the ground with his hand, unleashing a brilliant surge of dark, radiant energy that spread beneath both sides of the gates. The enormous gates trembled violently as the magical force coursed through them, then slammed shut with tremendous speed, sealing the chamber and everything within it behind them.
Absolute silence descended upon the tower.
Yet the Guardian's voice still echoed from behind the closed doors.
"Perhaps you were right," he said at last. "Perhaps I am nothing more than a coward hiding inside a crumbling tower."
His voice faded into the darkness, and within the tower, the ancient Guardian returned to his slumber.
Sian carefully lowered Sikakama to the ground, but she remained unconscious, her body completely limp in his arms. Alistair immediately knelt beside her to examine her, while Sian said nothing. Instead, he took hold of Sikakama's arm and pointed toward her wrist.
Alistair followed his gesture.
The moment he saw the strange black mark beneath her skin, his expression changed.