The night stirs, the sky an uncovered cauldron, filled with grains of salt. - Such beauty was rare nowadays, wasn't it? Well, let me tell you a story! From long ago. . . When the night wasn't just little grains of salt, but a whole dish. From places where color painted the sky.
Once upon a time, when all stories had just this little sentence, people moved from corner to corner, explorers running to find what was undiscovered. But our story is not about such people, but about one pale young man, no crown sitting on his head. No bag of coins at his waist, no riches in his name. Just his mind and a glaive of black steel on his back. – Step after step, weird looks were focused on this man, yet nothing seemed to bother him. Nor did he seem to have a goal. Or maybe he did? But perhaps there was no plan. After all a goal without a plan is merely a dream. . .
Soon, the dark night seemed to fade. . . No No, not magic, our agile knight simply stood until morning. Watching the walls of the city, perhaps a hired blade to defend the walls? But why one? No king would hire one blade to protect a city. . . Nor did he have the coin to have been as such. But as time went, he moved. – Some say unnaturally, some say it was like he was dancing. . . While the truth was nothing.
A loud sound could be heard, the cutting of the wind, and then the clashing of steel. – A shadow moved itself, a strong Rapier of shadows seemed to make itself into reality as he attempted to pierce at our young man. Yet its hope fell as in one dance-like move his glaive moved, its blade deflecting the pointed rapier. His agility was something else. – No wonder people thought of him like a monster without even seeing him fully, perhaps he was. That is not something we would know. . .
Another clash of steel followed, the glaive slamming itself against the steel armor of the shadow, cutting through it cleanly. Revealing a crystal-like core at its middle. – Time wasn't enough, as the shadows' armor regenerated, remade itself in mere moments. Its body moved like a thrown dagger, attempting to pierce the man. And so it did, its blade slightly piercing the man, blemishing his porcelain skin. Yet his expression remained calm, almost like pain was nothing uncommon. . . Yet one thing was special, he did not bleed. No no, blood was there, yet it refused to spill. – Perhaps to spite whatever creature this Shadow was? A grim came from the porcelain dolls lips, his hands moving swiftly. Clenching the blade he flipped it, his body flipping in a dance like manner. What was this style of fighting? A dance of emotion, perhaps a wish of expression. – Yet one thing was for sure.
The blade cut the air like a pair of wings moving faster than a plane. His blade aimed for a gap in the shoulder plate of the shadow, hitting it like a thunder as his blade slashed, leaving a deep cut as he moved it further down, right onto where the heart was supposed to be. — The sound of metal hitting stone could be heard. As the shadowy crystal broke into pieces. The shadows form falling into pieces of smoke as the wind took them.
On the ground remained two things. The porcelain man, whose wound already began to unnaturally heal. And a shining white gem on the ground, perhaps a star who was now cleansed. — But who are we to judge what such purity could be? In the face of stars. We are nothing.