The Misty Ruins - And The Lone Swordsman

And into this silence, he walked.

The sun never truly reached the Misty Ruins. It died in the canopy above, strangled by ancient, gnarled oaks whose roots had long since claimed the crumbling stonework. What light remained was a soft, perpetual twilight—a grey drizzle of luminescence that turned the world into a watercolour painting left out in the rain. the misty ruins and the lone swordsman

At the heart of the ruins, in the Throne Garden, he found what was left of his past. And into this silence, he walked

They did not fight for glory. They fought for a single, bitter reason: the swordsman had once been the General’s captain. He had watched the Citadel fall, and he had run. He had left his honor in these stones. What light remained was a soft, perpetual twilight—a

The Weeping General screamed—a sound of a thousand years collapsing.

Instead of parrying the General’s next strike, he stepped into it. The shadow-sword passed through his shoulder—cold, searing, but not fatal. In that breath of surprise, the swordsman drove his battered blade up through the General’s ribs, through the heart of the mist, and into the throne itself.

"You are late," the General said, its voice the sound of grinding stones. "The past does not forgive tardiness."