For as long as he could remember, Dillon Zulfaqar aspired to be one of those metal-clad warriors- Embodying bravery on the battlefield, wearing their family's crest proudly. Akin to his father before him, a high-ranking guild knight their country looked up to. Each week, the sound of heavy horse galloping indicated father had returned, with plenty goods to fill their home and plenty stories to tell. Each time, Dillon sat comfortably at the hearth, intently listening to whatever adventures father had experienced. Then Dillon aided father in taking care of Remus, by brushing his hair and feeding him a carrot. Once the young boy was ample with a dagger, he was gifted a proper weapon- Alongside an invitation to experience it all with his old man.

Thus, a new rookie joined the ranks at the age of 16, with a fresh glint in his eyes and ready to quest.

In time, they aided civilians in need, slayed monstrous beasts, ran royal errands, all the while wearing their crests proudly. A squire of the same blood, father and son became a familiar duo around the guild. It wasn't long until he too got his own steed, which Dillon promptly named Romulus, befitting a sibling to Remus. As Dillon climbed up the ranks, his father cheered him on, who was by then one of the guild's senior leaders. Even when father's voice became hoarse and his bones started creaking, Dillon knew his old man would stand until his very last breath- Except, that was the idealised image he'd held of him for so long.

Something inevitably changed, once mother passed.

Instead of them all returning home, it became solely Dillon and his trusty steed. Spotting father at the bar was quite easy, as Remus always caused a ruckus outside after a few hours. Dragging back father's horse wasn't as much as a problem, compared to father himself- His old man clearly was beside himself, which Dillon understood plenty.. For a time, at least. The glint once in his father's eyes no longer found, Dillon tried to reach out. When one way didn't work, the son would try a different approach, then an alternative, then another, so on and so forth.

It was not he who inspired Dillon anymore- In fact, it was now the son desperately trying for his father to come to his senses. Quests they once succeeded with pride together, all efforts now pushed by solely the son. Taking care of their duties rightfully together, instead solely covered by the son. Looking after their aging equines, once more that befell solely to the son. The old man he once looked up to so much, for his endless courage and kindness, was reduced to a mourning loss.

For years the son tried and tried, never getting through to his father as he once did.

It drove a wedge between them, to the point Dillon could've let his old man left to rot for all he cared.

To be always met with absence in return, with no improvement in sight, was a nigh impossible reality to accept.

Thus, the son left with their two horses for greener pastures.

— GREENER PASTURES —

Starting over elsewhere wasn't as difficult as Dillon thought it'd be- Let alone having your own place and being fully independent. Taught many skills over the years by both his parents, it frankly befell him without much issue- Practically, that is. Mentally, the son still had growing up to do, for he couldn't help but control the reigns where possible- A skill he adapted to, especially once mother was out of the picture. Taking a breather, sitting back and allowing others to pull some weights, felt oddly alien.

Luckily enough, this new guild he'd signed up with, had many more quests befitting two or more adventurers. From a father's boy, to lone errand runner, to a 50/50 team player, Dillon would adapt once more. Climbing the ranks of this guild came easier, as the knight had plenty finesse. Ensuring both his horses got enough care, Dillon put the two on essentially a rotation- Eventually, Remus was gifted to his most trusted guildmate is there a name, and a sense of balance thankfully befell his life again.

Once the knight had established himself in this locale, soon a letter arrived directly addressed to him. The scroll in his hands, stamped with a family crest he knew all too well- Sat at the hearth in the comfort of his own home- His hands shaking as he slowly unrolled it, his eyes swiftly glazing over the ink.

A plea for aid.. To look for missing Haevirndawn guild members.

Not even a greeting, a pleasantry, an anything but this- The son ought to burn it and pay it no heed, but didn't. He knew how important the guild was to his father.. In his glory days, at least. Thus he sat there, contemplating for a while. Perhaps a day or two. It wasn't as if they needed his help specifically, though it was peculiar to be asked personally by his father nonetheless- Odd more so, as soon after, some members from Dillon's current guild had gone missing, too. The higher-ups were running amok and failing to keep the unrest at bay. Letters stamped with emblems from other guilds started piling up, and it was easy to guess what they were about.

The knight supposed he could look into this issue- He was only doing this to figure out the ongoings and accompanying solutions. More so for his missing guildmates, as well as friends, folk he'd grown to care about. Not that a tiny smidge of him missed the olden guild and its glory days- Not that he was secretly hoping to make amends with his estranged father- No, not at all. In that regard, unfortunately he was the avoidant type, much like his old man. Perhaps he did take much after his father still, even after all these years.

Saddling Romulus, the knight guided his horse down a path he hadn't treaded, nor thought of, for a while.

— END OF DAWN —

The first time he saw his father again, he witnessed from an audience, as his old man spoke to all. He spoke of missing folk, civilian panic and an uprising in supernatural surges- Which meant the prospect wasn't stellar. More members than thought had disappeared, alongside regular civilians. Next to his father, stood the other leaders of the guild. One of them handing out flyers, another answering questions, another failingly quieting the many, many, many concerned voices.

Several search parties set up, Dillon was assigned in a group separate from his father- No chance was given to catch up for even a minute, as his was sent out after another had returned. Scouring the surrounding marshes, forests, towns- And there still was little to no time to catch up, nor any findings. It stayed stagnant like this for several days, until the 5th one came rolling around.

Fruitless results and little encounters predicted, the underestimation in itself practically felt like a joke.

It was akin to a nightmare.

Dillon, alongside four other knaves and about 50 civilians, ambushed- Except his group wasn't the only one. Slicing his way through monstrous entities- No, demons- Most of them slain in retaliation. The knight felt an odd surge of defeat, realising they'd lost many folk as well. In his time of questing, he'd never seen this many casualties- And that amount kept breaking its own record over and over again in the days following suit. It was as if his armour had gotten a reddish copper tint, by the time the 72nd hour had passed.

Extreme efforts were taken haphazardly, yet it still didn't feel enough- Barricades built around settlements, food ran low on stock, healers worked away day and night- Little time spared, when Dillon did have a moment to finally speak to his father, it was nothing but knowing looks shared. Neither of them were much for talking, let alone about their personal issues- Though all that was pathetically small compared to the event at hand. Knights like himself and his father, constantly kept watch or fought off the demonic forces. It was as if the entire wilds was overrun by them, with even the fabled Gryphites lending their aid in this disaster, this crisis, this- There were no proper words to describe it, he found, whatever this so-called End Of Dawn was.

A dozen of knights, his father and himself included, guarded a nearby town for one night. Floods of demons thankfully had lessened as the weeks slowly ticked by, yet they remained wary. Most groups fared alright against such attacks, as long as the majority remained creatures small in stature- Though a terrible feeling sunk into Dillon's stomach, when a loud roar rung into his ears, followed by falling trees and a shaking earth coming closer. Birds, squirrels and other wildlife, consumed by the flames spreading throughout.

"Get ready", his father sternly told him, his tone reminescent of an idol he hadn't seen in ages.

Nodding in response, the son tightly gripped his weapon. Others' stances and spells swiftly followed. The typical, eerie quiet washed over him, as everyone's breathing became one, focusing on the giant monstrosity approaching. The second the falling trees met with the meadow in front, all hell broke loose once more. A demon the height of the forest itself tore through, with smaller entities swarming around it as one. The night clad with all sorts of colours, most of it was red, red, red.. Until he was certain it couldn't ever be washed out of his armour.

The knight tore his blade around at a speed unmatched, slicing through the fodder as if air.

Times like these, Dillon wished he'd said more, reached out more, done more.

As quick as it'd started, it was over.

— POST SCRIPTUM —

"IN LOVING MEMORY OF SIR DARIO ZULFAQAR. HUSBAND. FATHER. ESTEEMED KNIGHT."

The son didn't remember picking that epitaph. It sounded so..

Generic.

Bland.

Overused.

What drunken state was he in to possibly approve of this?

He wanted to yell, to kick, to squirm free of whatever prison had befallen him- Ultimately he gave up, swept the grime off his armour and let out a hollow sigh. His purpose was served, they won against the demons in a pyrrhic victory- Though it might as well have been a defeat. His father, his allies, even his guildmates had fallen. The news arrived practically immediately, once the skies cleared and peace returned as if it had never left.

Without a proper destination in mind for a purpose, the knight returned to his own abode to rot.

As if things could get any worse, his trusty steed, nowhere to be found- His carcass probably dined on by demons or wildlife. The knight might as well be at the bottom of the well, for he'd practically become a nobody overnight. It sure felt that way, when his house was inspected a week later, deemed unfit by a realtor- Had the overarching landowner died as well sometime last week? He wouldn't know, his tracking of time went into the gutter the moment his father fell- Dwelling upon all the things he could've, should've and would've said.

By the time he left his abode for the first and last time, those wretched 'unfit for tenants' signs had finally fallen over and become one with the earth. It was perhaps a month or two later by then, judging by the dust accumulated on the windows. Surprisingly, the realtor was the sole individual who came knocking on his door- No one else did, not even any of the higher-ups from his guild- It left a feeling that was as raw as bile. Had he truly stopped to exist to these folk, once his duty was done?

So the knight travelled aimlessly, staying beside himself and out of harm's way- His sword, still splattered from those events, trailing behind him. Anywhere he went, folk avoided him, whispered with neighbours, closed their doors, turned the other way on their cart. Was he truly one misbegotten soul to them?

He hadn't the faintest idea how much time had passed, when he found himself standing in front of a group of knights- Who, surprisingly enough, were actually acknowledging his existence. Several of them had their weapons out, their stances indicating nothing good. The grip on his bloody sword tightened, and something fierce started burning within him.

"Dhulfiqar", is what they called him now, apparently. What he once was known for, smeared with some new tale that bore no truth.

"Who are you and why do you seek me?" he responded angrily to their queries.

The group squabbled amongst themselves, giving one another knowing looks- And then suddenly attacked. Before he realised, he moved as if one with the wind, dodging incoming sweeps and returning gashes that hit plenty harder. It was as if he was the embodiment of fierce, furious revenge, his blade meeting once more with the-

"Hang on a bit!" a voice rang- Everyone around him, as well as himself, stopped in their tracks as they were slowly levitating. One of the knights, the one wielding the magic, walked over to him- Then proceeded to knock on his armour with their gauntlet- A few loud clangs, as if they were listening for something in particular.

"Okay. Yeah. That makes a lot of sense, actually", said knight concluded. "This guy's dead. His spirit's controlling the armour."

— POST-MORTEM —

He had died.

During the End Of Dawn.

Too vengeful to properly pass on, his spirit remained tied to his armour, by that extent this plane.

All puzzle pieces were falling into place. Bits and pieces of his memory flooded back. After the initial round of enchantments, Syrinq ensured him he'd finally stop leaving a trail as if he were eternally bleeding- Though, washing the stains off his armour and the burgundy off his cloth, might be nigh impossible with mere water and soap. He shrugged it off, there was something oddly comforting about the colour.

After the second, his gear shone a tad brighter, and felt all the more powerful. For the situations to come, as his fate tied to his armour had already been sealed. Dill- No, Dhulfiqar, then looked good as new. The knight held helmet in one hand, sword the other, as he plunged the latter into his chest cavity. It slot in place perfectly, for now his innards had plenty space for storage.

After the final and strongest enchantment, it all flooded back at once as if a tsunami. The curse that bound him to his armour, somewhat amended, turning it into a source of magic instead of imprisonment. A sense of grief befell him, when he looked to the right of his father's gravestone- The dirt he ploughed to its sides still there, the casket burning in the open air with unrecognisable remains- It was his.

Standing beside him were the knights he initially encountered, with whom he'd somewhat formed a bond with these past few weeks- The group seemed incredibly tight-knit with one another, which was something he might've been jealous of, had he still had his full range of emotion.

"This is.. A good change", his voice echoed. "Thank you", quickly added, somewhat hesitantly.

"Can't leave a sentient spirit hanging for the life of me", Syrinq responded next to him. "I've got a brother with the same deal."

"That should conclude everything", the leader of the knight group, Trine, said then. He came forward, extending his hand. Dhulfiqar shook it, albeit lacking the grace of a corporeal body. "What will you do now?" Trine asked him.

Of what came next, Dhulfiqar wasn't entirely sure- He technically had no home, no goal, no anything with ties to his previous life. His passage of time, need for rest, longing for food and a plethora of experiences, were dimmed or outright thrown out the window. Yet, before him laid a clean slate, and Dhulfiqar intended to stain it.

Wielding his sword, blood splatters engraved into its blade, he held it out in front of Trine's squad and knelt.

"If you'll have me, I'd like to become part of your group", his voice lowly rumbled from within. "I have no more ties to my former life. I would like to use my renewed time here well, as I had previously."

Waiting for an answer felt akin to eternity, for some reason. Then a small clank was heard, followed by a quiet 'ow!' from Trine.

"You're supposed to knight him", another whispered rather loudly to him.

"Oh! Of course!" Trine scurried to handle Dhulfiqar's sword, then gently tipped the blade on both his pauldrons. "Yes, you may join us, Dhulfiqar. From this day on and forward, you shall be a knight like no other."

Dhulfiqar rose, returning a single nod in understanding. The knight thought to himself he'd find it well with these like-minded folk. Adventuring hadn't ended quite yet for him, and he was grateful to have the opportunity once more. Soon he was given his own quarters at their base, and he joined on their quests as if it were natural. For the first time since his death, a feeling of hope washed over him, looking forward to what else life had to offer. His old self thwarted, yet reborn anew.