In the heart of the tranquil Deya Woods, a young boy lived with his parents in a warm, quiet home nestled among the whispering trees.

  His days were simple, filled with laughter and stories by the fireplace. The nights, cool and still, wrapped them in peace, until that night.

  He woke not to a sound, but to a presence.

  In the dim flicker of moonlight through the window, he saw it, a dark beast, grotesque and hulking, crouched in their home.

  It fed with slow, deliberate movements. Its jaws worked wetly as it devoured something, someone.

  just beside it, his parents lay motionless in bed, untouched by the horror unfolding only feet away.

  The boy couldn’t scream. He couldn’t move. Fear had seized every thread of his being.

  Then, the creaking.

  The front door, once shut tight, creaked open slowly with an icy gust.

  Through the rising shadows stepped a knight, silhouetted by the moon. His armor was weathered, dull silver beneath a dark cloak.

  In his hand was a saber, but not like any he’d seen in the picture books his mother read to him.

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  his blade had no edge. It was blunt, rounded at the tip. It looked more like a weapon meant to disarm than to kill.

  Yet the air changed the moment the knight entered.

  And the beast goes silent.

  The world grew quiet, so quiet, his own breathing sounded distant, muffled, like he was sinking underwater.

  The boy’s vision trembled. Every instinct told him to run, but his legs refused.

  He was frozen, trapped in a moment stretched far too long.

  By the time he noticed, the knight was already there, standing right in front of him.

  He hadn’t heard the steps. He hadn’t seen the movement. One blink, and the knight was between him and the beast.

  With one fluid motion, the knight swung his blunt saber, the air whistling unnaturally from the weight and force behind it.

  The metal didn’t slice, but crashed into the beast’s hide like a thunderclap, sending the creature reeling. The floor cracked beneath the impact.

  Without a word, the knight turned and grabbed the boy, lifting him like a sack of feathers. And then, he threw him.

  The boy tumbled through the doorway, into the cold grass outside. He hit the earth hard, the wind knocked from his lungs.

  The last thing he saw as the door slammed shut behind him was the knight, stepping forward again, blade raised as the shadows inside writhed.

  And then came the screams, inhuman, furious, and impossibly loud.

  And then, silence.

  Not the stillness of peace, but the dead weight of aftermath. No more snarls. No more clashes of steel.

  Just the soft rustling of the trees, like the woods were exhaling again.

  The door creaked open.

  Smoke and shadow drifted from the frame, and through it stepped the knight, now clearly visible under the moonlight.

  He was clad in full steel armor, not the bulky kind worn by parade soldiers, but something refined, forged for movement and protection both.

  His presence was heavy, unshakable, yet controlled. His helmet masked his face entirely, expressionless but commanding. Not a single inch of skin was visible.

  And on the left of his breastplate, polished and unmistakable, was a crescent moon crest.

  Argaryx Corp.

  The boy didn’t know the name, but that symbol would be burned into his memory forever.

  The knight stepped toward him, slow and deliberate. The blunt saber, now dim with black ichor, hung low in his right hand.

  With his left, he reached up and pressed something to his ear, some kind of communicator.

  "Target neutralized," the knight said in a low, filtered voice. "One survivor."

  He paused, then looked down at the boy, still shaking, still too stunned to speak.

  "A child."