The name shattered the silence like a thunderclap.
"Rhys!"
Luca's voice echoed off the stone walls, cutting through the tension, slicing through the ghostly haze that blanketed the chamber.
The spirit knight froze mid-swing. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
His greatsword, once an extension of his wrath, now trembled in his grasp. The aura of death that cloaked him flickered, like a candle caught in a sudden draft.
His gauntleted hands shook.
And for the first time since the battle began, he spoke.
"...What did you say?"
The voice was spectral — distant, broken — as though dragged from the depths of memory. There was pain in it. Hope. Fear.
He lowered his sword slowly, almost unwillingly, as if fighting against instincts carved into centuries of torment.
The temperature in the chamber dropped, not with menace, but with a heavy sadness.
"Who... are you?"
His eyes, glowing faintly through the visor, widened — and for the briefest of moments, tears shimmered at the edges. A spirit with no flesh, and yet, sorrow carved its mark across his ghostly presence.
Luca stood frozen, chest heaving, sword still in hand.
What... just happened?
He hadn't thought. He hadn't planned.
The name had leapt from his lips like it had always been meant to.
Rhys.
That boy. The frail child in the knight's memory. His son.
But how could he explain that?
That he had seen it all?
That he had lived another man's final regrets?
The knight stepped forward, slowly. Not with aggression now, but with desperation.
"You know him... don't you? My son. Rhys... is he well? Has he grown?"
His voice cracked, no longer a warrior's tone, but a father's plea.
"Tell me. Please. Does he still smile? Did he beat the sickness?"
Luca's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
He didn't know.
He didn't have the answers this man so desperately sought.
Panic rose like bile in his throat.
How do I answer that?
He's asking about a boy who's been dead for gods know how long.
Or maybe not. Maybe...
He didn't know.
"I... I don't..."
His words fumbled, tangled in shock and uncertainty.
The knight leaned closer, eyes burning with hope too painful to bear.
"You must know. You spoke his name. How do you know Rhys?"
Luca took a step back.
He felt like a liar.
Like a thief caught in the middle of a memory that wasn't his.
The knight's breath — if it could be called that — hitched.
He clutched the hilt of his sword like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
"Answer me... please. I need to know."
The chamber was no longer a battleground.
It was a tomb of longing.
And Luca stood at its heart, trapped between truth and mercy.
His thoughts raced.
If I tell him the truth — that I saw it in some kind of vision, that his son is long gone — would it break him?
Would he strike me down in rage? Would I even survive?
...No. I can't.
Not now.
So Luca took a breath, steadying his nerves.
And he lied.
"Yes," he said, voice quiet, trembling. "He's alive. He's... well."
The knight stared, frozen.
Luca swallowed. "A wandering priest found him. Helped him recover. He's... he's able to run again. Smile."
He forced the words out like splinters. "He... he was looking for you. Hoping to see his father again."
For a long moment, there was only silence.
Then the knight dropped to one knee.
A sob escaped him — raw, heavy — echoing through the stone chamber.
He wept. Truly wept.
Tears fell from eyes long devoid of life.
"Thank the stars... thank the stars," he whispered. "He's alive... he's safe..."
Luca watched, guilt heavy in his gut. He couldn't look away.
The knight looked up, face filled with overwhelming gratitude.
"Thank you. Thank you for telling me. For carrying his voice to me."
Luca could only nod.
The knight stepped closer.
"What's he like now? Does he still chase birds in the orchard?"
Luca hesitated, then nodded. "He does. He says... he still remembers the stories you told him. About the stars. About knights."
The knight closed his eyes. "That boy always dreamed of becoming a knight. Always held his wooden sword like it weighed the world."
Silence settled again.
But this time, it wasn't painful.
It was peaceful.
After a while, the knight straightened.
"You've given me peace I thought I'd never know."
Luca finally asked, cautiously, "Then... may I take the elixir?"
The knight's eyes locked onto him again. Serious now. Stern.
"No."
Luca blinked. "But—"
"You have done much. But the elixir is not something I can give freely. It is a gift I died protecting. A legacy. A promise. To claim it, you must be worthy."
His eyes softened slightly. "And yet... you brought me news of Rhys. You brought me peace. That alone is more than any other has done. So we will settle it this way."
He raised his greatsword slowly.
"Survive ten of my strikes. If you can endure that... then you are worthy."
Luca tightened his grip on his sword.
"Ten hits. Got it."
The knight nodded.
The silence before the storm returned.
Luca's thoughts churned as he shifted his stance. Ten moves... Can I do it?
Before... maybe not. But now — after experiencing the knight's memories, even briefly — something had changed. That vision… that life... it hadn't just been a dream. It had seeped into him. Not fully, not completely, but enough.
There's a chance. I can do this.
The knight raised his sword.
And lunged.
Strike One.
A downward slash. Luca dove to the side, rolling across the cold floor. The blade slammed into stone where he'd just stood, sending cracks spiderwebbing outward.
Too close.
Strike Two.
A wide arc. Luca brought up his sword to parry. The impact rattled through his bones, but he held steady.
Clang.
The knight stepped back and moved again.
Strike Three.
A thrust — direct and fast. Luca sidestepped, the tip grazing his side and tearing fabric, but no blood.
He hissed. Can't take many like that.
Strike Four.
The knight spun, bringing his blade around in a tight circle. Luca ducked just in time, feeling wind rush over his scalp.
Faster now…
Strike Five.
A feint — high then low. Luca almost took the bait, but shifted his weight back and hopped over the lower sweep.
His ankle twisted as he landed, but he grit his teeth and steadied himself.
Strike Six.
Luca countered.
It wasn't part of the deal — but he moved, instinct taking over. His blade lashed out.
The knight blocked, effortlessly.
Their eyes met.
A flicker of approval in the spirit's gaze.
Strike Seven.
Overhead slam. Luca used both arms to block. The force dropped him to one knee, but he didn't break.
Sweat poured down his face.
His muscles screamed.
Strike Eight.
Another thrust, this time with a twist. Luca twisted, too, guiding the blow past him with his blade. Sparks danced between steel.
He was panting now, chest heaving.
Almost…
Strike Nine.
The knight spun once more, coming from an impossible angle. Luca stumbled back, arms flailing — barely avoided being decapitated.
He fell. Rolled. Got back up.
Just one more.
Strike Ten.
The knight charged.
Luca stood his ground.
The greatsword came crashing down.
And Luca moved.
He didn't just dodge.
He stepped forward — heart pounding — and drove his sword forward.
The knight could have evaded.
But he didn't.
The blade plunged into the spirit's chest.
Luca's eyes widened.
The strike wasn't meant to hit.
He'd only meant to prove he could stand.
The knight... let it happen.
"Why...?" Luca whispered, voice cracking, tears rising in his eyes. "You could've dodged. Why didn't you?"
The spirit said nothing.
He only smiled — soft, peaceful, proud.
Golden light began to spill from the wound.
His form flickered, faint traces of gold drifting from the edges of his armor like dust in sunlight.
Then — his voice, gentle:
"Because I chose to."
He looked down at Luca, his ghostly face calm.
"I knew you lied."
Luca froze.
"I don't know why you did," the knight continued, tears forming anew in his fading eyes, "but... thank you. For those words. For letting me imagine, just once more, that he smiled again. That he waited. That I wasn't forgotten."
The golden light swelled.
His armor cracked — gently, like porcelain — revealing light beneath.
"Thank you... for letting me hear my son's name again."
His voice, at last, sounded at peace.
The knight closed his eyes.
And then, slowly, his form broke apart — golden particles lifting into the air, weightless, rising like stars.
The sword fell from his grip and clattered to the ground beside the elixir.
He was gone.
And with him — the sorrow that had haunted this place for so long.
Luca sank to his knees.
The chamber was quiet now.
But something about it felt... warmer.
Softer.
"Where sorrow once lingered, silence now whispered peace."
[To be continued...]