The fire crackled between us, its glow illuminating the silver epaulets on the old knight's shoulders—twin wolves encircled by seven miniature swords, their edges worn smooth from decades of service. Even in the dim light, I recognized the markings of a second-in-command, if not a champion, of what I could only assume was a first-rate order—or at the very least, high second-rate.
"You've got keen eyes, boy," the older man remarked. His appearance was striking yet unremarkable—a man who looked fifty, but with a gaze so deep I wouldn't be surprised if he were decades older. His voice carried the rough texture of aged whiskey, smoothed by years of command. "Most apprentices don't study military insignia."
I swallowed hard. "M-may I know your name, sir?"
He chuckled. "You pretend to be a fool, but your eyes are those of a scholar. A smart way to live, child. But isn't it improper to ask for a knight's name before introducing yourself, *butcher boy*?"
My breath hitched. *How—?*
"Your hands," he continued, nodding at them. "Some might mistake those calluses and scars for sword training, but those are a butcher's hands."
*He deduced who I was just from that? Who* is *this old codger?*
"You just thought something rude, kid," he said, his mustache twitching.
I gulped. "M-ma—my name is Mark." *Lie.*
"Um, Brad." *Lie.*
"David." *Half-truth.*
He sighed. "Alex?"
"Hmm. Truth, but not full. Alexander?"
"Good name. Quite noble. Not ideal in this world—stick with Alex."
*Damn this old man. He made me say it.*
"Well then, young Alex, what are you doing on the road to the capital?"
"To awaken." *Half-truth.*
"And you, sir?"
He squinted at me. "My name is Gerald of the Arch."
I frowned. *Why is he staring at me like that?*
"A boy who is too informed yet ignorant of things that truly matter," he mused. "Quite interesting."
"What does that mean?"
"Hmm. It means what it should—nothing less, nothing more."
*Damn this cryptic old man.*
I glanced at his epaulets again. He noticed.
"I am of the Eclipse Order, under the command of my liege, Richter von Valor, the Third Marquis of Meyer City." He sighed. "But to think we would fall from a venerated order to glorified city guards. Now they send me to the capital to judge a tournament."
The casual revelation about his role as a tournament judge caught me off guard. Before I could respond, a woman's scream shattered the night.
Gerald moved like a storm given form. One moment he was seated by the fire; the next, his crimson cloak billowed as he charged into the darkness. I scrambled after him, my ribs protesting with every step.
We found them near the road—a merchant's wife clutching her child, three bandits circling them like wolves. The largest grinned, revealing rotted teeth. "Well now, what do we have—"
Gerald's sword removed the man's head before he finished speaking. The second bandit barely had time to raise his rusty blade before Gerald's pommel shattered his jaw. The third turned to flee.
"Please!" The remaining bandit fell to his knees. "Mercy, my lord! I was forced into this!"
Gerald's blade hovered at the man's throat. "How many widows have you made with that plea on your lips?" His voice was calm, almost conversational.
The bandit's eyes darted to me. "The boy! Surely in front of—"
"Look at him," Gerald commanded. "Really look."
As the bandit turned, I saw the merchant's wife mouth a silent warning. My blood turned to ice—a fourth bandit emerged from the bushes behind her, dagger raised.
Time slowed.
Every instinct screamed to run. But as the dagger descended toward the child, something in me broke—or perhaps awoke.
I unsheathed my sword with a clumsy jerk and lunged. The blade—cheap steel I'd bought with my last coins—sank into the bandit's side. He gasped, eyes wide with shock, as we collapsed together into the dirt.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Gerald's sword flashed, and the kneeling bandit joined his companions in death.
The merchant's wife sobbed, clutching her child. Gerald wiped his blade with mechanical precision before turning his gaze on me. I expected reproach for my sloppy technique, perhaps mockery for nearly getting myself killed.
Instead, he nodded—a single, solemn acknowledgment.
"You move like a drunkard with two left feet," he remarked, pulling his sword free from the bandit I'd stabbed. "But you stood when it mattered." He tossed me a cloth to clean my blade. "That's more than most manage their first time."
The merchant's wife pressed her forehead to the ground. "Thank you, my lords! The Eclipse Order's light still protects us!"
Gerald's face darkened as he helped her up. "The Eclipse is but a flicker of what it was, madam. Tend to your child." He turned away before she could see the pain in his eyes.
Back at camp, Gerald produced a flask engraved with the fading eclipse emblem. "We were the kingdom's shield once," he said, taking a long pull. "Now we're reduced to judging children's games." He offered me the flask. "Still. Today you saw what we used to be."
I drank, the liquor burning my throat. "Why pretend not to see that last bandit?"
His mustache twitched. "Had to know if you'd act when it counted." He took back the flask. "The tourney's a farce, but it gets me where I need to be—wherever innocents still need protecting."
"And if I'd run?"
"Then you'd have confirmed what I already suspected." He kicked dirt over the fire. "Sleep. Dawn comes early for men with purpose."
As I lay there, listening to Gerald polish his armor, I realized the truth—he hadn't just been testing my courage. He'd been showing me what remained of knightly honor in this fading world. The Eclipse Order might be diminished, but its light hadn't gone out entirely.
Not yet.