[GRAVEFIRE] Skull, the Knight

Skull begins at the Garden of Thorns.

Before the grave fire, the warriors of Motonia were known across Ekothis. Zebathen had wealth, technology, and alchemy, but Motonia was a kingdom built on the image of heroes.

The Knight was the greatest of those warriors. Stories of his early life describe humble origins and exceptional skill with a blade. He entered the Seven Rings of Death in the Colosseum and won, becoming the first champion since Isenbardus. His victory carried him into the armies of Motonia.

Over the following years, he rose to command Motonia's forces as the kingdom pushed deeper into the mainland. His sword turned aside armies from Zebathen and beyond. His presence on the battlefield was enough to make Motonian soldiers stand, fight, and refuse to give ground.

In the years he served, Motonia remained one of the supreme powers in Ekothis. Its legions moved under his command with unmatched confidence.

But the Knight grew tired of war. He began to believe that true mastery of the sword would not come from battle after battle fought under orders from kings and generals. Conquering others was not mastery. Conquering himself was.

He remembered the Seven Rings, when he had no soldiers, no allies, and no command. Every fight was immediate. Every victory taught him something. If he wanted to surpass himself, he had to walk away from rank, land, title, and glory.

So he retired from the Grand Army of Motonia and chose obscurity. He moved to a poor cottage near the broad plains around Alnore, far from the castle he once lived in as general. He farmed, trained, meditated, and learned the balance of body and soul that even great warriors rarely find.

When bandits or wild beasts threatened the settlements, he still appeared. He destroyed them before they could claim a single victim. Among common people, his legend grew even larger than it had among the generals and aristocrats of Alnore.

None of that mattered when the Grave Fire came.

He saw it on the horizon while working his small farm. It devoured grass, trees, rocks, and streams as it rushed toward him. The Knight knew there was no escape. He met death calmly, as someone who had passed close to it a thousand times.

But death was not what the fire had in store for him.

From the burned stones and timbers of his cottage, a form pulled itself to the surface: bone, parchment-dry skin, and empty sockets where eyes had been. The Knight was gone, but something remained.

Skeletal hands opened the floorboards of the old hut and found the bundle he had buried when he first came there. Inside was his sword, the blade that had seen a thousand battles. It burst into blue radiance as his fingers closed around it.

Azure flames ignited in his dead eyes. He could see twisted, monstrous shapes breaking through the ground nearby. He could hear their howls on the wind, promising death and destruction.

It was another war, but this time he would fight alone. Each victory would carry him closer to the mastery he had once sought in silence.

The Skull Knight raised his burning sword and went forth to fight once more.