W
ith his home so far south in the mountains, Tristan had little reason to come back to this place. It held nothing but bitter memories from a time long passed, but not even the old stallion could ignore how beautiful the forests of Viride were. The trees and vegetation were lush with life given the hearty rains of spring, and not even the blistering heat of summer could sap this verdant wonder from this land.
Delumine had always been abundant with natural beauty… Perhaps that was why Sir Sophus had loved it so.
Yet despite the fact that he had little reason to return here, like clockwork Tristan inevitably always
did. With his slate blue cloak and mantle settled into place around his shoulders, the hood down to reveal his face, and the Genesis blade at his hip, the sooty buckskin ambled through the thickets like a tourist in a dream. He felt so adamantly
out of place, his old heart lurching as
something seemed strangely
different about these woods..
A greying ear tipped forward as he halted in his tracks to listen. The knight’s turquoise eyes scanned the area around him, seeing naught but trees and hearing nothing save the songs of birds overhead. Lips tilting downwards in a frown, he glanced to the right where Merlin ambled. The Wyvern was also at attention, eyes narrowed as he listened and scented the air, and with a flurry of movement did the black Wyvern leap from the mossy ground to rest upon Tristan’s broad back.
’I don’t like it,’ the Wyvern murmured mentally as he tucked his wings close to his smooth back,
’It… It smells like His magic.’
Immediately Tristan was on guard, the muscles in his body stiffening. His eyes burned hot with narrowed vehemence as he ducked his head, slowly beginning to pick his way through the forest once more with nimble yet quiet steps. The leisurely pace was gone, replaced now by one of a determined hunter.
Was there a chance that the Usurper’s magic remained, even over a hundred years later? It was
impossible. He had patrolled these lands through it
all, both
with the Omnium and
after the Order’s fall, through the Hundred Year Darkness that plagued Novus, and even
now. There had been no signs of the Usurper’s foul magic before, it was
impossible, and yet…
Yet…
Tristan pushed bodily through a dense collection of thickets and bramble, ignoring how it clung to his cloak and belts. The Knight stepped out into the small clearing and his eyes narrowed, the turquoise beginning to glow vibrant and hot as he mentally reached out for the sword at his hip yet refrained from drawing it. The Usurper was not there. The break in trees was empty, save for a crumpled ivory and silver form laying rather unceremoniously in the grass.
For a moment, Tristan thought they were dead simply because of how very wretchedly still they laid there in the grass… Yet it was only a single moment later that the figure hefted themself upright with notable caution and surveyed the land around them. Tristan rose a brow and took a step back, the burning hot glow from his eyes slowly fading to return to their normal turquoise.
The Usurper wasn’t there. Relief flooded the Knight like a crippling blow and he could feel his knees trembling, but he remained standing.
Clearing his throat, the old nag let out a rasping greeting. “Are you hurt, friend?”
