As commanded by divinity, there are very few crimes that can be forgiven. Intruding in the rightful domains of a king is not one of them. The forests are only his to rove, full of the forage and game that he may one day claim. The sight of these imprints in the earth… they insult everything I stand for. Time and time again, as I roam through these sacred woods, I see the traces of the ones who venture into them without sanction.

Once more, I follow the tracks, trustful blade in hand. They lead me to the tops of the mountain, where the wildlife has fallen silent. My eyes soon fixate on the foreign figure that treads the shadowed paths, and as I hide in the lush thickets, I examine those odd clothes, ones that a man of the lord would never don.

Heretics, outsiders, outlaws… None belong in these territories. How dare they stray into these states while their sire is lost in warfare? I can remember the fire, the blood, and the plight. Perhaps I was no longer worthy of fighting in those faraway realms, but I can still shield my motherland.

Once again, I raise my longsword and dash forth. Before the man can turn fully, I swing my blade into him, silencing his startled gasp. His odd robes are stained quickly in red, the wound deep and precise. There are no screams, just a choked wheeze when he falls to the grassy ground. His final breaths are nothing like the tortured ones I once heard in battle.

I retrieve my sword and clean it expertly, looking down at my fallen enemy. He is not the first, and surely not the last. As the season grows warmer, more like him attempt to walk through the woods and up the hills. I can’t allow it.

After ensuring my foe won’t stand or rise, I crouch to rummage through the odd rucksack on his back. Inside I find strange utensils that would have surely been used to taint the land of my liege. One of the trinkets has a blade; the way in which it can fold back to conceal itself is proof enough of the invaders’ cunningness.

I can’t let the corpse stay in the path. Knowing better than to leave it for the wolves to find, I drag it away towards my humble retreat. It stands in shambles by a secluded hill, yet it can still serve a purpose. Far too many things have changed and wasted away in my absence.

The sun paints the woodlands in a reddish hue by the time I reach my broken-down alcove. Although this man was an apostate and criminal, I grant him a burial. I suffer a strong headache while entombing some of his belongings, but the task must be fulfilled to completion.

Like the many nights before it, I rest in the small porch that crowns the home I was granted long ago. My worn tired gaze admires the woods and the paths that traverse them. The horizon is not visible from my height, for the trees loom higher than the highest of towers.

Still… I do hear it. There is a strange rumble in the far distance, as usual. It never forebodes tranquility. Knowing what it announces, I rise and grasp my blade again. Another intruder dares venture, this time in the middle of the night. Another oddity.

The woods are my home, even if they belong to my vanished ruler. I know how to cross the lush terrain better than anyone. However, this time, I do not manage to strike unseen. The man did not roam into the paths with the same impudence and indifference. There is caution, apprehension in his wary expression.

I am seen when I attempt to draw closer past some bushes. The man gasps like many others, with the same surprised fear, but he displays more combativeness in his reaction. I bolt and lunge, swinging my blade just as he reaches for something hanging from his belt.

The blade does sink due to my fierce plunge, but I see white for a second just after. Blinded, I stumble back, letting go. My ears ring painfully, yet it’s nothing when compared to the intense ache that begins to surge from my shoulder.

I dread falling to my knees and allowing my foe another strike, but that’s all I can do. My hand clutches the wound strongly, yet it fails miserably to stop the bleeding. While red droplets fall to the earth, I realize dazedly that the man has not moved again after the flash.

Panting, I stare at his shuddering figure on the path. My sword is still piercing his neck; the burst and pain prevented me from delivering a clean decapitation. No matter, the wound has incapacitated him fully. He is alive, but not for long.

I stand with a groan, limping closer. My glare is far more judging this time. He is clutching what had caused the flash and ache in my shoulder, what he grasped and pointed an instant before I swung. There is some resistance from his fingers when I try to take it. A choked wheeze escapes him once I yank it away into my hold. A headache comes again when I examine the oddly familiar object in my hands; I am fast to drop it to the ground with a hiss.

More flashes in my mind. Red and bright loud roars. The shadows of many soaring dragons assault my memories while the man draws his last breath. Screams, pain, and blurred figures. Men wielding loud ranged weaponry. I try to discern those features again, yet I only manage to see and recall the fire.

I am unable to determine how much time passes until I manage to escape those reflections. The moonlight still pierces the branches above when I shake my head with a trembling sigh. It haunts me that the blood by my feet is dry.

Like all times before, I attempt to display my devoted conviction, but I waver slightly while I step closer again. The man dresses even more strangely than the other wanderers. A shiny medal adorns his attire. None like him had stepped into the woods until now. However, after so many failed incursions, perhaps it was time those fiends sent a better combatant.

That accursed weapon is the first thing I cast aside. For his dishonorable affront, I push his body into a nearby ditch, for the bottomless forest to deal with. I then begin to limp towards my house, remembering the bandages behind a small openable mirror.

It takes far too long to get there. To my horror, I realize I seemed to forget to wear my armor in my hurry. I could have sworn I had donned it, as always. There’s… surely, an armory in my alcove; a knight like me must keep many weapons and shields. The flash pierced right into my shoulder. Why did I not wear any of my armors?

The walls of the villa soon greet me behind the solitary pathway. The paint and bricks keep falling more with each day that passes, forgotten for years in disrepair. I can’t bear to pull it all back together with the thought of dangerous strangers lurking in the distance. All that my eyes can see is the forests lighting aflame, like those deserts.

I stand between the graves I dug around my cottage, gazing down at the forests again. In the far distance, through the lush branches and leaves, I see light. It is not moonlight, but faint flashing red and blue. The headache comes again, bringing a painful familiarity into my mind.