Imprisoned in armor within a fantasy world

Butler Kilver gazed out of the windows, awaiting the guard's report, but his eyes fell upon the town below the hill. With several days passing since the reckless attack, the town began to return to its usual vibrant atmosphere. The departed had found stability again, reconstructing the buildings destroyed. They were on their way to physical recovery... what about their spiritual well-being? Some still needed time to come to terms with the departure of their loved ones and offer prayers for those they lost.

He shifted his gaze from the town to the distant horizon, specifically towards one of the three emirates where he knew a fierce battle was taking place.

Indeed, despite his unwavering trust in Lord Gawain, a hint of doubt had managed to creep in during previous battles, or at the very least, However, the swiftness with which Lord Gawain turned the tide against the three emirates left him slightly surprised. He couldn't recall witnessing such fervor in his lord during a battle, especially since signs of aging had appeared on his body.

Suddenly, he heard a knocking on the door, causing him to abandon his thoughts and return to the recent predicament. "Come in," he declared.

The door opened, and in walked the castle's keeper with a pleasant smile adorning his face. Kilver returned the gesture with a polite smile, tinged with a hint of amusement. "Aldo, have you acquired the information?"

"Gathering information from the locals was easy; they were cooperative, even the soldiers among them. However, extracting information from the enemy soldier was not as straightforward," Aldo replied.

Kilver nodded, signaling Aldo to continue. "Most of the locals mentioned that the individual was a skilled armed combatant. He swiftly took them down without exchanging any words, and we're unsure if he could communicate at all. However, our soldier provided conflicting details. He stated that the individual wasn't armed and wasn't exceptionally skilled – this means either the soldier is lying, or the time gaps between each encounter were too long, which seems unlikely. While it's possible to explain the individual possessing weapons in some instances and not in others, the significant discrepancy in skill cannot be easily explained, especially when the information comes from two different experienced sources."

After expressing gratitude for his efforts, Kilver gestured for him to leave, while he remained standing in the middle of the hall, taking a few moments to organize his thoughts. He then moved towards the place where the mercenary guests were waiting to extract information from them.

On his way, he encountered Khalid, who was taking the same path. "I'm glad I'm not the one in need of questioning," Khalid remarked.

Kilver turned his gaze playfully as he said, "Both of us know you'll involve yourself in the matter sooner or later."

"Indeed. But regardless, what information did you gather?" Khalid inquired with a tone of curiosity in his voice.

Kilver sighed while giving Khalid an overview of the situation. When he finished, Khalid chimed in, "You know, when I first chased after him, he ran like a newborn, barely knowing how to walk. But after a few steps, his movements became more balanced and agile. From what I know, I think he's not accustomed to his own body, so with time and experience, he'll regain his expertise or control over it. I'm not sure, but I think the same thing happened to him in combat."

Kilver nodded, acknowledging Khalid's insights, and added the information to his existing knowledge, which he would later share with Lord Gawain when consolidating all the gathered data.

As he approached the guest chamber, he bid farewell to his companion. "Farewell, I have guests to welcome."

"And I have a back to rest, goodnight," Khalid replied.

In Lord Gawain's office, he sat attentively, listening to the information provided by his butler.

"...Besides that, the mercenaries mentioned that during their fight against the living armor, they felt as though the armor anticipated their attacks on occasion. It was able to dodge some seemingly impossible strikes. While his strength wasn't particularly impressive, his agility and evasion skills were intriguing. They mentioned that they were initially testing him, trying to avoid any surprises until he opted for a suicidal attack, as if fleeing from someone, which led to him losing his hand, now resting on your desk. If I may interject, I believe his ability to anticipate wasn't solely employed with the mercenaries' group, but from the very beginning. However, it only became evident under the siege of multiple attacks."

After several taps of his finger, the Lord finally spoke, "What do you think of this intruder?"

"I believe it is a sentient soul, not an artificial construct. There seem to be no bones inside the armor, in addition to its combat abilities. It at least remembers, even if instinctively, its past life, and such traits are not common among artificial souls. Therefore, I say it is a warrior's soul, bound to the armor to remain in existence, or perhaps several integrated souls. Of course, there are other hypotheses, but I find this one to be the most plausible."

The Lord furrowed his brows, saying, "So, you suggest that there's a wandering soul, without a place or anything to inhabit except my belongings... That doesn't bode well. However, I have another hypothesis. I believe it could be one of the Aetherforgers."

"Forgive me, sir, but I think that's a difficult assumption to verify," Kilver interjected.

"But it's not impossible," the Lord responded as he stood and walked toward the bookshelf on the right side of his office. Kilver continued to defend his point, "But Aetherforgers abhor tampering with life, and their nature prevents them from leaving any trace after death."

The Lord ran his fingers over the books on the shelf until he settled on a thick tome, pulling it out and placing it on the desk. He began flipping through the pages while saying, "You're right, it may not be their nature, but the absence of contrary evidence doesn't rule out the possibility."

As he turned the pages, he came across an illustration of an armored figure, concealing every detail except for the hand grasping a tribal spear resembling a long icicle. Among the armor's plates, smoke-like wisps created a semi-humanoid image hovering around the armored character.

The Lord spoke in a contemplative tone, as if he was thinking aloud, "The soul cannot control a heavy body like the armor or manipulate it; they can barely have minimal impact on the physical world. Thus, being composed of spirits is closer to the truth. However, this also poses a problem; spirit gatherings lack intelligence in their actions, unlike this armor that remained concealed and chose the opportune moment to escape. Add to that his smart choices in the battlefield." He pointed with his finger to the drawing on the folder ""The Aetherforgers are known for possessing stronger spirits due to selective breeding, which grants them greater power and vitality. Most importantly, their ability to materialize their spirits physically aligns with what the soldiers witnessed in the armor. Of course, this hypothesis is not without its problems, as Aetherforgers are known to be unable to leave any trace after death, preventing any form of life to persist after their passing," The Lord fell silent for a moment before taking his seat. "This leaves us with two possibilities: either one of the Aetherforgers managed to eliminate this characteristic within themselves, or there is someone who possesses a powerful spirit on par with the Aetherforgers but is not one of them."

This time, Kelver spoke after sensing his master's silence. "And neither of the assumptions is in our favor," he said.

The room fell into a deep silence as both the Butler and the master immersed themselves in their thoughts.

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Under the moonlight, on the riverbank, lay a metallic helmet and some pieces of armor quietly. Two glowing flames emanated from the helmet's visor, and a gentle fire spread from its neck towards the other scattered pieces. They crept silently until they formed an incomplete suit of armor, which stood slowly.

This armor lacked the left knee guard, the left foot, the left glove, and most notably, the right hand was incomplete.

He looked at his missing parts with tension, then gazed at the moon and towards the river from where he came. He began searching for his missing parts until he finally found the rest of them, except for his right hand. Even his long sword and short sword with the belt were there, and the money bags were loaded. Although he found a missing bag, all of this did not ease his tension as he continued searching for his right hand. Finally, he surrendered to the search and stood near the river, casting a glance at the place where his hand once was. In the end, he let out a dry laugh, saying, "A sacrifice for freedom." He looked towards the forest before continuing, "I believe it's a price worth paying." But anyone who heard him could detect a tone of deprivation and denial in his voice.

After a few minutes of contemplation in his place, he moved his feet and headed deeper into the forest, following no specific direction, only letting his feet guide him towards the unknown...

Beneath the moon's soft, silvery gleam,

A man walks on, lost in a dream,

Amidst the woods, he finds his peace,

His heart's release, a bittersweet release.

He breathes the air of freedom's grace,

Yet shadows cast, a somber embrace,

A price he paid, a burden carried,

In moonlit solitude, he's buried.

The stars above reflect his plight,

A soul unchained, yet wrapped in night,

In search of solace, he roams alone,

His heart aches for the joys unknown.

Beneath the moon, he finds his way,

A journey's path, both bright and gray,

The weight he bears, a silent cry,

Under the moonlight, he wonders why.

In the tranquil woods, he's free to roam,

Yet in his heart, a yearning grown,

For all he gained, a part was lost,

Under the moonlight, dreams exhaust.

In the stillness of the night,

A man walks on, his spirit's flight,

He's free, yet yearning to be whole,

Under the moonlight, a searching soul.

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