Imagine, if you would, a world of otherworldly magic and creatures, full of life of it's own along with life familiar. Within this world there stood a knight who trained long hours and even made their own blade and armor, this knight even outliving their own name and the kingdom they once served. They became, at the time, a legend and a story told by parents to their kids to scare them away from becoming a bandit.
This knight stood tall through thick and thin, but as with all things, they must come to an end, right? And so, woven by the threads of fate, a prophecy arose. The prophecy predicted that the unyielding knight will finally meet their end. The people of the world heard this prophecy that proved the fabled knight while also condemning them and at the end of a prophesy the promise that the one to end the knight will become a powerful knight themselves.
All had heard this prophecy, even the knight themself heard of it, but found it displeasing. The knight stood tall from an old lean to as they head out, seeking a place they once were before. Treading through forests as gales of winds blow against their journey and storms beat down on them like a monsoon. It seemed that the very world itself wanted to end them, storms and lightning as they go far.
As the knight continued they'd be ambushed by bandits and rogues seeking to claim the power of the fate for themselves, but the knight made easy work of each of them, refusing to let their fate be told. Further on rangers and archers attempted to take them down with a rain of arrows and crossbow bolts, but once more the knight was unstoppable.
Eventually so much word had spread where the knight was that a nearby king sought the power of the fate to rule his kingdom with an iron fist and thusly organized an entire army of knights, finding out where the knight was heading and readying his troops there to catch the knight. Finally, at last, the knight's journey seemed to be at an end as they spotted it, the castle keep which held the throne room of the kingdom they once served under, the only thing left in a large field where the castle once stood and the area outside of the castle which was a battleground once before.
And now the knight sees spread out across the once peaceful fields of the lost kingdom is countless other knights and soldiers organized by the king. The knight slowly raises his blade as the hoards of soldiers gaze on in awe at the legend before a commander gives the call to charge. There's a roar of battle cries as the soldiers all rush forward to meet blades with the legendary knight, but alas many of them fall before they get nary a swing towards the knight, the knight dispatching soldier after soldier in an almost graceful majestic rhythm as they dance across the battlefield with blade in hand, a whirlwind of precise strikes with confetti of blood showering their once pristine armor.
The battle goes on for hours as the knight slowly carves their way through hoards of soldiers until finally they are left the only one standing; commanders, soldiers, other knights, all of them met their fate by the bite of the knight's blade. The knight is tired and out of breath, for even they must surely have their limits. The knight slowly presses open the large doors to the throne room, seeing the mostly empty throne room with the stone throne at the end of a walkway draped with a tattered old rug.
The knight walks forward towards the throne as suddenly a blade finds a way between their armor from behind, driving up into their chest as the king himself snuck in a blow on the knight, but just as quickly as he makes the blow the knight swings their blade, clashing with the king and almost knocking the king off balance. Despite the knight's exhaustion, they still exhibit great strength. The king lunges towards the knight and the two clash, the knight slowed enough from their weariness that the king can almost keep up, clashing blades in the old throne room as the knight takes more blows, slowing down more as the king gets a wild grin, slowly growing more careless in his attacks to do more damage.
Suddenly, the king makes a blow into the knights chest, causing them to seemingly stop with shock. The king laughs manically before the knight grabs the king's blade, pressing it in further through their body to bring the king closer before running the king through with their own blade. The king's body falls to the floor with his sword ran through the knight.
The knight slowly walks to the throne and sits down, drawing the blade out of their body before tossing it to the ground, the bloodied blade clattering across the stone floor, echoing in the quiet as the knight leans back. The knight lets out a slow long sigh as they look skyward for a moment, feeling the nip of death upon them. Their hands rest upon the stone arm rests as they slowly start to go limp, is this truly the fate of the knight of legend?...
As the quiet overtakes the room, the knight sits there, limp with blood staining their armor before their hand flinches and grips the stone throne, the knight slowly sitting up as they breath in. Their gaze towards the door as they persevere, outliving not just all of the attacks, but eventually even fate itself. Prophecies come and go, but the knight remains in that throne room, unending and unyielding as the day they were knighted within those stone walls.
