The air reeked of smoke and blood. The city that once stood as a beacon of faith and order was now nothing more than cinders beneath the weight of war. The knight, clad in blackened armor marked with the cross of a forgotten order, trudged through the ruins. His grip tightened on his blade, its edge dulled from countless battles, yet still lethal.

He had been left for dead more times than he could count.

Betrayed by his brothers. Hunted by those he once called allies. Cursed by a god he no longer prayed to.

But still, he survived.

Once, he fought for honor. For a cause greater than himself. That cause had died long ago, buried beneath the corpses of those who believed in it. Now, he fought for something far simpler: survival.

His armor bore the scars of his past, each dent and crack telling a story of battles he should not have won. The cross on his helm was no longer a symbol of faith—it was a reminder. A reminder that no matter how much was taken from him, no matter how many enemies tried to him out, he endured.

As the flames consumed the last remnants of his past, he whispered to himself, voice hoarse and unyielding:

"I'll survive. Somehow, I always do."

And with that, he stepped forward, vanishing into the smoke, a ghost of a war that refused to end.