Anarchist Time Knights-Day 4: Knight’s Stand
[Image: A frost-dusted ravine under a dawn sky breaking with gold and soft blue through thinning mystical fog. Tobal’s scarred face steadies under a blood-crusted blue militia coat, medallion glowing gold in his firm grip. Fiona’s sky blue gown clings torn to her lean frame, chestnut hair loose, golden threads pulsing steady. Rafe’s wiry frame stands taut in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, knife still, grin sharp. Becca’s red hair flares under a ragged cloak of deep brown and russet, eyes fierce with resolve. Cal’s tangled brown hair shifts under a patched hood, stance shaky but set, hands clenched. Valentine’s shaggy gray-brown fur gleams damp as he growls low at a fading reptilian shadow — scarred, resolute, with the rift’s hum softening in the air]
Tobal stood at the ravine’s edge, boots firm on frost-dusted stone streaked with drying blood, the dawn sky breaking with gold and soft blue through thinning mystical fog. The air hung cold — sharp with frost and the faint echo of scales — his blue militia coat, blood-crusted and torn, steady on his broad frame. His scarred face steadied, short dark hair stiff with sweat and mist, the medallion glowing gold in his firm grip, its pulse a calm thread through his calloused palm, kindling a quiet fire in his chest.
Fiona flanked him, her sky blue gown clinging torn to her lean frame, the hem frayed by claw and rock. Her chestnut hair hung loose, streaked with dust, golden threads pulsing steady through the fog — her breath came slow, laced with frost and relief, her lithe form taut with a weary spark, eyes tracing the rift’s fading shimmer. Rafe stood taut nearby, his wiry frame solid in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, wool stiff with dried blood — his sharp grin flickered, knife still in his hand, dawn glinting off the cleaned blade. Becca loomed beside him, her cloak of deep brown and russet ragged in the wind, red hair flaring bright — her fierce eyes burned with resolve, her sturdy curves firm with a steady heat, she breathed a low hum of defiance.
Cal wavered close, his tangled brown hair shifting under a patched hood, wiry frame shaky but set — his breath rasped even, hands clenched tight, eyes darting with a fragile grit cutting his pale face. Valentine paced ahead, his shaggy gray-brown fur gleaming damp, coarse and streaked with gore — his growl rumbled low, ears twitching at a fading reptilian shadow, the rift’s hum softening in the air. The ravine stretched scarred — frost cracked underfoot, the wind whispering with a faint tremor of earth, the chaos of scales retreating through the haze.
Tobal shifted, his chest rising as a distant hiss faded — soft, fleeting — lost in the dawn’s glow. The air lightened — frost-scented, raw — gold spilling over the jagged rocks. He turned — eyes sweeping the Knights — his voice a low rasp, steady against the stillness. “We held.” The medallion glowed — gold light spilling calm — his scarred hand firm, a thread of resolve threading his pulse. A stone settled — a bird’s cry broke the hush — his breath eased.
Rafe leaned back, cloak swaying in the breeze, his sharp grin softening as his breath fogged faint. “Barely,” he quipped — knife flicking once — Valentine’s growl softened, his fur settling as he nosed the ground. Rafe’s laugh rasped — dry, tired — his lean frame easing as the wind carried a faint rustle.
Fiona stepped closer, gown brushing frost-dusted stone, threads weaving a steady arc of gold that hummed in the light. “It’s krypton now,” she said — voice low, clear — her gaze lifting to Rafe, fingers relaxing, the cold easing from her knuckles. Her chestnut hair shifted, catching the dawn, and her eyes met Tobal’s — a shared fire threading alive, her lean grace sparking a quiet strength. A shadow flickered — distant, faint — her lips quirked, breath steady with calm.
Becca uncrossed her arms, red hair flaring under her ragged hood, her voice rough but warm as the wind tugged her cloak. “Held? We’re still breathing.” She kicked a loose scale — her fierce eyes softened — glancing from Fiona to Cal, resolve flickering in her gaze, her sturdy form rooted with a growing fire. A low hum faded — soft, retreating — her breath steadied, the frost kissing her cheeks.
Cal straightened, hood slipping, his wiry frame trembling less as his breath slowed. “They’re… gone?” His voice wavered — low, hopeful — his tangled brown hair catching the light, hands unclenching as he stared at the haze. A faint hiss lingered — far, dying — his eyes narrowed, a spark of grit holding as he stood.
Tobal sank to one knee — coat brushing the frost — his free hand settling on Valentine’s flank, the dog’s coarse fur warm as he pressed close, growling soft. “For now,” he said — gruff, low — his scarred face tilting toward Cal, eyes dark with a fire that burned steady, his broad build radiating quiet strength. The medallion’s glow deepened — its hum threading his voice — his chest swelled, a fierce resolve tempered by loss. A breeze stirred the fog — light flared — Cal’s stance hardened, his breath catching as the silence grew.
Valentine nosed the ground — stone shifted — a low bark rumbled as he pawed at a scale, fur gleaming in the dawn. Tobal rose, medallion steady, his scarred face softening — something raw settled in his gut, a growl of survival beneath it. “We’re still here,” Rafe said — half a laugh — his knife sheathing as he stretched, wiry frame loose with a flicker of relief. A reptilian shadow faded — distant, gone — Fiona’s threads pulsed, gold threading calm — her voice cut the air. “Rest.” Tobal’s gaze struck Rafe — soft, fierce — his growl a whisper. “Regroup.” He stepped toward the ravine’s rim — boots crunching — the wind curling light, thick with frost and hope.
The dawn broke — gold bathed the ravine, fog thinning in the breeze, the earth’s pulse steadying beneath their feet. A reptilian hiss whispered — far, faint — Becca’s fist unclenched, her breath fogging as she stood tall. Tobal’s hand brushed Cal’s shoulder — medallion glowing soft — his grip light, though his own pulse calmed, a faint hum rising in his ears, his broad chest warm with a flicker of peace. “We stand,” he murmured — voice low, firm — frost sharp in his throat. Cal’s eyes met his — his grin broke faint — a quiet strength catching as the fog lifted.
Fiona’s threads wove gentle — gold flickering like breath — her gaze slid to Becca, the dawn’s light brushing her lean face. “Krypton’s sealed?” Becca asked — voice steady — her edge softened, her sturdy form easing with a mix of fire and calm. A scale glinted — far, still — Fiona’s lips curved, a faint smile — chestnut hair loose in the wind. “For now.” Rafe’s laugh rang — soft, warm — his knife still as he leaned back, wiry frame resting with a steady spark. Tobal nodded — medallion pulsing — wind curling low, a faint hum fading distant, a whisper of what’s next. The Knights stood — scarred, unbroken — dawn rising over the ravine.
