𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐭
Dread clawed at the Crimson Knight’s heart. The once vibrant glow emanating from his crimson feathers flickered erratically. The old Graystone Meadow, usually a symphony of songs and rustling leaves, was eerily silent. Smoke, acrid and thick, clogged the air.
A monstrous machine with metal teeth ripped through the undergrowth. Its hungry maw, lined with grinding gears, chewed into the heartwood of a giant oak. The Crimson Knight had known this day would come. He had guarded the Sacred Golden Nugget for decades, its warmth a constant reassurance against the encroaching shadows. Now, the meadow, the Nugget, everything he swore to protect, was
under attack.
The pedestal, carved from a single, gnarled root, stood defiant in the carnage. Nestled amongst its swirling patterns, the Golden Nugget pulsed faintly, its life force waning with every fallen tree. The Crimson Knight knew there was only one option.
A desperate gamble.
With a screech that tore through the smoke, he launched himself towards the pedestal. The machine’s grinding paused, its single, glowing eye swiveling towards him. The Crimson Knight ignored the rising terror, focusing solely on the Nugget.
He landed with a desperate flurry of wings, talons scraping against the smooth wood. The machine lurched closer, gears grinding forward. The Crimson Knight, with a surge of adrenaline, snatched the Nugget in his beak. The warmth, so familiar yet distant now, jolted him.
The machine screeched, a sound that ripped the remaining leaves from the branches. The Crimson Knight didn’t hesitate. He took flight, the Golden Nugget heavy in his beak, the dying glow from his feathers painting the smoke-filled sky a desperate crimson. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to steal the Nugget away, to find a place where its power could be restored, a place where the meadow could be reborn.
Behind him, the meadow echoed the fleeting sounds of nature’s song. But, the Crimson Knight flew on, a lone ember of defiance against the encroaching darkness, carrying the last hope of the meadow within his small beak.
