At that moment he broke his own heart into seven pieces and scattered them into the world, hoping one day his journeys would bring them back to him. Following the others around him, he grasped the sword at his hip and drew it like a poison. The battlefield that lay before him was vast and empty, save for the darkness that slowly edged towards them, turning grass into wilted death.
Silence gave way to blood thirsty shouts as the command to charge was shouted through the frigid air. His ragged breath coming in desperate gulps, he rushed forward to the inky blackness.
Ten paces.
Five paces.
The darkness consumed every part of his being. Though he slashed at the air, his sword was met with no resistance. Then came the silence. There was no wind. No sounds of battle. Even his own breath was subdued.
The knight wandered through the darkness, not knowing what direction he was going. Months were passing in front of him... Years, decades, centuries... The madness grew ever near, isolation pushing at his bones until they threatened to break. He moved ever onward, pressing his tired body until nothing in him remained, save for the threadbare hope that he would emerge from this infinite black stillness.
