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The jungle was a suffocating cathedral of emerald and rot, where the air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and ancient moss. Overhead, the canopy was so dense that the afternoon sun could only penetrate in jagged, ethereal shafts, lighting the swirling dust motes like tiny diamonds in the gloom. A low mist crawled across the gnarled roots, disturbed only by the rhythmic, metallic pulse of a traveler’s stride. Clang. Clang. The sound from the armored boot was making a slow and steady noise, emerging from the verdant haze was a figure who seemed carved from moonbeam and shadow. Though he possessed the lean, lithe frame of a youth, his presence carried the gravitas of a veteran. His step was slow but steady and cautious. A shock of mercurial silver hair spilled over his brow, catching the stray light with a metallic sheen that rivaled his war gear. He was clad in a masterwork of half-plate armor, the ivory-white steel gleaming defiantly against the dark backdrop of the vines. Beneath the plates, a suit of midnight-black leather hugged his form, silent and supple, allowing for the fluid grace of a predator. Every step he took sent a sharp, resonant chime echoing through the trees—the sound of his heavy, armored boots crushing the forest floor. His left hand remained anchored to the silver-clad scabbard at his hip, fancy and detailed rune of the holy symbol is engraved on it. Anyone by the look of it will know, the scabbard holding was no ordinary sword, it was used to encased the swords for the noble or at least someone with a title. It was a grounding gesture, his thumb resting near the cross guard, ready to unleash the steel within. Around him, the jungle birds fell silent, as if the very wilderness recognized that a piece of the heavens had descended into its emerald depths. The undergrowth grew feral here, a wall of interlocking thorns and broad, waxy leaves that seemed to resent his passage. With a steady hand, the knight reached forward, his armored gauntlet—white as bleached bone—parting the tangled