Kálos opens his eyes on a morning like any other. He stares at the ceiling of his tent, rubbing his eyes, trying to wake from a restless sleep. The restlessness stems from uncertainty. He doesn't know where to go. He has been on the road for a couple days, ever since he received the white armor that rests disassembled beside him.
Given by his mother, forged by his father, the armor is the greatest gift he could have received from both his parents. It means everything he is, and with it, he learned that because of it and with it, he is a white knight. A title he carries with pride, even without knowing why.
Upon donning it every morning, Kálos feels the weight of the white metal on his shoulders. A brief reminder of the man he must be. Of the dangers he must face. But despite wearing the armor with a pride—that seems almost forced—he steps out of the tent for yet another day without knowing what to do with this burden. His helmet completely encloses his head, and his sword remains at his waist, never unsheathed until now.
He had left home a week ago. His white armor, without a single scratch or stain. He had yet to encounter a real challenge or enemy, besides his own loneliness in the vast fields he rides across on his horse. Ódigos is not the strongest of horses. He isn't the most perceptive either, and sometimes it seems he completely ignores his knight's commands. His gray coat and vacant stare show that he and Kálos have not yet bonded enough. But he carries him, without much complaint.
Riding through the verdant fields, he observes the vegetation of the lands of Iremía. Ódigos moves slowly. Unhurriedly. Kálos, on the other hand, doesn't know where to guide his companion, so he lets him choose the path himself. The noble white knight has no specific desires, but he is always anxious. Yearning to find something. He just doesn't know what.
After weeks of riding, with little left to traverse in the fields of Iremía, Ódigos finally finds the threshold. The border between the safe, green fields and the uncertain Woods of Líxi. For the first time, Kálos takes the reins—not to cross the border, but to stop Ódigos. The horse stops with some resistance, and his eyes meet the knight's eyes, almost with annoyance.
— Where are you going, Ódigos? — the white knight says, his voice trembling. — If we leave the fields, we won't know what we'll find ahead.
Ódigos does not answer him. He cannot; he is a horse, after all. But he shows resistance to the knight's grip on the reins. He wants to advance. He has ridden too long in the calm and safety. But he knows that without Kálos's permission, he can go no further, even with all signs pointing to the path ahead.
— Tomorrow — Kálos says. — Tomorrow we will cross the border. But not today. I am not ready, and I am tired.
He had repeated this to himself more times than he could count. He knew nothing awaited him in the safety of Iremía. But he still didn't want to draw his sword and risk dirtying the armor given by his mother. It was too much work. Ódigos snorts in protest. He is just a horse, but even a horse grows tired of being ridden by a man without ambitions or virtues. Yet he had resigned himself to following the knight's command, when a scream on the horizon makes him stop.
— No! — a female voice echoes from the woods of Líxi.
Kálos, who had been certain about returning to the fields, stops. He was a knight, and there was no other sign of life around here. Even though he knows there are many people in the woods of Líxi, he couldn't believe there would be someone so close to the fields of Iremía available to save that soul screaming in despair. Finally, something was placed in his path just the way he wanted. Just letting fate act. Without a second thought, the knight—who previously had no intention of crossing the threshold between Iremía and Líxi—takes the reins again and guides his horse at full speed toward the voice.
Ódigos doesn't protest; after all, it was the first time Kálos had taken the reins to actually move. He allows himself to be guided for the first time.
Crossing the woods obscured by the twisted branches of Líxi, he recklessly ignores any and all obstacles. The knight doesn't observe his surroundings, doesn't watch the path he treads. He is blinded by the desire to help; it was his purpose as a white knight, after all. Someone needed him; he didn't have time to survey the terrain, even if it might cause him trouble later. It is never wise to enter unknown lands without knowing where one steps.
Kálos followed the direction of the scream and arrived at a crumbled tower. He thought it might have been the work of a dragon. He had heard tales of dragons in Líxi. He convinced himself that it was a dragon, despite his inexperience. He ran toward the rubble and began removing it. As he did, he wondered what the woman beneath it would be like. How broken she might be, and what virtues would be lost if he didn't save her.
After clearing the rubble, he finds the damsel in a fetal position. Motionless. A fragile young woman, bearing scars both old and new. She was alive but wasn't moving, despite being awake. She didn't look at the knight immediately and held a vacant stare, devoid of fear.
— Come with me — the knight says. — I will take you to safety — he says with a voice heavy with concern and resolve.
— Leave me here — the woman answers, to the knight's surprise. — I don't deserve to be saved.
— Don't speak nonsense — the knight replies, taken aback but trying to stay calm to comfort the injured maiden. — Of course you do. A dragon destroyed your tower.
— Dragon? — the girl asks. — I didn't see any dragon — she counters, not dismissing the possibility, just oblivious to what had happened to her tower. She was probably distracted when it fell.
The knight takes the woman's hand and helps her to her feet. — I am Kálos — he says.
The woman finally looks at the knight. She looks at his perfect, white armor. Without a mark, without a stain, without a scratch. Her light brown eyes, previously dull, now fill with a gleam at the sight of the knight's purity before her.
— A white knight! — she says. — Your armor is impeccable. Are you sure you want to help me? I don't want to get in the way of your journey — she says, letting herself be lifted by the noble young man.
— My journey now is to help you. Let me play my part — the youth says, observing the damsel.
The lady had a slight frame. She was in her early twenties, roughly the same age as Kálos. She stood no taller than five feet three inches. She had short, well-cut hair. Despite the scars she bore, she was beautiful. Kálos didn't know if the beauty stemmed from her fragility or from nature. But he knew he needed to help her. He had no other destination, anyway.
— I am Pónos — the girl says, finally revealing her name. — Thank you for pulling me out of the rubble.
The white knight guides her to Ódigos and helps her mount his horse. He sits behind the girl, wrapping his arms around the fragile youth. The gray horse finds the extra weight on his back strange but does not protest. He moves forward, slower than usual, but keeps moving.
— Do you have somewhere to go? — Kálos asks.
— Yes. But it's a bit far from here — the girl replies.
— We could find a place to spend the night — the young man says, noticing the falling night.
— Where are we going? — Pónos asks.
— I don't know. Ódigos usually rides freely — the knight says. — But we could go somewhere safe. I heard of a clearing nearby. Or maybe we could return to the fields of Iremía, where it's safe.
Without hesitation, Pónos takes Ódigos's reins. — I'll take us somewhere — she says. — There's an inn nearby. We can spend the night there. And in the morning, we can ride to my destination.
Kálos does not argue. He would have liked to see the clearing, but he knows he must take the girl where she wants to go. It is part of his mission now. Save her, make her comfortable, and take her to her destination. She guides Ódigos. The horse is now being steered by hands other than his master's. He had barely known the knight's guidance, and he was already being led by someone else.
Night falls as the knight and the damsel arrive at the inn. "The Alley of Lust," he reads on the small wooden sign. He dismounts his gray horse and ties him up in the stables.
Stepping into the inn beside Pónos, he notices the place is dirty, dark, and poorly lit by candles and a few lanterns. He can barely see the path ahead; he only smells the stench of dirt, alcohol, and sweat emanating from the few vagrants inside.
— Pónos! — a young man shouts joyfully. He is bald and has a scar crossing his face. He makes no effort to hide it. He wears leather armor, stained and torn to shreds in multiple places. — Who is this knight by your side?
— Trákis! — Pónos answers. — This is Kálos. A white knight. He saved me earlier today. My tower crumbled, and he pulled me from the rubble. Where were you?
— I wasn't around. I never am. You know I'm usually here, drinking and enjoying life — the young man says. His gaze turns to the white knight. — You're new around here, aren't you? — He circles Kálos, inspecting his armor. — A beautiful armor. Not a single scratch. You must not have been on the road for very long.
Kálos analyzes the young man. He doesn't seem much older than himself, despite the scars and marks he bears. — No, I haven't — he replies reluctantly. He dislikes the tone the young man uses with Pónos, and with him. — I've been on the road for just a few days.
— I see. Will you join us for the feast? — Trákis asks with a smirk in the corner of his mouth.
— No — the knight replies. — I must take Pónos to her destination.
— Oh, come on, Kálos — the damsel says. — We won't be late for our destination. And I think you need to loosen up a bit.
Kálos hesitates. Should a noble knight get drunk and eat lavishly like everyone else his age? Is he the odd one out? He had never had these desires, but now, he questions himself. Without giving him time to ponder, Pónos takes his armored hand and leads him to the bar.
A weather-beaten barkeep serves three drinks. Three goblets of wine. Trákis is the first to drink. Pónos drinks next. Kálos, still reluctant, watches the interaction between the two youths. He holds the wine goblet, his helmet still covering his face. He feels alienated from the conversation. He doesn't know Trákis, nor Pónos, to be honest. He feels he doesn't belong there.
He tries to join the conversation but doesn't feel at ease. He gets cut off when he speaks, and he has no shared interests with these people. Tired of his own shyness, he decides to lift his helmet's visor and down the wine all at once. A single drop ends up running down his helmet, staining the whiteness of the enveloping metal with a small purple mark. The stain is a mere inconvenience; he knows he can wipe it off later, and that no one would notice unless they got close.
As the night wears on, despite the alcohol in his blood, Kálos grows tired of the frustrating attempt to 'enjoy life', asks for a room, and goes to sleep.
The next morning, Kálos wakes up in the inn's room. He wipes the wine stain off his helmet and goes downstairs, looking for Pónos. He asks the barkeep where the girl is, as she wasn't in the main hall.
— She left with Trákis. They went to Lake Ormí — the barkeep says, cleaning a mug, unbothered. — It's not far from here.
The knight heads toward the lake. Approaching from a distance, through the woods, he hears Trákis with a raised voice.
— Come on, Pónos! Leave the knight and come with me — he says. — You know I'm more experienced than he is. He doesn't have a single scratch on that armor.
— That makes him noble, Trákis — the young woman retorts, defending the knight.
— Noble, and weak! — the young man shoots back. — What will happen when a real problem shows up? Will he know how to defend you?
— I don't know, Trákis. With him, things feel safe and stable. With you, everything is a whirlwind. I shouldn't have let myself be swayed by your friendly talk — the girl says. — I think I'll go with Kálos.
Trákis grabs Pónos's arm. The grip is firm, but she shows no resistance, only doubt. — Come with me. I will protect you, and take you to places you wouldn't go with Kálos.
— Kálos will take me to my destination. By your side, I wouldn't know where I'd go — Pónos says, completely still in Trákis's hands.
— He won't save you, Pónos.
— I never said I wanted to be saved — she says, pulling her arm, but she can't break free from the drunken young man's grip. — You weren't there when the tower fell.
— It fell because you are careless. I'll teach you not to be like that anymore — Trákis says in a fury.
Kálos has had enough. He jumps from the bushes and unsheathes his sword for the very first time. — Enough! — he roars. — Let her go, Trákis.
Trákis releases Pónos. He bursts into laughter. — What will you do, white knight? Pónos doesn't want to be saved by you.
— Don't pay attention to him, Kálos — the young woman says. — Let's go back to the inn and ride on with Ódigos. — She walks toward Kálos.
— It's very easy to hide behind that white armor after a night of life's pleasures. It's comfortable. Go on then, Pónos. You'll regret it — he says, still wearing a smirk on his face.
Kálos is infuriated by Trákis's words. He was tired of the way he spoke to Pónos, and perhaps felt a twinge of jealousy. He grips his sword tightly and charges at him. Pónos doesn't look back and keeps walking toward the horse.
Trákis draws his rusted sword and tries to strike the knight, but the armor defends him without much effort, sustaining only a tiny scratch. With a single strike, Kálos slashes Trákis's chest, who despite being experienced, was drunk. The young man's blood spatters onto his armor, staining it for the second time. Trákis stumbles backwards, feeling the pain in his chest.
— You will regret this, White Knight — Trákis growls at Kálos.
— You will live. But you will remember that you cannot come near Pónos as long as I am around — he says, with a steady voice.
Kálos leaves the young man in agony behind. He walks toward Ódigos. Pónos is mounted on the gray horse, arms crossed and scowling.
— Let's go, Kálos — she says, angrily. — There's been enough display of brutality for one morning.
Kálos feels a sting of criticism in Pónos's tone. He doesn't understand why she is upset with him, since he had just saved her. He thinks perhaps she was just tired from the night or the encounter with Trákis. He remained silent, mounted his horse, and once again let the girl guide his steed, riding toward her destination.