The sun hung high over Levicia, casting harsh light on the cobblestone streets. A group of thieves, shadows in ragged cloaks, darted between the market stalls. Merchants shouted, children scattered, and the air was thick with sweat and dust.
Through the chaos, one figure moved with unnerving calm. Jhonathan, the undying knight, wore battered blue and red armor that glinted in the sunlight. His presence alone was enough to part the crowd—a silent warning: trouble had a name, and it answered to him.
With a fluid motion, he drew Dexcalibur, the legendary blade that had been both a gift and a curse. Its edge shimmered with an otherworldly light, a faint hum vibrating through the air. The thieves hesitated. Fear struck some, disbelief struck others. How could a man fight like that and remain standing after every strike?
Jhonathan's eyes, cold and endless, scanned the group. "You've chosen poorly," he said, voice low but carrying the weight of countless battles.
In an instant, he moved. Steel clashed against steel, a deadly dance of light and shadow. Limbs were thrown aside like rag dolls; the air rang with the screams of the defeated. Yet no matter how many blows he landed, Jhonathan felt nothing—no victory, no satisfaction. Only emptiness.
For centuries, he had fought, and for centuries, he had survived. Immortality had become a prison. Wounds that would fell any man healed before his eyes; blows that would shatter bones merely annoyed him. The world aged, kingdoms fell, friends and enemies alike faded into dust—and still, he remained.
It was not strength that tormented him. It was the curse of unending life, the knowledge that death would never come to grant him peace.
A flicker of light appeared on the ground before him, a glowing map etched with symbols he recognized all too well: the Seven Stars. Pride, Wrath, Envy… each a godlike force he had once hoped would end his torment. The first star glimmered brighter than the rest—Pride.
Jhonathan knelt, tracing the radiant lines with his fingers. The map pulsed as if alive, responding to some unspoken call within him. "So it begins," he murmured, voice heavy with a mix of dread and anticipation.
He rose, Dexcalibur ready, and turned toward the horizon. The path was perilous, the Stars of Sin waiting to challenge his very existence. Yet for the first time in centuries, a spark of purpose stirred in his chest. Perhaps this journey could finally grant him the release he had long sought.
Or perhaps it would only remind him, once more, that even the gods themselves could not touch the undying knight.
And with that, Jhonathan stepped forward, every strike, every breath, every heartbeat echoing the eternal truth: he would fight… until the world itself dared to fall.