Desperate Moonlight

The dark one jumps from the tower window, unwilling prisoner in his iron grasp.
The light one follows.

They land gently on a sharply sloping roof, sliding to a stop. Halting for a moment, the charcoal-armored one looks back at his shining pursuer. Clad in pearl-colored armor, the boy is no older than seventeen. The iron knight smirks. He sees the boy's slippery footing, and knows that he has no real challenge: all a swordsman's skill with a blade will fail if his feet do not support him.

He readies his sword for the inevitable first strike that the boy will make, for that is the boy's nature: he moves swiftly, relying not on the sheer strength that he does not yet possess, but upon his youthful speed.

The young one jumps forward, gaining speed and distance as he falls towards his beloved and her captor. The elder knight raises his sword up to block, but stumbles to his knees. Furiously looking to his side, he sees the girl tugging at his boot: she tripped him. Looking back up at the boy's descending blade, he has mere second-fractions before his life is quenched.

The boy's blade strikes stone. The elder man's head is barely fast enough to move out of the way; his life continues.
Anger fills the black knight's mind. He has been brought to his knees by a mere girl, and nearly slaughtered by a child.
But he still has his strength, something neither of the children possess. Massive sword swung round, the dark one knocks away his challenger's blade and stands upright. If the two children shall cheat the rules of combat, so shall he. Surprised by the dark one's move, the boy is knocked back. With a lion's wrath, the black knight clasps his hand about the girl's throat, tossing her from the rooftop.

The boy jumps after her.


The laws of the world are writ in stone; none may break them but their author.
And so, it seems, the author sees fit to bless these two.

The young knight's white armor glows with angelic light; he flies groundward faster than his princess.
Her white dress, too, begins to glow, slowing her fall as if to gently pass her life into the arms of the selfless knight who chases her even to death's embrace.

They meet in the air, time seeming to crawl.
Holding one other, they land feet-first on the ground with no more sound or feeling than a feather.

They have survived, and the elder knight cannot catch them in time; they will escape the castle and find freedom.
Before they leave, however, the boy stops. He has no more use of his sword; his quest is finished.
As if in a final salute to a lifelong battle completed, he throws his blade into the night, letting it spin skyward.

The black knight stands atop the roof, proud of his clever maneuver. He has lost the princess, but forced the boy to die of his own free will: this is truly a sweet victory.
He takes a moment to rest. Though he does not care to admit it, the castle-spanning chase with the boy has tired him. As if to help him forget that fact and remind himself of his victory, he leans over the roof's edge to see the bodies of his fallen foes.

The boy and girl have fled the castle; they are safe.

Below the roof's edge lies a bloody sword and a severed head.