The knight strides through the dust.

Daniel's boots crunched into the gravel, as if the earth itself was in the mood to fight. He marched in stony composure, unfazed by the raking of the gritty winds. They seemed heavy, as if they carried vibrations of fate-- as the vague, towering shapes of the monoliths slid into view, Daniel's resolve to weather destiny grew solid in his mind.

He stepped some twenty meters into the forest of stone from it's northmost edge, the ground humming with held-back tremors beneath his boots. It was odd, the way the vibrations resolved into steely focus; the area gave off the impression of a graveyard, with a way of whispering to the back of your mind, "Don't stay here. Survive." It was a command that Daniel of Columbia well understood. He withdrew a charge from his pack, primed it, and affixed it to the front of his shield, similarly to the way he had done in his battle with Gonad Yaksplitter. He drew his sword, whipped it to attention, making even the wind part in caution. As he stood among the monoliths, Daniel was filled with determination.

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