His crimson eyes gleamed with a burning conviction, his lips turning to a snarl. A faint glow sparked within. He felt the emotion welling inside his gut, like a fire waiting to escape. He didn't like someone pushing people around like they were just trash. He didn't care for anyone on a personal level. And normally, he would watch as they suffer. His brain was thrashing inside his skull as it fought for an answer. Why was he acting out now? It was against all he believed. The strong should survive and the weak should die that was a fact of the world. So was it pride? Did he want to claim victory over the titan himself? Did he want to prove he was better? No... that's not it. Then what? And what the hell was this person talking about? How was he related at all to the spacial tear that destroyed this world? His own magic was powerful, but nothing even comparable to that level. No one had that kind power, not even the sacred blessing possessed by the Queen. Arcana was simple. There was a cost related to the amount of power used up. There was no way someone could have done that alone. But the giant spoke as though he knew something none of them did. Ancient history of the Age of Gods has long been forgotten, even by the oldest of chroniclers. Even centuries of delving into once-forgotten ruins and uncovering artifacts and knowledge, many pieces are still missing. Even the art of Arcana and Ki is still being largely relearned and rediscovered. 

Was this person truly that old?

	He saw the others whispering when the giant approached, no doubt seeking to aid him. He didn't like their plan, knowing they would only risk their lives, but he didn't want to draw attention to them. If it were to succeed, it must be done with the edge of surprise. The young squire drew his silvered blade. A typical silvered long-sword issued by the order. Like all their equipment, it was magically enhanced by the Order's section of arcane smiths and much more durable than normal blades. Michael was unlike others, only using a blade, disfavoring the use of a shield. Believing they were safe behind a useless slab of metal, it made a warrior not only slower, but more reckless. 

"What are you...?" he said one last time under his breath. Pointing the blade and stepping away from the crowd, "I don't know what nonsense you're going on about. But threatening these lands is an act I cannot tolerate. If I must give my life to stop you. So be it. I, Mikhael, Squire of Dusk, shall be your opponent."

	As he looked at the lumbering figure, his eyes shone with finality. He accepted this fate. This was the solemn oath he swore, to the Queen and her people. 

...