The hairs covering the single scar on the knight's body straightened–something was going to happen–or maybe something was watching, there was no way to know for sure. It wasn't an unfounded belief, though. When on the battlefield his instinct had been what separated him from his fellow Guardians, the thing that saved him in those moments suspended in air, the fractions of movement that stopped a debilitating blow from even landing–it was all something he was pressured to become accustomed to trusting–even over his teachings, which were hammered into his skull not long after his parents death, and now, those same instincts whsipered–and when they chose to whisper over shout, it was serious–very serious, and in the midst of flight, the knight could hear his gut whispering that something was watching.
Kanaft had flown into the heart of the canopy not too long ago. It didn't look all that different for the understorey, but there was a much greater amount of sunlight shining through the extremely far outreaches of the forest beyond the third, and they hadn't run into a single creature lurking in the not-so-dark section of the forest, it was for that reason that the knight could not shake off the lingering, quiet instinctual belief that there was something wrong.
It had been several days since they had set up that quaint camp, and–if his estimations were correct–Kanaft and the knight had met well over two weeks prior to that–marking the beginning of their rocky relationship, which, in the short time they had traveled the enormous forest together, the rockiness had been smothered–grinded on a whetstone till it approached sharpness. In that time, they had spoken sparsely, and had been flying continuously over said weeks. Trust was building with every segment of conversation, which had led to several pieces of information that peaked the knights interest.
The first thing Kanaft revealed to the knight was the name of this forest, the Moyra Forest. The knight did ask what 'Moyra' meant, but it was apparently too old to be translated properly, and was far too ancient to truly understand. The second, and the piece the knight found the most interesting, but not the most important, was his special position in the hierarchy of Moyra, the king of the surface, under storey, and canopy–the facilitator of the entire forest, something the knight found fit rather perfectly into what he knew about the big bird before hand–a hyper intelligent bird which was the only of its size and the only true pyromancer he had witnessed in this forest, making the surprise not really much of a surprise–much to Kanaft's inward chagrin, but by far the most important was on the titans of the sky–Umor and Shreifaya, and what they were–fundementally and hierarchally. Umor was fire itself–an Incarnate, something the knight had heard rumblings of in the past, warriors that worked directly under their creators–creatures embodying elements themselves, they created creatures born and made of said element. Such creatures were mythology to him, yet so was the phoenix, and now here he was. Then–there was Shreifaya–a dragon. He had killed the Elder with his hands, the single remaining dragon–the eldest daughter of the All-father Yufir–yet now there was another.
He wanted to ask about this plague, but now he was too busy considering how Shreifaya could even exist–something he assumed Kanaft told him to keep his mind busy on something that wasn't the plague, and it worked, much to the knights annoyance. His reactions were rather muted–there was too much to contemplate–too much to plan, and even more time to process the revelations, but then, he was interrupted by the whispers of his subconscious–his instinct.
His eyes scanned the little he could make out through the darkness, yet there was nothing–but he knew better than to solely trust his eyes–let alone over his primitive, hauntingly accurate instincts, so he motioned to Kanaft. They had created a loose language with simple glides of the knights hand over Kanaft's nearly black feathers, a sensation that the Cinder Lord could loosely translate into something more digestible. It was the first thing that they had developed after continuing their long flight to the comatose emperor, and it yet to serve a true purpose, and now seemed like a better time than ever to put it on its first trial run.
The knight planned his left hand on Kanaft's great back, and lazily let it rub the feathers without reproach. He let his fingers caress the soft feathers in a show of unknowing innocence– but both knew it was false.
"Instinct–warning" It was broken speech, but Kanaft understood instantly, and in a show of grand power, pulsed a grand tidal wave of pure, innocent, yet destructive, orange fire. The sphere of fire expanded outward, engulfing everything it did and didn't touch in fire and bathing it all in a warm, orange-tinted light–yet there was nothing hiding in the land that had only moments prior been draped in the black ink of a place without the light. Kanaft looked around their surroundings desperately, yet there was nothing–at least to his eyes–then, he felt it.
Growing in a long shadow was the leech of the canopy–the dictator of the third layer. An abomination–a thing, something that was ugly based off of the scent of demented death from but a few inches outside of range of sight–blended into the darkness, and it was looking back at him–with those chartreuse eyes that pierced the darkness with an unsettling amount of agony bleeding into those three, large eyes.
Kanaft stopped their continued flight to the canopy instantly, and swiftly pivoted mid air and changed direction to meet his eternal foe. Blitzing into the creature, the knight quickly summoned Rising Tide, which was good as new, and prepared himself mentally for the fight. There was no telling what this creature could do, or even what it was, but all he needed to do was prepare for anything–so that's what he did. Clenching his sword till his knuckles were white, the knight stared down the scent of insanity in the darkness of the canopy–and to his own surprise, a grin wormed its way onto his face. Excitement burned in his veins like lava, and a fire sparked into existence in the depths of his lifeless pupils, if he could say for certain one thing he after both his parents in, it was their love for violence–his mother on the battlefield, and his father–well, addicts had to get their fix somehow.
Grounding his thoughts, the knight refocused himself, and analyzed the creature further. As they zoomed closer to the entity, the owlish eyes didn't react, something the knight noted–the creature was confident, maybe even arrogant, something usually suggesting strength–great intelligence–but the knight had a spur of the moment assumption it was neither, and both at the same time. It was reciprocal, but it was the only way the knight could describe the enigma–but he wasn't able to finish his exaggerated, in depth thoughts on the little he could make out of the curious, abomination as it nearly instantly ran. Its scent vanished in moments–and its eyes became nothing more than a streak in the opposing direction from where it had been facing.
Narrowing his eyes, the knight tried tracking the slippery plague–but quickly found it to be futile, and simply let Kanaft track their spectator. They increased in speed again, and the knight once again found himself struggling to hold onto the ink-dipped feathers, still, it was improvement, and any little bit of improvement was worthy of recognition. There was a great lack of tangled foliage in this new land–making it far easier to maneuver in, meaning Kanaft could track the plague with an astounding precision, yet, somehow, they lost the trail all the same. Without a grain of sound, a whiff of a scent, or even a physical trail across any of the nearby branches or the stem–it was completely baffling to the pair.
"Nothing?" The knight only received a nod of confirmation from Kanaft. Sighing, the knight simply grunted in understanding. It was annoying, but something he should have seen coming.
"So what was that thing? I'm sure you knew of its existence beforehand–is that the plague perhaps?" The knight asked; transparent curiosity was most prominent in his tone, he waited hopefully for an answer, yet Kanaft didn't acknowledge him or the words. Perhaps he was simply too entrenched in the past–or what he knew of the creature–there was no way to say for sure, or Kanaft was just as annoyed as he was–leading to a friction filled silence. Either way, both were fuming for different reasons.
Blinking, Kanaft left his contemplative state, and investigated the surroundings again, not finding a singing thing out of place–not even a scratch across the bark of the tree they were perched on. He clicked his beak together, obvious disdain present on his fire breathing tongue.
Fire emerged from a hesitant spark, before dying out not a moment sooner. The knight glanced at the obviously conflicted bird with a mix of confusion and understanding, but not for long, as the fire quickly, yet gingerly generated again with a more precise certainty in the conjuring, quickly reading out, "The Disease of the Canopy lives–and it thrives in my absence. Little is known of the creature–but it appeared not long after father's slumber began. It leeches off of the forest in its entirety, and it is why I was born–to remove it from this forest, but I have not been enough, but with you here, Elder, we may be able to cure the canopy of its sickness." The words were tinged with a bitterness that the knight could barely smell wafting off of the bird himself.
Even though the knight was still slightly peeved about being ignored prior–there was far more intrepid interest in whatever had made his senses rave the way they did, and, to a greater degree of interest, he had never seen the bird so–uncomfortable in their short time together, yet now it was so blatant–even in the dark, the knight could see the disposition of the bird. He had failed at what he was created for–and now heads to lower himself to ask for help in his assignment since his creation–Kanafts pride took a big hit, and the knight knew it–since his own pride would've been in shambles as well.
"What is this disease you speak of, exactly?" The knight said, trying, and failing, to not be blunt about the question, but Kanaft paused for a moment–contemplating the correct words for such a peculiar existence, and the only thing that came to mind was.
"Engineered. It was made to consume–to invade land and assimilate it. It's an invasive parasite that has evaded me perpetually since my existence came to be." Kanaft inscribed, though the knight could feel the palpable irritation, and bitter resolve bubbling out of the bird, he made a side, mental note about how much better Kanaft's inscription had gotten in their short time together.
Going back on track, the knight stared at what had drawn his attention the moment his eyes landed on it; it was the single word that started the thoughts of his companion: engineered. To be engineered meant that it wasn't just some creature which had infiltrated–it was specifically made to consume this land–and the knight had an idea of who it was that manufactured this thing.
"I will help you–my friend. This opponent of yours shall be mine as well." There was a tone of finality present in his soft voice that Kanaft was able to pick up on–he was determined to help. His head tilted in some form of confusion–there was something off about the knight–the darkness nestled in his visor was dimmer–more ancient, and if his gaze wasn't deceiving –wrathful, yet equally–regretful? Kanaft found the hurricane of conflicting ideas, emotions, and logical assumptions to be utterly eldritch, which made sense since the knight was someone far older than he was–so of course he made no sense.
"Thank you–elder–your help will save Morya." The hot words of gratitude warmed the knight's chest–it had been a long time since the last time someone had thanked him, but it was nice, even though he knew deep down he was doing this for himself, and his own selfish desire.
"Where do you think we could find such an illusive drone?" The knight couldn't pretend that he was doing this for some selfless reason, but he could avoid addressing it all together, so that's what he did, and if Kanaft noticed, he didn't address it either, instead he simply spread his wings, and took off.
'It will be slow–but I will find you. I'll follow the trail–destroy your drones, and then, finally, we will die. I vow it.'