# Chapter 498: The First Knight's Arrival
The void left by the collapsed storm was absolute. In the center of it, Moros knelt, not as an Arch-Mage, but as a broken man, his form shimmering and unstable. The memory of his son was gone, leaving only a hollow ache. *What now?* Konto thought, the question echoing in the sudden silence. *Do I end him? Contain him?* Before he could answer, a jolt of pure, physical agony shot through him. It wasn't psychic. It was real. Through the fading link to his own body, he felt the shudder of impact, the splintering of wood, the shouted commands of a new, hostile voice. The Templars had arrived. In the sterile white room, a knight in pristine armor stood over his still form, a sword of purifying fire raised high. "By the light of the First Spire," the knight intoned, its voice devoid of emotion. "You will be cleansed." The psychic and physical worlds were about to collide in the most final of ways.
***
The explosion was not a fiery roar but a percussive *thump* that vibrated through the soles of Valerius's boots and shook the very frame of the hospital. The reinforced door to the secure wing, a slab of plasteel and runic plating, didn't just open; it disintegrated. Shards of metal and fragments of stone shot into the corridor, a storm of debris that forced Valerius and Crew to shield their faces. The acrid smell of ozone and burnt plaster filled the air, mingling with the sterile scent of antiseptic. When they lowered their arms, the doorway was a ragged, smoking hole, and standing within it was a figure from a history book.
A knight. Not an Arcane Warden in their modern, functional armor, but a true Templar. The suit was pristine white plate, polished to a mirror sheen that seemed to drink the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway. Intricate silver filigree, shaped like rays of a rising sun, traced the edges of the pauldrons and greaves. There was no helmet, revealing a face carved from granite and conviction, a man in the prime of his life with eyes the color of a winter sky. In his gauntleted hands, he held a longsword, but it was the blade that held the eye. It was not forged steel but a column of pure, white light, crackling with energy that hummed a low, discordant note against the teeth. The air around the knight shimmered with heat, distorting the view of the three still forms on the hospital beds behind him.
"Stand aside, Wardens," the knight said, his voice calm and resonant, carrying an authority that had nothing to do with rank. "This place is tainted. The Arch-Mage's sanctum has been violated by unclean entities. My duty is purification."
Valerius didn't hesitate. His training, his entire life, was built on the principle of protecting the innocent and upholding the law, no matter the source of the threat. He raised his Warden-issued sidearm, a heavy-caliber pistol enchanted with kinetic-dampening runes. "Aethelburg General Hospital is under Magisterium protection. This is a restricted medical facility. Identify yourself and stand down."
The knight took a single step forward, the sound of his armored boot on the linoleum floor unnaturally loud. "I am Sir Kaelan of the Templar Remnant. The First Knight. My authority comes from the First Spire itself, a covenant far older than the Magisterium's fleeting power. You are shielding abominations that threaten the very fabric of reality." He gestured with the luminous sword toward the beds where Konto, Liraya, and Anya lay. "They must be cleansed."
Crew, positioned behind a flipped medical cart, already had his own weapon trained on the knight. His face was pale, but his grip was steady. "They're saving the city, you lunatic! The Arch-Mage is the source of the plague!"
"A lie whispered by the dream-corrupted to turn you from your path," Kaelan stated, as if explaining a simple concept to a child. "The Arch-Mage is a pillar. These… things… are termites, eating at his foundation. I am the exterminator." He raised his shield, a kite-shaped bulwark of the same white metal as his armor, and began to advance.
That was when Valerius fired. The kinetic round, designed to punch through concrete, left the barrel with a deafening crack. It crossed the ten meters between them in a fraction of a second. It never hit the knight. A foot from Kaelan's chest, the bullet flattened, its momentum stolen by an invisible force, and clattered harmlessly to the floor. The knight's shield had not moved, but a faint, golden ripple had shimmered in the air before him.
"Your mundane weapons are useless," Kaelan said, his pace never faltering. "Your Aspect is weak, diluted by generations of compromise."
Crew opened up, his shots joining Valerius's in a controlled volley. The corridor became a cacophony of gunfire, the smell of cordite thickening the air. Shell casings tinkled against the floor. But the result was the same. Each bullet, each bolt of arcane energy from Valerius's sidearm's secondary fire mode, was stopped by that invisible barrier, absorbed without any visible effort from the knight. He was a walking fortress, an implacable force of nature.
"He's too strong!" Crew yelled over the din, ducking as a ricocheting slug gouged a chunk out of the wall behind him. "The shield is a full-body ward!"
Valerius's mind raced. He knew of the Templar Remnant, disbanded fanatics who believed the modern world had strayed from the true path of Aspect Weaving. He'd always considered them a bogeyman, a story told to scare initiates. He never thought he'd face one, let alone their "First Knight." The knight's power was raw, untainted by the laws and limitations that governed modern Weavers. It was pure, zealous faith given form.
"Fall back to the room!" Valerius commanded, firing a final, desperate shot that sparked against the ward. "Protect the patients!"
They retreated, their boots sliding on the slick floor. Kaelan followed, his steps slow and deliberate, a predator savoring the final moments of the hunt. The light from his sword cast long, dancing shadows that made the hospital corridor seem like a cathedral of judgment. He was within five meters of the doorway now. He could see the monitors above the beds, their frantic beeps a counterpoint to his advance. He could see the still faces of the dreamwalkers, their bodies vulnerable, their minds fighting a war he couldn't comprehend.
In the psychic void, Konto screamed. Not with his voice, but with his entire being. The physical pain was a distraction, a fire alarm blaring while the house was already burning down. He could feel Valerius's desperation, Crew's fear. He could feel the cold, absolute conviction of the knight. It was a new kind of enemy, one that couldn't be reasoned with, couldn't be overwhelmed with emotion. It was a wall of pure, unyielding faith.
*Konto!* Liraya's voice cut through his panic, a lifeline of pure thought. *What's happening?*
*They're here!* he projected back, the thought a frantic burst of energy. *The Templars! A knight. He's going to kill us!*
*Focus on Moros!* Anya's voice was weaker, strained. *The physical is a distraction. If we don't end this here, his collapse will tear the hospital apart anyway!*
She was right. He could feel it now. The void around them wasn't empty. It was filled with the raw, untethered power of Moros's shattered psyche. It was a psychic bomb, and its timer was running out. The knight was just the detonator.
Back in the physical world, Kaelan reached the threshold of the room. He stopped, his gaze sweeping over the scene. He saw the three dreamwalkers, their minds linked by shimmering threads of psychic energy. He saw the complex web of runes Edi had etched onto the floor, a desperate attempt to stabilize their connection. He saw the comatose form of Elara in the adjacent bed, her own life signs flickering erratically, caught in the psychic backlash.
"So much corruption," the knight murmured, a flicker of something like pity in his cold eyes. "So many souls lost to the dream." He raised his sword higher, the light intensifying, bathing the room in a sterile, unforgiving glare. The heat from the blade made the air shimmer, threatening to melt the plastic casings of the medical equipment. "The final prayer will be said. The cleansing begins now."
Valerius and Crew were out of options, their weapons useless, their position untenable. They stood between the knight and the beds, a futile human shield. Valerius's hand went to the hilt of his own Warden's blade, a simple, practical weapon of enchanted steel. It felt like a toy against the divine power of the knight.
"This is your last chance, Warden," Kaelan said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "Stand with the light, or be cast into darkness with them."
Valerius drew his sword, the scrape of metal on metal a defiant answer. "My duty is to them," he said, his voice firm, all doubt gone. He was a Warden of Aethelburg, and he would not abandon his post. He would not abandon Konto.
"So be it." Kaelan's gaze hardened. He took a final step into the room, his armored boots crossing the threshold of Edi's protective rune circle. The runes flared, a desperate burst of blue light, but they shattered like glass against the purity of the knight's aura. The connection to the dreamscape wavered violently.
In the void, Konto felt the psychic link to his body fray. The knight's presence was anathema to their delicate operation. He had to make a choice. End Moros now, and hope the psychic backlash didn't kill them all, or try to fight a battle on two fronts he couldn't possibly win.
He looked at the shimmering, broken form of the Arch-Mage. He was no longer a god, no longer a monster. He was just a man, hollowed out by grief, his power a runaway train about to derail. Killing him felt like a mercy. But it also felt like a waste. All that power, all that knowledge of the city's ley lines, would be lost.
*There is another way,* Liraya's thought whispered, filled with a sudden, desperate inspiration. *Don't destroy him. Absorb him. Use his Reality Weaving to fight back!*
The idea was insane. To take the shattered mind of the most powerful mage in the city into his own? It would be suicide. It would erase what was left of Konto himself.
But it was the only move they had left.
Konto reached out, not to destroy, but to embrace. He plunged his consciousness into the dissolving core of Moros's being.
In the hospital room, Kaelan raised his sword for the killing blow. The purifying fire gathered at the tip, a miniature sun about to be unleashed. Valerius braced himself, Crew beside him, their faces set in grim determination. They had bought all the time they could. The end was here.
"By the light of the First Spire," the knight intoned, his voice echoing in the small, white room. "You will be cleansed."