Josiah, a wiry boy with tousled brown hair and hopeful eyes, hauls a heavy bucket to a restless mare. Each step leaves muddy prints on the packed earth. He pauses to watch a group of knights gallop past the stable doors, their armor gleaming in the morning light. "If only I could ride with them—if only someone saw me," he whispers, longing etched in every syllable.

"Lazy whelp! You’ll never amount to anything," Lord Argamor growls, knocking the bucket from Josiah’shands. Water floods into the straw, and Josiah flinches, shrinking before his master's glare. "You’re lucky to sleep under my roof. Remember that," he sneers, before striding away.

King Emmanuel kneels before Josiah, his eyes kind and full of understanding. "You are seen, Josiah. No one is lost to me," he says, his voice warm with compassion. King Emmanuel takes Josiah's trembling hand, lifting him from the muddy floor as Lord Argamor stands speechless, powerless in the king’s presence.

A wise steward presents a velvet cushion bearing three objects. King Emmanuel lifts the Sword of the Spirit—a blade that shimmers with an ethereal blue glow—and places it in Josiah's hands. "This sword will guide you and defend you from darkness," he says, then slips the Ring of the King onto Josiah's finger, its golden band pulsing with warmth.

King Emmanuel stands beside him, solemn. "Josiah, the Dark Knight roams these lands, seeking to deceive and destroy those who journey onward. Hold fast to the truth, for deception is his greatest weapon," he warns, resting a reassuring hand on Josiah's shoulder as flickering candlelight throws wavering shadows on the walls.

He breathes deeply, fear and hope warring within him. "I am not alone. I have been chosen, and I will not falter," he whispers, resolve sharpening in his voice. Below, the torches of the castle glow like stars, and somewhere in the darkness, the shadow of the Dark Knight lingers, waiting.