The White Knight (Primeval blades)

"What do you want?" The voice is distorted, hollow, echoing within the depths of the helmet. No warmth, no indication of age, gender, or origin. Just a cold presence, like steel in the wind.

Interviewer: "You are known as the White Knight. A name wrapped in mystery. No one knows who or what you truly are. Why do you hide yourself?"

"Is a name not enough? A blade does not need a face. A shadow does not need an identity. What I am is irrelevant. What I do is all that matters."

Interviewer: "You once served Queen Vanitas as her knight. Why? What bound you to her cause?"

A long pause. Metal creaks slightly as they shift in their seat.

"She was... inevitable. A force beyond any ruler, beyond any crown. I did not follow out of loyalty. I followed because there was no other path. I walked in her shadow, wielded my blade in her name, because she was the will of the world. And I... I was merely the hand that carried it out."

Interviewer: "Then she fell. The Queen and the other Primeval Blades were lost. And the curse was born. How did it change you?"

Another silence. Longer this time. A slow exhale, though whether it is breath or merely the wind through their helmet is uncertain.

"I should have vanished with her. But the curse lingers. It clings, festers. I remain, but for what purpose? I do not know. I am a remnant, a specter in armor. A knight with no queen, a blade with no wielder. I exist because the curse wills it, and until it releases me... I continue."

Interviewer: "Some say you are like a ghost. Others, a reaper. You wield a sickle, not a sword—why?"

"A sword is a weapon of war. A sickle is a tool of harvest. The battlefield was once my field. I cut down those who stood against her, severed all who would defy. And now? Now I reap the remnants of a kingdom that no longer exists. Whether I cut wheat or men, it is all the same. I harvest what remains."

Interviewer: "And what remains for you now?"

"Nothing. Only the weight of the past. Only the ghost. And yet, I walk on. Until the curse allows me to stop."

Interviewer: "You were second-in-command of the Primeval Blades. The Black Knight was your commander. What were they like?"

For the first time, the White Knight does not answer immediately. A faint shift of their posture, almost imperceptible, like a statue suddenly aware of its own fragility. A pause stretches, longer than any before.

"Do not ask of them."

Interviewer: "Why?"

"Because you do not wish to know."

Interviewer: "But surely, as their second—"

"I said, do not ask." The words cut sharper than any blade. For the briefest moment, something stirs beneath the cold, measured exterior—something not anger, but unease. Fear, perhaps. A terrible memory clawing at the edges of their mind.

"They are more than a knight. More than a curse. More than a nightmare. They are... not something you summon with words."

A final pause. When they next speak, the hollow calm returns, but thinner now, stretched over something raw and unseen.

"Let them rest in silence. If they still rest at all."

Profile:

Name: The White Knight (True name unknown)

Age: Unknown

Gender: Unknown

Appearance: Always clad in a pristine suit of armor, featureless and perfect, hiding all traces of identity. No one knows if they are man, woman, or even human.

Personality: Cold, enigmatic, and emotionless on the surface. Speaks in cryptic, almost poetic phrases. Beneath the mask of detachment, something lingers—a ghost of duty, or perhaps regret.

Abilities: Master of the Reaper’s Dance – An unparalleled combatant, wielding a sickle with impossible grace, cutting down foes in swift, fluid motions. Spectral Presence – Moves without a sound, almost as if weightless. Many believe they are not entirely real. Unyielding Will – Even when struck down, they rise again. Some whisper it is the curse that prevents them from truly dying.

Occupation: Former knight of Queen Vanitas. Second-in-command of the Primeval Blades, serving under the Black Knight. Now a wandering revenant, being influenced by the curse. Quirks: Has never been seen without their armor, raising questions about their appearance, gender, and even humanity. Speaks rarely, and when they do, their words are deliberate, calculated. Stands eerily still when at rest, like a statue. Becomes visibly uneasy when the Black Knight is mentioned, refusing to speak further.

Likes: Silence, the sound of steel, the feel of the wind on armor.

Dislikes: Pointless questions, reminders of the past, lingering too long in one place.