Behind that golden-trimmed helmet, no one knew if flesh or phantom dwelled. They called the knight Aurelian, not for any given name but for the sunburst flowers that sprouted from armor that should bear only battle scars. The blooms came after the Battle of Whisperfall, where lightning split the sky and strange magic poured through the rifts. Those who witnessed Aurelian stride from that shadowed valley swore the knight's eyes now burned like twin harvest moons behind the visor; watchful, ancient, changed. The flowers never wilted, even as seasons turned, and where Aurelian walked, impossible golden petals fell upon the path. Some said a curse, others a blessing, but all agreed: whatever power claimed the knight that night required payment still uncollected.