In the sea of Kins mind, he saw a small, rocky outcrop, barren and empty. Well, almost empty. In the centre of the island was a rock, unlike the others, it was like a shard, as if some giant had crushed a boulder in his hand, and this scrap had landed here, embedding itself deep into the earth. Sticking out like a splinter from a fingertip. Atop this queer rock sat a thing. It wore armour, dirty and dented, with ragged robes and a hood which wrapped its features in shadow. On its lap was a longsword, made of a dark metal. Yet despite its grungy appearance it seemed to radiate with light, a soft glow not unlike an aura.
It looked up at him, its head cocked. Under its scrutiny he felt naked, as if the eyes hidden in the darkness could see into him, as if they could see through him, back into the room, back at cinder. Why was it looking at cinder? Was it some subconscious, embodying kin's hatred of the woman? Was it a memory of some sort, corrupted by the half madness of this mind? He didn't know, He didn't WANT to know.
It slid from the rock, lurching towards him. The sword slung onto one armoured shoulder, settling into a dent in the pauldron. He wanted to move, to run, but the mystery of this creature enraptured him, how could it do this, how could a figment of someone's mind hold him in such a state? He was the greatest mind scribe to ever walk the earth, nothing, conscious or subconscious could do that. As it neared, it crouched, and sprang up, arcing through the air, the sword shining brightly as he spun
He needed to move, nothing could harm him here, yet his every instinct screamed for him to move.
The scribes body flew back, slamming against the cells wall with a sound like the snapping of dry twigs. It hung there for a moment before its own weight pulled it down to pile on the cobbled floor.
With a sigh, Cinder motioned for a prison guard to deal with the corpse. She stared down at the motionless knight.
"The hard way then."