The sun hung mercilessly over the vast desert wastelands of Vacuo, its heat pressing down on the travelers like an unrelenting weight. The sand stretched for miles in every direction, shifting and whispering under the wind's soft touch.
There were seven of them, making their way across the dunes in a caravan of battered, sand-covered vehicles. Hunters, merchants, refugees, people looking for safety in the brutal lands of Vacuo.
But there was no safety in the desert usually.
A young man named Seth, his hands wrapped in cloth to protect them from the scorching sun, sat near the back of one of the vehicles. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his green eyes scanning the horizon with growing unease.
"Something's wrong," he muttered.
Beside him, an older hunter and nomad named Elias shifted in his seat. "You've got that feeling too, huh?"
Seth nodded. It was more than the heat, more than the desert's usual eeriness.
It felt like the air itself had gone still.
And then a howl.
Low. Guttural. Echoing across the dunes.
The caravan froze.
Elias cursed under his breath, gripping the hilt of his weapon.
Then the screaming started.
The Grimm came without warning, a pack of Death Stalkers, their massive, bone-armored forms rising from beneath the dunes like monsters from a nightmare.
Their black carapaces gleamed under the sun, their crimson eyes glowing with hunger.
One of the scorpions smashed into the lead vehicle, flipping it end over end in an explosion of metal and sand.
Seth barely had time to react before a second Death Stalker lunged, its massive pincer closing around one of the travelers, a woman who barely had time to scream before she was wounded in its grip.
The Grimm tossed her wounded body aside, turning its bloodthirsty gaze toward the rest of the caravan.
"FIGHT!" Elias roared, drawing his weapon, a massive axe, shimmering with aura.
The hunters scrambled, weapons flashing as they tried to push back the Grimm, but they were outnumbered.
The Death Stalkers were relentless, their tails stabbing down, their claws crushing everything in their path.
Seth barely managed to dodge as one of the creatures swiped at him, rolling across the burning sand before firing his rifle into its face.
The dust bullets bounced off the bone-armored plating, doing nothing.
Elias swung his axe, cleaving through a pincer, but the Death Stalker didn't even flinch.
They were losing.
They were going to die here.
And then—
It happened. A golden flash.
For a moment, the sun seemed to shine even brighter, a burst of radiant gold energy cutting through the haze of sand and confusion.
Then, a shadow fell over them.
Something large and fast bounded across the dunes, its form blurring in the heatwaves.
Seth's breath hitched as he saw it.
A massive jackalope, its golden fur gleaming under the desert sun, racing toward them with impossible speed.
And atop it… was a knight.
Clad in steel that made it look like it was rusted and with a cape that billowed behind him like a banner, the Rusted Knight descended upon the sands like a figure out of legend.
He moved without hesitation, leaping from Jackalope's back in a burst of golden aura tinted with blue.
His sword flashed, and in a single, blinding movement, he cleaved through the tail of a Death Stalker mid-strike, severing the deadly stinger before it could skewer Elias.
The Grimm screeched, thrashing in pain.
The travelers stared in stunned silence.
"W-What the hell?" Elias gasped.
Seth could barely breathe. He had read the fairy tale. Every children knew of The Girl who Fell Through the World and the Rusted Knight.
"That's the Rusted Knight."
A fairy tale. A guardian of the Everafter. The figure from stories whispered to children in Vacuo…no, in all of Remnant.
And he was here.
The Death Stalkers turned toward him, their eyes burning with hatred.
But the Knight did not waver.
He moved like lightning, his blade infused with pure golden aura, cutting through the Grimm as though they were made of paper.
One of the Death Stalkers lunged, its pincers snapping, but the Rusted Knight simply raised a hand, localizing his aura to it and unleashed a burst of golden light.
The energy exploded outward, a radiant wave of force that disintegrated the Grimm on contact.
Seth watched in awe as the remaining creatures hesitated, their instincts screaming at them to flee.
But the Rusted Knight was faster.
He rushed forward, his sandy armor gleaming with aura as he cut down the remaining monsters one by one, until the last of them crumbled into dust.
And then… silence.
The Rusted Knight stood among the remains, his sword sheathed, his helmet reflecting the sun.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Elias stepped forward, gripping his axe with shaking hands. "Who—"
The Rusted Knight raised a single hand towards the ones on the ground. The wounded started breathing normally, their auras amped up, their bodies healing themselves.
Then, without another word, he turned, walking toward his jackalope as if his job was done.
Seth's heart pounded. "Wait!"
The Knight did not respond.
The Jackalope stamped her feet, lowering her head slightly as the Knight swung himself onto her back.
And then he vanished.
A swirl of multi-colored leaves danced around him, the wind carrying him away in an instant, his form fading into the golden dunes.
He was gone.
As if he had never been there at all.
Seth collapsed to his knees, his mind reeling.
The Rusted Knight was supposed to be a fairy tale…
And yet—
"He was real," Seth whispered. "He was real."
Elias exhaled, shaking his head in disbelief, like a child who had met his hero.
The travelers, still in shock, slowly gathered themselves, murmuring amongst themselves, their voices filled with reverence and awe.
Because they had seen him.
A fairy tale turned real.
The Rusted Knight, who came with the wind, who appeared in times of need to rescue them from the 'Jabberwalkers', vanished before they could ever fully grasp his presence.
Vacuo was always a land of harsh sun, endless sand, and brutal survival. In this kingdom of scorching winds and easily shifting alliances, fairy tales were rare.
But even among them one fairy tale kept being told.
Of a knight clad in rusted steel, riding atop a golden jackalope, emerging from nowhere to save those in peril. It was a story, a tale shared over campfires to ease the tension of living in a land where Grimm could strike at any moment.
It was a story… they knew was real.
Another sighting came from a group of stranded travelers, their airship wrecked by a sudden storm, leaving them to wander the dunes on foot.
The desert was merciless, its heat bearing down on them as they struggled through the shifting sands.
Then, from the distance, a storm began to rise—but not a natural one.
It was Grimm.
A pack of Basilisks, their snake-like bodies slithering through the sand, their crimson eyes glowing hungrily.
The travelers had no weapons, no means of defense.
The Basilisks struck fast, darting through the sand, their fangs bared—
And then a flash of gold.
The storm seemingly parted, a figure cutting through the sand, his sword glowing with such pure aura.
The Rusted Knight appeared out of nowhere, his blade cleaving through the Basilisks with precise, effortless strikes.
His golden jackalope, charged between the creatures, ramming into them with bone-shattering force, sending the Grimm flying.
By the time the dust settled, the Grimm was gone, their black mist dissipating into the air.
The travelers barely had time to process what had happened before the Knight turned toward them.
He simply pointed toward the horizon, to a distant settlement.
Then, just as suddenly as he had come, he was gone, vanishing into the desert winds, leaving behind only the hoofprints of his mount in the sand.
The next tale came from a group of Vacuan soldiers escorting a supply train across the wasteland.
Their journey had been uneventful until nightfall.
That was when they struck.
Bandits.
Armed with stolen Atlesian weapons, they derailed the train, forcing the soldiers into a desperate firefight.
The bandits were ruthless, using hit-and-run tactics, picking off soldiers one by one.
The commanding officer, Captain Rho, knew they wouldn't last. Their ammunition was running low, and the bandits had the numbers.
Then a glint of metal.
A shadow moving through the darkness.
One of the bandits turned, just in time to see a sword pierce through the dust, slicing through the air like a falling star.
The Rusted Knight had arrived.
His blade flashed, cutting through weapons and armor with terrifying precision.
The bandits panicked, turning their guns on him.
But he moved too fast, weaving through the bullets, striking down his foes with calculated efficiency.
The Jackalope leaped onto the train, slamming into a bandit, sending him tumbling off the edge.
By the time the last gunshot rang out, the train was silent.
Captain Rho stared in disbelief at the knight in rusted armor, his sword dripping with dusted Grimm and fallen foes.
"Who are you?" the captain asked, breathless.
The Rusted Knight simply turned, placing a finger to his lips beneath his helmet.
Then, in a swirl of multi-colored leaves, he was gone again.
Another sighting, in the heart of the Vacuan wilderness, an oasis sat untouched, a rare paradise amidst the endless dunes.
A small village thrived here, its people relying on the oasis for survival.
But Grimm was drawn to life.
And one night, they came.
A horde of Sabyrs with bone masks and razor-sharp claws—descended upon the village, their roars shaking the very earth.
The villagers fought, but they were outmatched, their weapons too crude, their defenses too weak.
As the Grimm tore through the settlement, the people prepared for the end.
Until a sound echoed through the night.
A jackalope's cry, sharp and clear.
Then a flash of silver and gold. The Rusted Knight came riding out of the dark, his sword raised, his armor gleaming under the shattered moon's light.
With a mighty swing, he bisected the first Sabyr, his aura blazing like wildfire.
The Grimm turned to face him, but he charged ahead, unrelenting, his blade cutting through their ranks like a whirlwind.
The Jackalope bounded between the monsters, knocking them aside, crushing skulls with her powerful hooves.
The villagers watched in stunned silence as the Knight fought alone, cutting down the Sabyrs one by one, until the last of them crumbled into dust.
Then, without a word, he turned away, heading toward the dunes.
"Wait! Please!" one of the villagers called out.
But when they looked again, he was gone.
As if he had never been there at all.
More stories followed.
A woman lost in the wastelands, saved by a knight who gave her water and pointed her toward safety, then vanished.
A band of outlaws, terrorizing settlements, mysteriously defeated overnight, their weapons shattered, their leader left unconscious with a single dented helmet beside him.
A Grimm-infested cave, cleansed by a lone swordsman, his sword glowing with the light of something ancient.
No one ever saw him long enough to speak.
No one ever found where he came from, or where he went.
The Rusted Knight was everywhere and nowhere.
In the village of Ember, a village that was built within the cradle of a canyon, a haven in an unforgiving land.
But on this night, it burned.
A horde of Beringels, massive, hulking Grimm, their gorilla-like forms towering over the rooftops, had descended upon the village like an unstoppable tide.
The villagers fought. They always fought.
But against the relentless fury of the Grimm, their weapons barely scratched their monstrous hides.
One by one, the village began to fall.
The guards were ripped apart.
The walls crumbled.
The screams of the people pierced the night.
And then a sound that sent shockwaves through the battlefield.
The Beringels paused, their crimson eyes flickering toward the dunes.
Then a golden blur streaked across the sand, moving too fast to follow, kicking up a storm of dust and wind.
The ground shook as something massive landed at the canyon's edge.
A jackalope, taller than a horse, its antlers gleaming, its golden fur rippling with aura.
And atop it was a knight clad in rusted steel, his cape billowing, his sword raised up and bathed with celestial light.
The Rusted Knight had arrived, and he charged.
The Jackalope leapt from the canyon's edge, soaring through the air as the Rusted Knight raised his sword high.
The first Beringel roared, swinging a fist the size of a boulder—
Only for the knight to slice through its arm in a single, fluid motion.
The monster staggered, its arm falling to the ground in a burst of black mist.
Before it could react, the knight struck again, his blade shining like the sun, cutting through the Grimm's torso—severing it completely.
The beast collapsed, its death scream drowned out by the clash of battle.
The other Beringels lunged.
But the knight was faster.
He leapt from Jackalope's back, twisting midair, his sword carving golden arcs through the battlefield.
A Beringel swung at him, but the Knight ducked, slid beneath its legs, and drove his blade through its spine, severing its connection to the void.
Another Grimm tried to grab him, but he kicked off its chest, flipping through the air before landing on its shoulders.
With a single, devastating stroke, he cleaved its head from its body.
The villagers, still alive, watched in disbelief.
The knight fought like a force of nature.
Like a figure out of a fairy tale.
Wherever he moved, Grimm fell.
His blade was unstoppable.
His presence was unshakable.
His aura was radiant and warm.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
The last Grimm crumbled into dust, the battlefield silent except for the flickering of flames.
The villagers stood in awe, staring at the lone knight who had saved them.
The Rusted Knight looked upon them, and without a word, he sheathed his blade.
Then, as the wind picked up, his form flickered—a swirl of multi-colored leaves dancing around him.
And as always, like a ghost, he was gone.
There was no a sighting for a week, but not long after, another sighting emerged.
A trade caravan twenty men strong was crossing the largest stretch of desert in Vacuo.
They were seasoned travelers, well-armed, well-prepared.
But nothing could have prepared them for an ancient Blind Worm.
A monstrous Grimm, large enough to swallow an airship whole, erupted from the sand, its massive form thrashing, its gaping maw filled with endless rows of fangs.
The caravan stood no chance.
Their weapons were useless.
Their escape was impossible.
And then the wind howled.
A shadow passed over them, followed by the deafening cry of a beast.
The Rusted Knight descended from the sky, Jackalope soaring through the air, both bathed in golden light.
He hit the sand running, his blade drawn, his eyes locked onto the colossal horror before him.
He did not hesitate.
Charging straight into the Blind worm's path, he dodged the massive worm's strike, each strike of his blade wounding the monstrous worm.
The Grimm shrieked, rearing back, its enormous body shifting beneath the dunes.
The knight leapt, his sword raised high, aura flaring, and with a single, earth-shaking strike, he pierced through its skull.
The Grimm let out a final, gurgling scream before collapsing, its massive body sinking into the sand.
Silence followed.
Then cheers erupted.
The caravan rushed forward, desperate to thank their savior.
But he was already gone.
Riding away atop his golden jackalope, disappearing into the horizon like a phantom of the desert.
With appearances like that, the stories spread like wildfire.
Bandits defeated in a single night, their weapons shattered, their camp left in ruins.
The Grimm attack on Shade Academy, halted by a lone warrior who fought with a blade of light before the students could even act.
The wandering knight, seen standing atop the sands of Vacuo, wandering over the land like a knight-errant looking for something.
No one ever saw him long enough to speak.
No one ever knew where he went.
But they all knew one thing was that when there was trouble nearby.
The Rusted Knight would be there.