Taif T08 Taif Al-Emarat 2017

The one and only knight has entered the hall - or was he already there long before everyone else?
No one knows for sure. All attention is on him, and time loses its veil of presence.

He is dressed dark and heavy, his armor gleams blackberry black. His mink is violet and embroidered with ripe, dark vines. They bloom, bearing berries and deadly nightshade that drip from the cloak. Not a hint of mundane jewelry, but the full organic substance. It has blood, has fought in sweat. For beneath it all, unmistakably, is a body of noble strength and potency, aristocratic flesh and musculature tempered by hardship.

The Dark One transforms quickly (...he would have liked to flaunt a bit more of his heritage), pushes aside the heavy garments, and pulls out from under his cloak a pinkish-white fragrance box. Thorns have pressed through its viewing holes, and flowers are steaming their nectar out. It barely holds together what vibrates within it and has long become too tight for it.

His hands bleed from all the spikes that bore into them. But suddenly, everything smells of roses, pale pink Arabian noble roses devoid of any decency - that would be unworthy of a Grail Keeper. They have soaked up sun and dew and light over countless ages, in gardens unreachable to man.

The room shines. Everyone recognizes that it is he. And only he can be it.

One thing is certain, he will outlast them all here. His roses will still bloom and give the world a breath, the only one, when all others have long faded.