Dark Armor: The Sanctuary and the Armor

The Sanctuary never failed to dazzle him. It had the look and feel of a small chapel, for all that it was carved from the deep stone like most of the crypt. The stained-glass windows were placed into stone walls enchanted to emit light, and glowed as if the whole room sat aboveground at noon. 

The image that caught his eye this time was the first and only depiction of the Black Knight, in a window off to his left. At the top, his grandfather Obiah Teres was lowering the helmet onto his own head, having enchanted the armor to protect him; there, a little lower, the black knight entered a ruined village; and there, there, and there the dark armor held the wizard-king Obiah Teres safe as he battled with a demon that had been unwisely summoned and unwillingly released. 

The legend had grown from there. 

Pallian didn't remember when he'd first known that he would wear the armor himself. He knew he'd heard stories of the champion's exploits, and he remembered the other children playing at being the Black Knight. He didn't remember ever doing so himself, though. Had he been excited when his father first called him to this duty? Wary? Or merely nervous, as he was at any time he came to his father's attention?

He had no idea. 

The armor was arrayed on a statue that stood where the altar might have been in a more ordinary chapel. He laid a hand on it, reluctantly renewing their acquaintance, and then drew the helmet up and lowered it onto his own head. 

Many things had changed since Obiah Teres first crafted the dark armor. Its enchantments had been expanded, improved, deepened and widened. It was a study in countermeasures for anything that might once have defeated it. And it did not wait to be donned. 

The moment Pallian settled the helmet into place, the rest of the armor swarmed off the statue and snapped into place around his body: a greave here, a pauldroon there, gauntlets and boots sliding into place... The shield dropped onto his back, and the gauntlet-sword slid into its sheath. Its enchantments soaked into him, protective and healing, and Pallian wondered how all that power would interact with his newly-redesigned initiations. Most likely the Grandmother anticipated this... 

The armor preferred to move slowly, deliberately, but Pallian could force it to move at double-time. He needed to make up for the time he'd lost earlier, and his father would know if the carriage failed to depart swiftly. If necessary, he could catch his breath once he was safely inside. He braced himself for the effort, and--

Why did you release me? asked a voice that seemed made of fire and darkness.