The Knight of the Morning Star

Shadow crept across knight's face.
Deep shadow of a doubt. Shadow deepened even further by other shadows.
Standing.
Watching.
Waiting.
The shadows of his friends. The ghost shapes of his foes. All alike.
Fallen.
Torn.
Forever.
What is the price of one's victory? For standing here. For breathing in these ashes. For letting one tear to reflect the gaping darkness of the battle.
What is the price of life? Will the day come when some mighty battle ax sends him off too into those shady worlds, so foreign and unknown. Where emptiness of his eternal quest will be filled with the ultimate truth.
He rose his torn soul to his feet. He looked up at the last morning star merrily sparkling under the breaking crimson of the dawn.
-Guide me! For I am lost...