Years withered away, yet the quest endured. The company had been reduced one knight after another, until only Percival remained. The curse of his pure heart. Temptation whispered ever louder to sit beside the road in this barren, blasted land and give up. What was the point now? Or then?
The gate’s hinges howled in protest. Percival coiled up, grunted, and heaved. The guard for the crypt, a desiccated skeleton, toppled over, clattering across the cave floor.
In faint light, a chalice stood on a ledge. He blinked his eyes, gray like skies of his homeland. Percival knelt, then wept.
Picture is copyright Josh Mosey. (100 words)