The Grimm Knight and his Fuchsbau
After the fall of Constantinople, one of the Grimm Knights-brother to the Seven who buried their cursed treasure beneath blood-soaked soil-rides home through ash and silence. But fate, or something older, intervenes. A portal opens mid-ride, swallowing him whole. He awakens in a forest outside Portland, Oregon, sword still blood-wet, armor echoing with ancient grief. The world has changed. The treasure still calls. And the show begins in two days.
He was the Eighth. The one who didn't bury the treasure. The one who lingered too long at the gates of Constantinople, watching fire devour legacy. His brothers rode west, each carrying a piece of the hoard-gold, relics, secrets too old for scripture. He rode last, his oath unbroken, his name erased from the pact.
But the forest he entered was not the one he knew.
The portal tore through time like a blade through parchment. One moment, he was riding through scorched earth and fog. The next, he was standing in a moss-drenched glade beneath Oregon skies, surrounded by trees that whispered in languages he'd never heard. His realm was gone. His armor hummed with residual magic. And the cursed coin he never buried pulsed in his satchel like a second heart.
He is not alone. The forest is watching. The treasure is waking. And the Seven-scattered across centuries-are stirring.
Two days from now, the show begins. And the Grimm Knight must choose to bury the past or let it rise.