Alfred was dragged down the dark corridor as morning broke outside. Yet inside the castle, no light found its way in. The walls seemed to drink the sunlight, leaving only a cold, suffocating gloom. When the guards reached the end, they unlocked a rusted gate and shoved him into a cell.
He stumbled, then straightened, eyes scanning the shadows.
'Here I am… once again, in a prison, he thought bitterly.'
He paced the cell once, twice, testing the limits, then stopped before the iron bars. With a quiet sigh, he sat down on the stone floor, back against the wall, chains clinking faintly.
In the council chamber above, tension was thick.
Jayden leaned forward, breaking the silence first.
"We're wasting potential," he said firmly. "We can use him, his holy light magic is real. No demon can wield that, that proves that he is not one among them. If he's one of us, why not try talking to him?"
Rowan crossed his arms. "No. He's reckless, arrogant, and dangerous. Trusting him would be a mistake. We should focus on our current front, not a liability."
Benjamin's voice followed, calm but edged. "I've fought him. He's powerful, but unpredictable. It's not safe to rely on him."
Then Marcus spoke, his tone deep and deliberate. "I agree with Jayden. The demon army is growing faster than any of our defenses. Even with what we remember from Earth, it's not enough. We need every weapon we can get, even him."
Zander's low voice broke through the debate. "So?"
Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You know, his powers are effective against demons, it's already proven. We should try to recruit him. That's our best option right now."
Michael exhaled heavily, worry clouding his tone. "The demon army has already taken over Artwine. Their next move is toward Septon. We can't let another kingdom fall, we have to defend it. We need to strike back before it's too late."
Benjamin turned toward Griffin. "What about you? What do you think?"
Griffin hesitated for a moment before answering. "Honestly… I don't know. It's true, we don't have the strength to face the demon horde on our own. Maybe with his power, it could be possible. Using him might not be such a bad idea."
All eyes slowly turned to Zander. The room fell silent as his voice, calm and heavy, cut through the air.
"We'll decide that later. A rushed choice will only lead to regret. For now… we wait."
One by one, the heroes nodded, the unspoken weight of the coming war settling between them.
A lone knight walked down the dim corridor, his armor echoing against the cold stone walls. In his hand was a metal tray, the morning meal. When he reached Alfred's cell, he dropped the tray just beyond arm's reach and struck the iron bars with the sheath of his sword.
The sharp clang tore through the silence, jolting Alfred awake.
"Here, have this. Don't starve to death in there, hero," the knight said mockingly before turning away.
Alfred didn't answer. He simply watched the man's retreating figure until the echo of his footsteps faded. The dungeon fell quiet again, nothing but the low hum of chains and the occasional drip of water.
'So… they're not planning to kill me yet,' he thought. 'This place is different from the dungeons of Artwine.'
He reached for the tray, stretching his arm through the bars, but his fingers barely brushed the edge.
'Damn it. He did that on purpose.'
After a few fruitless tries, Alfred sighed and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.
Moments later, a faint scraping broke the stillness, the sound of metal against stone. Alfred's eyes snapped open. The tray was slowly sliding toward him, pulled by something unseen.
When it crossed the cell's threshold, Alfred didn't touch it. Instead, he lifted his gaze.
Standing just beyond the shadows was a familiar figure.
"Are you here to enjoy my misery?" Alfred asked coldly.
Michael stepped forward, the light from a torch catching the edge of his armor. His expression was unreadable.
"No," he said quietly. "I'm here to talk."
Alfred studied him in silence, his eyes sharp and unreadable.
"Talk?" he muttered. "Last I remember, you wanted me executed. So, what changed?"
Michael exhaled slowly. "You're not wrong. But things have changed. The demon army has taken Artwine, and Septon will be next. We can't afford to waste a power like yours rotting in a cell."
Alfred gave a low, bitter laugh. "Now you need me. That's what this is."
Michael's eyes hardened. "You're not wrong about that either. But don't mistake this for mercy. If I had any other option, I wouldn't be here."
Alfred tilted his head slightly, the chain on his wrist clinking. "Then why bother talking? You already have your army of heroes."
Michael stepped closer to the bars, his voice lowering. "Because even seven heroes can't stop what's coming. You've seen what the demons are capable not only that, the apostle is with them. You've fought them. You survived what no one else could."
Alfred's gaze didn't waver. "And what? You want me to fight for the king? For the man who tortured me?"
"No," Michael said. "Not for him. For the people who still have a chance to live."
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them felt heavy, the silence pressing against the cold stone walls.
Finally, Alfred said, "You talk about saving lives, while the king's drained mine."
Michael's jaw tightened. "If you think I agreed with what he did, you're wrong. If I had known about it, i would have..."
Alfred interfered, "would you have stopped him?"
Micheal hesitated. "I...."
"Then you're no different," Alfred said, his voice low and edged with venom. "You all serve the same master."
Michael didn't respond right away. He simply turned his head, as if ashamed of the truth in those words.
After a long pause, he said, "You can hate me if you want. But the next war is already coming. When it does… we'll all need you."
Alfred smirked faintly. "Need me? Or use me?"
Michael looked at him one last time. "That depends on the choice you make."
Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving Alfred alone in the darkness once again.
After Michael's footsteps faded, silence settled again, thick, unmoving, suffocating. The flicker of a lone torch painted shadows that stretched like chains across the walls. Alfred leaned back against the cold stone, staring at the ceiling that he could barely see.
'The same story again,' he thought bitterly. 'Use me, chain me, then ask for my help when the world starts burning.'
He closed his eyes, but sleep did not come easily. His mind replayed the voices, the king's orders, the heroes' accusations, Michael's plea. All of them echoed together until they blurred into one indistinguishable sound: desperation.
'Demons… apostles… heroes…'
The words drifted in his mind like ash in the wind.
'If this world wants to burn itself, then let it. I owe them nothing.'
And yet, somewhere deeper, under the bitterness, under the fury, a small voice whispered: 'You once swore to protect them.'
He turned away from it, forcing his eyes shut. The exhaustion finally pulled him under, though his dreams were far from peace. He saw the dragon's yellow eyes again, the light of its fire reflecting off charred bones. The sky burned gold, and in the distance stood a shadow wearing a crown.
When Alfred awoke, the cell was no longer dark. A pale morning light seeped through the narrow gap in the wall. Before he could gather his thoughts, the sound of boots approached.
The cell door opened with a heavy creak. Two knights entered, their armor gleaming with the red cross of Templer's kingdom.
"Hero Alfred," one of them said, his tone formal but cold, "the council of heroes has summoned you. You will come with us."
Alfred didn't answer. He stood slowly, the chains rattling faintly as the knight unlocked them.
'So soon?' he thought. 'They couldn't wait even a day.'
He followed them down the same corridor, the same suffocating path of stone and silence. But this time, the knights didn't drag him. He walked on his own, steps steady, eyes fixed forward.
When the massive doors of the council chamber opened, the light from within flooded over him, seven thrones arranged in a circle, each occupied by a hero. Their gazes were sharp, heavy with judgment and expectation.
Michael stood among them, his expression unreadable.
The herald's voice echoed through the hall:
"Alfred of no kingdom… bearer of the light… summoned once again before the Council of Heroes."
The doors closed behind him with a thundering sound that felt final.
Michael's voice carried through the chamber, calm but edged with authority.
"Let us not drag this long... Tell me, Alfred. Are you willing to help us protect this world from the demons' attack?"
The words hung in the air like a blade suspended by a thread.
Every hero's eyes were fixed on Alfred, measuring him, doubting him, waiting for a reason either to trust or to strike. The faint crackle of torchlight echoed in the stillness; even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath.
Finally, Alfred exhaled softly. "I do."
The tension snapped like a drawn bowstring released.
But behind Alfred's steady words, his thoughts whispered differently, 'I'll help you stop the demons… but when it's over, my fight with the king will continue.'
The council remained silent for a heartbeat longer. Then Michael nodded once, gravely.
"Then from this moment forward," he said, "you fight not as a prisoner… but as one of us."