Cedric Hanan, after hearing the voice in the darkness of the holding cell, turned his head sharply. His vision blurred momentarily, blinded by a thin shaft of moonlight streaming through the narrow window high in the stone wall. The light carved a pale line across the floor, sharp and cold.
Then, from the shadows, came the low sound again, a contemplative "mmm," thick with curiosity.
"Are you… a knight?" the voice asked. Calm. Measured. Ancient in its cadence.
Cedric squinted, lifting a hand to block the glare of the moonlight, trying to focus on the figure hidden in the far corner. His voice caught slightly as he replied, "No, sir," with a breath of nervous respect. "I am just a foot soldier, sir."
Something in the darkness shifted. The figure let out another thoughtful hum "hmmm" this one deeper, as though the answer only deepened his curiosity.
Cedric watched as the figure rose slowly from his place in the corner, the motion deliberate, almost ceremonial. The man stepped forward, letting the moonlight reveal him bit by bit.
First came the outline of his form, tall, thin but sturdy, wrapped in a long, tattered coat that may have once belonged to a knight or scribe. Then his face emerged, weathered and shadowed by age. He had long hair, heavy with time, with a thick strand of stark white sweeping along the right side. It looked like a bolt of lightning frozen in black silk.
A long, black beard framed his mouth, tangled and unkempt, streaked with thin threads of white throughout. His eyes—when they finally caught the light, were dark but not dull. They held something buried, something deep. Something still awake.
He looked as though he'd been in this cell for months. Perhaps more. The air around him felt still, quiet—not broken, but waiting.
The figure came closer, his bare feet barely making a sound against the stone.
"Are you really not a knight?" he asked again, as if unsure or testing him.
Cedric, still keeping his eyes on the man, answered honestly, "No, sir. I'm only nineteen. In the whole kingdom, it's rare for someone my age to be knighted. Most knights earn their titles after the age of thirty."
The figure sniffed slightly as he drew nearer, then let out a short, amused breath, a single, manly chuckle.
"Mmm. Interesting," he said. His tone carried both curiosity and sarcasm.
"Interesting," he repeated, almost to himself. Then he tilted his head and asked, "What's your name, foot soldier?"
"I am Cedric Hanan," Cedric replied, standing a little straighter despite the cold.
"Hanan?" the man echoed, brow arching. "Why is your last name that of a woman?"
Cedric paused, used to the question by now.
"My father… he died when I was young," he said. "After that, I took my mother's name."
He hesitated a moment, then added, "Plus, my father was a well-known knight. I just never wanted people constantly comparing me to him."
The figure grunted, whether in approval or dismissal, Cedric couldn't tell—and stepped into the full light, revealing a half-smile lost in the folds of his beard.
After the man settled back down, Cedric sat at the other cold corner of the room, pulling his knees up slightly and resting his arms on them. Silence stretched for a while, broken only by the occasional drop of water echoing somewhere beyond the cell.
Finally, hesitating, Cedric spoke again. "Uhm, sir... uhm, what's your name?" His voice cracked slightly, rough from the dry air.
The man in the shadows gave a low chuckle, deep and resonant. His voice echoed as he answered, "It's Faris. Faris Pen Draigh. But you can call me Sir Faris."
Cedric lifted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Faris Pen Draigh... are you a noble, perhaps?"
Faris responded with a single word, flat and unadorned. "Was."
Cedric's brow furrowed. "Was? Does that mean you used to be a noble? What happened?"
Faris gave a brief glance toward the barred door, as though considering how much of the past belonged in the present. Then, with a half-shrug and a faint grin, he muttered, "That's a story for another day, Hani-bloom."
Cedric straightened up. "It's Cedric Hanan."
Faris raised an eyebrow, his expression dry. "Yes, you already mentioned. Do you have a bad memory or something, Hani-bloom?"
Cedric just sighed.
Faris's tone shifted slightly, the sarcasm softening into something more direct. "Anyway, from the way things look, it seems you're here because they think you deserted. Are you really the type to cowardly flee? You don't seem like the type, Hani-bloom."
Cedric, just slightly annoyed, answered, "It's Cedri…ah, never mind."
He paused, then continued. "No, Sir Faris. I would never leave my fellow soldiers to die alone, even if we were outnumbered. I don't know how or why, but I think we were betrayed. We were only meant to distract the Fawryn with a mere 250 foot soldiers. Just a distraction. Back-up was supposed to flank them from all sides… but it never came."
Cedric's voice dropped slightly. "Our entire unit was massacred. I don't even know if my friends survived."
Faris now leaned forward, curious. "Mmm. If you were all slaughtered, how did you make it out alive?"
Cedric looked down, his hands flexing slowly. "I don't know. One moment I was fighting, then I got hit in the face with a mace... the next thing I know, I'm waking up under a pile of dead bodies, jaw broken, bleeding out. Honestly, I should have died on that battlefield. But..."
He paused, uncertain whether to say more.
Faris narrowed his eyes slightly. "But what?"
Cedric hesitated, then said, "I don't know. I just blacked out. And then… I woke up at home."
Faris studied him for a long moment. Then he leaned back, arms folding. "Mmm. Anyway, I'm sure you have your reasons for not telling me everything."
He let out a slow breath, almost like a sigh, then added in a voice low and worn, "Strange things happen when you should've died. And stranger still when the world lets you come back."