The dragon reared back and roared, a deafening noise that reverberated within the cave and made Henry instinctively clap his hands over his ears. He spied the others following suit in the corner of his vision, but Arthur, his own ears padded with steel and padding from his helmet and arming cap, was largely unaffected; the knight-apprentice surged forward and thrust his sword right into the dragon's soft underbelly in the moment everyone else was still reeling from the dragon's roar.

  His blade cut through the decayed, mottled flesh as easily as cloth, but the dragon didn't even register his attack; it was simply too big to really care for what was essentially a toothpick digging into its underside. If anything, it ignored Arthur entirely and turned its horrible gaze to Praetorus, who grimaced as the beast fixed its glowing green eyes on him.

  INTERESTING. A voice - or a thousand voices, Henry couldn't discern which - stabbed into his mind like thorns, as it felt like the dread that filled his chest now flowed directly into his brain.

  A SON OF ASHENBOW, RETURNED. WHY?

  He could see Praetorus shrink as the voice and dread energy seemed to focus on him in full; if the heaviness Henry felt was only indirect, he couldn't even imagine what the archer was feeling now.

  And yet, Praetorus steadied himself and drew back up, visibly straining against the baleful forces against him. "I have come for my brother."

  YES. YOUR BROTHER. GAIUS. Every word crashed against Henry's mind like waves against a cliff; it took all he had to remain on his feet, while beside him Lyla had fallen to one knee, her face contorted in pain. Arthur, to his credit, continued to hack and slash at the dragon's leg, to which the beast took no notice of.

  LEAVE. The single word blasted into Henry's brain, as his foot stepped back independently of his control. The dread and terror surged within him, threatening to bubble over at any second; try as he might, it felt as if his very spirit were fleeting as well. The resolve and determination from earlier were gone, and he suspected he would follow shortly.

  "No." Praetorus visibly winced as he spoke. "I will not leave until I have my brother."

  The dragon stared at the three before it with its glowing green eyes, still ignoring Arthur; the knight-apprentice let out a cry of frustration as he maintained his frenzied assault on its legs and underside.

  VERY WELL. TAKE HIM. TAKE THEM ALL. AND LEAVE.

  The dread and terror subsided, and Henry felt as it a great weight had been lifted from his chest and shoulders. Praetorus and Lyla both let out gasps of relief as well, and the dragon finally acknowledged Arthur at its feet.

  STOP. An invisible force seemed to freeze Arthur in place; his face was still twisted in fury as his sword remained in mid-swing, but he was completely and utterly frozen.

  With Arthur dealt with, the beast turned back to the others. TAKE THEM. LEAVE.

  A strange mist materialized out of the air, thick and heavy; it swirled about them and coalesced at their ankles, bathing the entire cavern floor in a sea of fog. The dragon before them stiffened and remained motionless, as the green glow in its eyes gave out.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  And then, from the shadows of the cave, three figures emerged into view.

  In front of Praetorus, an older man in his twenties, dashing and handsome with some of Praetorus' features, smiled and beckoned to the archer. Henry could hear Praetorus gasp softly as he extended a hand to the figure.

  "Gaius." Praetorus' voice broke.

  The second figure strode before Lyla, gold and white shining through the mist. The younger knight-apprentice cried out in shock seeing him. "Sir Otis?"

  Sir Otis, wearing half-plate, smiled broadly at Lyla as he extended his hand to her.

  And Henry... he heard it, the noise he hadn't heard for over a year. The familiar rattling of full-plate, the old chnk-chnk of footsteps that reminded him to straighten out and fix the imperfect pins in the greaves...

  He saw the shadow begin to approach him from the mist, and quickly shut his eyes and turned away. It can't be. He's dead. They're ALL dead.

  "Henry?"

  He very nearly opened his eyes from shock alone; still, he managed to resist the urge to open them and kept them shut, turned away from the voice.

  "Henry, is that you?" The familiar voice tugged at his heart further; every fiber of his being screamed at him to look, to see if the voice matched its owner. But he knew, he knew, that its owner was gone, was dead. But then again, so were Praetorus' brother and Lyla's master...

  "Henry, why won't you look at me?" The voice took on a more reproachful tone. "Have you forgotten me so easily?"

  "N-no." He couldn't resist answering; force of habit slowly began overtaking reason. "I-I'm sorry, sir."

  "Look upon me, lad. Let me see you again, after all this time." He could hear the figure stop right in front of him, his plate suit clanking softly with every move. "Let me see what my squire has become, after such a long time away."

  He couldn't bear it any longer; he had to look. With great difficulty, emotion overrode reason as the squire finally wrenched his head back and opened his eyes.

  It was him, exactly as he had remembered him. Sir Gallant stood before him again, clad in his resplendent armor and wearing his customary half-stern, half-smiling expression that he always wore. Seeing the knight's fine features again elicited an instinctive sob from Henry before he could suppress it.

  "Sir Gallant." Henry staggered a bit as he approached the knight. "You're... you're alive."

  "Was there ever any doubt, my boy?" Sir Gallant beamed, his teeth glinting in the dark. "Come. Let's go home."

  Henry shook his head. No. This is wrong. Something is wrong.

  Reason slowly returned, clashing with the more easily received feelings of relief and joy. His heart refused to accept it, but his head screamed the obvious truth to him.

  Gallant is dead. He died a long, long time ago. He stumbled back, his head swimming. It was only when he looked at the smiling knight again, gesturing for him to join him and leave, that the second truth revealed itself to him.

  Gallant would never turn his back on a dragon. It's why he died in the first place. His head gradually cleared, but the fog firmly remained, still impeding his higher reasoning. It was a fight to even formulate these thoughts in his head.

  As he gawked at Sir Gallant - no, the illusion of Sir Gallant - standing before him, Praetorus and Lyla appeared to be fully consumed by their respective illusions. The archer was tearfully grasping his brother's shoulder in an extremely rare show of emotion, while Lyla had fully embraced her own master. Sir Gallant continued to smile and hold out a gauntleted hand to Henry, a sight that again began to erode any resistance and clarity the squire had.

  No. He's dead. That's not him. The desperate cries in Henry's head were replaced by a chorus of more emotional tones.

  Seeing is believing. That's him. It has to be him. Slowly, he felt himself approaching Gallant, his own hand extended to take the knight's. We can go home. We can all finally go ho-

  A bright flash of light arced past Henry and struck Gallant, vaporizing the knight before the squire's very eyes. Before he could react, the same light repeated with Praetorus' brother and Lyla's master, shattering the illusions like statues struck by lightning.

  His head slowly cleared up once more as he stumbled back, Praetorus and Lyla equally confused. He turned his head to see where the light had come from.

  Rebecca stood behind them, her palms glowing and crackling with energy as she glared at them.

  "Snap out of it!" she hissed, her gaze shifting to the dragon now. "Honestly, to fall for such a simple charm spell! I expected this of Arthur, but you lot?"