Dreams of Hardovia and The Green Throne (Part 1)

4: The Heroes of Slaves

The Heroes of Slaves

Philip's eyelids parted ways. The first thing that reached his sight was a stone ceiling. The dripping water echoed in his ears, and a cold sensation shivered down his skin. His head was like a balloon floating in the air, but with something pricking it to pop. Philip barely moved to rise from lying, but the pain eventually embraced him tightly — making him groan. He forced himself but only managed to press against the nearby wall. He then got to his full consciousness and scrutinized the place.

"This isn't my room?" Philip confusedly stated.

Philip was in a gloomy place. Torches pinned on the upper walls were the only source of light. The bars on his side turned his face from weary-looking to exasperated when he realized it wasn't just some dark place but a dungeon. He didn't wake on his bed like he used to. Even if he only slept and dreamed two times and napped for a minute before, he expected to return to his everyday life after a blackout, but it wasn't what happened. The poor young man stood up swiftly, regardless of the pain, and started calling out.

"Where am I, help!" Philip yelled.

His voice echoed in the dungeon, and silhouettes of heads sprouted in the other cells. People are peeking at him from the ground. Few stood up, and Philip's eyes widened with his mouth left open when he saw a man in the other cell parallel to him. A filthy man with a stomach in a biconcave shape with evident ribs above it. The disturbing situation startled Philip's senses, and he called out more out of fright, making another man's voice echo at his back. He then quickly diverted his sight to the source.

"You are only wasting energy by useless cries," said the mysterious man calmly.

Philip wasn't alone in his cell after all. He failed to notice the man behind him, sitting on the dark, farther side. The man was filthy but only in his clothes. Even if the dungeon was dim, Philip still saw the man's skin was white, he had yellowish-brown eyes, and his hair matched the color of a chestnut. He didn't seem like a slave, as his clothing was almost identical to Philip's design. The man stood up and entered the light as it approached Philip. The man's physique was as average as Philip's but an inch smaller.

"My name is Bevyn," said the man as he held his hand to Philip.

"Mine is Philip," responded Philip, and then he reached for Bevyn's hands to shake.

Bevyn started stepping ahead, encircling Philip, and stated, "So, by your clothing and level of filth" — he grinned — "you are a newly captured slave."

"Ahh, Yeah," weirded out Philip.

"Where do you come from, Philip?" interrogated Bevyn.

"What did you say?" queried Philip and made Bevyn halt in front of Philip.

"Where did you... come from?"

"No! the other one," exclaimed Philip.

"I am confused, Philip?"

"—yes! I mean, no. My name isn't Philip."

"You just said your name is Philip earlier," said Bevyn.

"No, I... did... not," reasoned Philip. "My name is Arthur."

Philip was battling with his mind for being so careless. He must write in his brain that everyone in this place mustn't know his true identity.

"Are you stating that I am lying? I am assured you said, Philip."

"My mind isn't working well right now, sorry."

"Alright, I acknowledged your reasons. Okay... well then... Arthur. Where did you come from?"