Rebecca shivered, still shaking off the cold sensation of near-death from her limbs. A small scratch, hardly deep enough to draw blood, was etched on her chest, but it had been just enough for the basilisk's blood to take effect on her. Her book lay beside her, a neat hole in the center where the arrow had punched through. It was a thick tome, but not thick enough to have stopped the arrow entirely; the tip of the projectile had just erupted on the other end of the book, just enough for it to have punctured her undertunic and pierce her skin.

  Henry sat beside her, concern scrawled all over his face; he had his hand on her shoulder, keeping her steady and upright as she breathed deeply.

  "Slow down, Rebecca. Take a breath." Her companion exhaled and inhaled at a slow and steady pace, and she followed his lead; after a moment, she finally felt her heartbeat slow from a blinding sprint to a steady jog. "What did you see?"

  "I... I saw it. The mountain. Or rather, the... thing beneath the mountain itself." She bit her lip, still shuddering, but not from the cold now. "It's... old. Very old. It fed on death for millennia, and now it's waking."

  "What? What thing?" Henry frowned. "And why now? Surely it should've woken up ages ago, with how much death there's been around here."

  "Something is coming. Something worse, bad enough to scare it into waking up." Rebecca struggled to stand, but Henry held her down.

  "Easy! You've just woken, you're in no shape to stand!"

  "No, we've got to get in there! Everyone's going after the wrong thing!" Rebecca looked at him, her eyes wild and crazy. "The dragon isn't the true threat! The mountain itself is!"

  "And how do you suppose we take on the mountain?" Henry asked. "That we tear it down, stone by stone?"

  "No, the hostages! They're the last bits of living energy it needs!" The mage pushed herself to her feet, swaying unsteadily as she stood. Henry helped her keep her balance, as the two of them stumbled to the entrance where everyone had just gone through. "We need to find and free them, before it finishes!"

  The two of them slipped back into the cave, only to find...

  Henry blinked. He looked around him, confused; one moment, he had just burst into the cave with Rebecca, ready to confront whatever it was inside. The next, he found himself standing much further in, far from the entrance without any memory of crossing the cave.

  All around, he saw the others, but they were... frozen. The faces of the militia were all fixed in various expressions of fury and determination, their weapons poised to strike; Diana was at their lead, her mouth open in mid-command. Arthur and Lyla were right behind her, in the midst of charging into battle as well; Arthur's visor was down as he was mid-stride, his sword in one hand, while Lyla had her greatsword in a lancing position, her blond braid frozen mid-air behind her. Further back, at the entrance, Henry could see Rebecca, just as frozen as the others, one hand above her face while the other was draped around a nonexistent shoulder, where he had been helping her.

  Time was at a complete standstill within this chamber, yet somehow he was able to move freely. Henry cautiously walked around, picking up a sword from the ground.

  There weren't any skeletal warriors around, nor was the dragon; instead, at the center of the room was a large hole, big enough to where he wasn't able to jump from one side to the other. He crept to its edge and peered down, trying to make out what he could see in the darkness below.

  He could see the shape of the dragon, having apparently fallen what looked to be eight meters down. It had struck the ground hard, hard enough to crater the rock it landed on; like everyone else, it too was completely still, its head half-raised in the act of crying out.

  But his blood chilled when he saw, halfway down, Praetorus' body, still falling through the air. He was frozen mid-fall, his back poised to hit the rocky floor below; at the height he was falling from, the fall would be most likely fatal.

  "It's up to you now." A small, child-like voice at Henry's side startled him. He whirled around, facing a small child no more than four or five years of age; it was a boy, his dark hair cut into the customary bowl-shaped hairstyle.

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  "Who are you?" Henry asked, raising his sword. "What's going on?"

  "A choice. Yours." The child walked past him, peering into the hole as well. "I tried to return, to protect this realm from the greater threat. But now, almost all of my magic is gone. I've only got enough left to extract the last bit I need from the sacrifices. But it's out of my hands now."

  "Who are you?" Henry repeated, leveling his sword at the child.

  He smiled and looked the squire up and down, as if judging his fashion choice. "Come now. You don't know?"

  "No, I know. But I know you're not what you seem you are." Henry gripped the sword tightly, refusing to lower it. "You're me. As a child."

  "As if you're still not a child, meddling in things you don't understand." The child - younger Henry - sat down at the edge of the hole and bade for the squire to join him. "Come, sit. I've no tricks left. I only wish to talk."

  Henry sidestepped, keeping his younger self in his sights, as he knelt down on one knee about a meter away. He lowered his sword arm, but kept the blade up.

  "I didn't choose this form for fun," his younger self said, kicking his dangling legs as if he were sitting over a wharf. "You remember what happened at this age, don't you?"

  "Yes." The squire's voice was steely, but he could feel rawness nipping at his throat. "My village. My parents."

  "Do you remember what you swore that night? What you wanted to do when you grew up?"

  "That I'd become a knight. Stop this from happening to any other village."

  "That's right! You do have a good memory." Child Henry grinned at him without any hint of friendliness. "I saw it, you know. As I see everything."

  "... what are you?" Henry stared at him. "A spirit? A god?"

  "Oh, a god! You flatter me." The child giggled. "No, not quite. I've tried to tell you, but your mind won't - can't - understand."

  "Then-"

  "Best you don't know." His younger self shot him a single dark look that shut Henry up. "But I do want you to know this. Your actions and choices here, will change this world irrevocably. This is your chance, Henry. Your chance to choose."

  He got up and ambled along the edge of the hole; Henry followed wordlessly a few paces behind.

  "Why do you want to be a knight, Henry? Aside from your past, of course."

  The squire hesitated. "I want to help people. Protect the weak and downtrodden. Uphold the chivalric values."

  "Yes, yes, the usual. But why do you want to be a knight? Why does any young sop dream of knighthood?"

  He came to a stop, and Henry with him; the latter pondered for a few seconds before replying.

  "... I want to be a hero."

  "Presto! Finally, some truth. Doesn't that feel nice?"

  "What are you getting at?" Henry held his sword an inch from the child's face, who didn't even react to it. Instead, he kept smiling up at Henry.

  "I'll be upfront. Let me wake, let me fend off the greater threat that is coming." The child shrugged. "A few dozen lives for the entire realm. Surely, that's a worthy trade?"

  "What threat? What are you talking about?" Henry's sword wavered. "Praetorus and Rebecca kept mentioning it, and now you. How do I know you're not just lying again?"

  "Henry, I am many things, but Praetorus is right. I'm not a liar. A stickler for the technicalities, maybe, but I'm no liar." The child's expression shifted, changing to one of... fear. "Henry, even if you could understand what I'm trying to tell you, you wouldn't believe me. When I say that something worse is coming, I mean it. If I'm not awake to meet it when it gets here..."

  He trailed off, before shaking his head and continuing. "But it's your choice at this point. Let me wake, and you'll save the entire realm. Or save these people, and you doom this entire world."

  Henry tightened his grip on his sword. The child's face was calm and neutral, staring up at him intently; it was unsettling to stare into his own face, yet see someone else's eyes entirely. His younger self turned to the squire fully and waited patiently for his response.

  The two stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, as Henry fought a vicious battle within.

  What if he's right? He could feel a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face, a tingling sensation not unlike the spiders from before. On the off chance he's not lying...

  Reason stormed back into his head. He's toying with you. He'll say whatever he can to preserve himself. He looked towards Praetorus, still frozen mid-fall. He fooled Praetorus. No doubt he's trying to fool you too.

  "Well?" the child blinked.

  The Codex reveres saving life, yes. But that's theory vs practice. The fog in his mind cleared, as did all doubts in his mind. I won't take that chance.

  "I'll sweeten the pot for you," the child went on. "Like I said before, Sir Gallant lives. I'll tell you where he is, if you'll just leave."

  The offer very nearly swept Henry off his feet, but his resolve remained steadfast and firm.

  "I can't let these people die based on your word alone." Henry took a step back. "Where are they?"

  The child sighed despondently. "If that's your choice."

  "It is."

  "Don't say I didn't warn you." Young Henry's face shifted before Henry's very eyes; the face sallowed and paled, its eyes glowed a bright yellow. As Henry watched, the child seemed to fade away before him. "They'll be here, safe and sound. I'll even do you a small favor." It smiled one last time, a wide, wicked grin that sent an icy chill crawling up the squire's spine. "Until next time, Henry."