Chapter 22 – The Prisoner
The throne room remained silent long after the Royal Guard had spoken.
"The Blackwood Guardian has fallen."
The words seemed to linger in the air.
Brook looked toward Crowley.
For the briefest moment, his mentor's expression had changed.
Not fear.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
It lasted less than a second before Crowley's face returned to its usual calm.
Brook frowned.
"What was that?"
The King broke the silence.
"Captain Mercer."
"Your Majesty."
"I want every northern Watchtower reinforced immediately."
"It will be done."
"The civilians are not to know about the Guardian."
Mercer nodded.
"Panic would spread before sunset."
The King looked toward the Royal Chancellor.
"Double the city patrols."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Close every gate after sundown."
The Chancellor bowed before leaving the chamber.
Within moments, the room had emptied until only the King, Henry, Brook, Crowley and Mercer remained.
The King rubbed his temples.
"I never imagined I'd hear those words in my lifetime."
Brook stepped forward.
"Your Majesty…"
The King looked up.
"Do you know what the Blackwood Guardian was?"
A long silence followed.
Finally, the King answered.
"I know the stories."
"Nothing more."
"The royal records mention a guardian that stood between humanity and something buried within the Blackwood."
Brook's heartbeat quickened.
"So the stories were true?"
"I don't know."
The King's eyes drifted toward the window overlooking the northern Wall.
"After today…"
"I'm no longer certain what is legend and what is history."
The palace dungeon lay deep beneath the castle.
Stone steps spiraled downward until the warmth of the afternoon disappeared, replaced by damp air and flickering torchlight.
Brook had never been inside before.
The silence was unsettling.
The only sounds were dripping water and the clinking of armor as the guards walked ahead.
Henry glanced around.
"I always hated coming down here."
"You've been here before?" Brook asked.
Henry nodded.
"When I was younger."
"My father insisted I understand every part of the kingdom."
Crowley remained unusually quiet.
Mercer noticed.
"You've hardly spoken since the report."
Crowley shrugged.
"Thinking."
"Dangerous habit," Mercer replied.
Brook couldn't help smiling.
He'd heard something similar before.
The group reached the final cell.
Four Royal Guards stood outside with their weapons drawn.
One saluted.
"Your Majesty."
The King nodded.
"Open it."
The heavy iron door groaned as it swung inward.
Brook expected a dangerous criminal.
Instead…
An old man sat calmly on the stone floor.
His gray beard reached almost to his chest.
His clothes were worn from years of travel.
Mud covered his boots.
His hands were bound with iron chains.
Despite everything…
He was smiling.
"You certainly took your time."
The King frowned.
"You know who I am."
The old man chuckled.
"I know who all of you are."
His eyes moved slowly across the room.
Captain Mercer.
Prince Henry.
Brook.
Then…
They stopped on Crowley.
The smile disappeared.
For just a heartbeat.
Recognition flashed across the old man's face.
"So…"
he whispered.
"…you're still here."
Brook immediately noticed.
"You know him?"
The old man ignored the question.
Instead, he looked back at the King.
"You've kept your kingdom alive longer than I expected."
The King remained composed.
"Who are you?"
"I've had many names."
"I asked for your real one."
The old man smiled again.
"I don't remember if I still have one."
Mercer's patience wore thin.
"Enough games."
He stepped forward.
"You were found hiding beneath the western bridge."
"What were you doing there?"
"Waiting."
"For what?"
The old man looked directly at Brook.
"For him."
The room became still.
Brook frowned.
"You've got the wrong person."
"No."
The old man slowly stood.
The chains around his wrists rattled softly.
"I've spent twenty years looking for you."
Brook's hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword.
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
The old traveler studied Brook's face carefully.
"You have your father's eyes."
Brook froze.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
"You knew my father?"
"I did."
The King's expression hardened.
"Answer the boy."
The old man sighed.
"I met Thomas Smith once."
Brook's breathing stopped.
No one had spoken his father's name in years.
"He wasn't searching for a cure."
The old man continued.
"He was searching for a door."
Brook took a step forward.
"What are you talking about?"
Before the traveler could answer—
The torches lining the dungeon walls flickered violently.
The temperature dropped.
One by one, every flame turned a deep blue.
The guards instinctively drew their swords.
"What was that?" Henry asked.
A distant rumble echoed beneath the palace.
Not from outside.
From somewhere deep underground.
The old man slowly closed his eyes.
"They've found it."
Mercer drew his sword.
"Found what?"
The traveler's eyes opened once more.
This time…
There was no smile.
"The thing your ancestors buried."
The rumbling grew louder.
Dust drifted from the stone ceiling.
Far above them, somewhere in the city, the emergency horns began to sound again.
One blast.
Then another.
Then another.
Brook looked toward Crowley.
For the first time since they had met…
Crowley already had his sword in his hand.
And whatever was happening…
He looked ready for it.