Allan awoke to the loud screech of the iron door as it opened. The small cavern was dimly lit by the guard’s torch as he entered.

“You… come!”

Allan stumbled to his feet. The dark voice of the Leviathan had been clamoring for his attention inside his head all morning. With his wrists bound, he was unable to reach his Amulet for relief.

The guard untied his bonds. Allan rubbed his sore wrists and pulled out the warm seer stone from his jumpsuit pocket. Peace washed over him for the twenty minutes it took to climb the great staircase. Allan could hear the murmur of many people speaking in a foreign tongue.

At the top of the staircase, the guard directed Allan down a tunnel to the right. After several switchbacks, the tunnel opened into a large room. It was well-lit with the orange glow of the morning sunlight streaming down from several small openings in the ceiling.

In the center of the room, fifty men sat at a long table, voraciously eating a bountiful breakfast. Allan’s stomach growled. He was growing weary of eating weeds and roots that John had foraged over the past day and a half.

“Allan, my boy!” a familiar voice called.

It was John, though he was hardly recognizable. He was clean shaven and adorned with ornate apparel. Strangely, he even appeared to be much younger. Though he still had a full head of white hair, his face didn’t appear to have a single wrinkle. As for his wardrobe, it was a stark contrast to the tattered rags he had been wearing earlier. His beautiful robe could be fit for a king.

“Go wash up, and then we can talk.”

The guard escorted him across the room. Several of the men who had been eating dropped their food and stared at him in awe as he passed by.

Do I really look that terrible?

Another set of tunnels opened up, and Allan was escorted to a washroom.

“You… clean.” he pointed to a large iron washbasin in the center of the room. Steam rose from the water, which filled the basin nearly to the top.

The guard stepped out of the room. Reluctantly, Allan peeled off his ratty orange jumpsuit and stepped into the washbasin. The warm water relaxed and soothed his aching muscles. On the ground next to the washbasin was a small tray with a crude block of what looked like a dried-up brownie. He reached down and picked it up. It smelled like perfume, but was a bit grimy to the touch.

Soap?

Allan shrugged, and began to rub the thing on his filthy body.

Just then, a young woman stepped into the room. Startled, he lowered himself further into the washbasin.

“Some clean robes for thee.” She spoke with a heavy accent as she laid a folded set of robes and a rough-looking rug on the floor next to him.

She appeared to be just as embarrassed as he, so she quickly gathered Allan’s soiled clothing. She curtsied, then abruptly stepped out.

As Allan hurried to finish scrubbing, he reflected on the morning’s turn of events. First he was a prisoner, and now he’s being treated as if he were an honorary guest.

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These are some strange people indeed.

As he stood to climb out, he realized he didn’t have a towel.

“Hello?” he called while lowering himself back into the washbasin.

Nobody responded. He waited, but the young woman didn’t return. The water was becoming tepid, and Allan wasn’t quite sure what to do. Everything about this world was foreign to him. Frustrated, he stepped out of the washbasin and reached down to pick up the set of robes. He then noticed the folded rug.

Is this supposed to be a towel?

He stared at it curiously for a moment as a pool of water formed at his feet.

The young woman appeared again. Her face went crimson as she acknowledged his naked frame, and Allan snatched up the rug and scrambled to wrap it around himself.

“My lord.” Her face went a deep crimson, “Art thou in need of help?”

“Um… no,” he stammered, equally flustered.

“I have come to clothe thee.” She curtsied again.

“Excuse me?”

She picked up the folded robes. “To dress thee, my lord.”

“Um… that’s all right. I can dress myself.”

Confused, she advised, “His Holiness expressed thine inability.”

His Holiness?

“What inability?”

She set down the pile of robes, and held up a curious item of clothing. “He expressed that thou art not accustomed to these.”

Allan stared at the item of clothing curiously for a moment. It resembled a pair of white pajama bottoms.

“I’m sure I can figure it all out,” he huffed.

“If it makes thee more comfortable,” she handed him the curious item of clothing she had been holding. “I will turn around whilst thou dost don thine braies.”

She smiled, turning to face the other direction. He held up the item for a moment as he studied them.

Long boxer briefs?

He tried to dry himself as quickly as possible, but the rough cloth was difficult to use. He then pulled on the ‘braies’ and tied a bow with the drawstrings.

“Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

She turned back around and helped him put on a pair of ‘chausses’, leather boots that pulled all the way up to his waistline. She then proceeded to help him lace-up the front of his ‘tunic’, their word for a button-up shirt absent of buttons. She helped him secure the tunic with a ‘girdle’, which was basically a fancy belt. Finally, he was donned with a majestic robe similar to the one he had seen John wearing.

She smiled and took a step back. “Very fitting, my lord.”

“My name is Allan.”

“Ah-lan.” she sounded the name out. “I am honored to meet thee.”

“And your name is?”

She blushed. “Myla.”

“Myla…” he repeated. “You have a beautiful name.”

Her blush deepened. “Come, my lord. It is time.”

He followed her through a switchback of tunnels until they returned to the great room he had passed through earlier. As he entered, all the men stood abruptly from the table, chanting in a foreign language. Myla joined them. Allan stumbled backwards in confusion.

“What are they saying?” he asked the young woman.

She stopped chanting and began translating. “The blessings of God are upon us; The Final Seraph has Ascended.”

John carried a velvet pillow toward him with a jeweled crown sitting upon it. The men in the room stopped chanting.

John bowed. “I am honored to revere thee as my King.”

What?!

Allan stared incredulously at John as another man approached. The other man picked up the crown, and held it up to eye level.

“Bow down.” John whispered through gritted teeth.

“But…”

“Bow!” he whispered again.

Reluctantly, Allan made a slight bow, and the man placed the crown upon his head.

John unsheathed a large broadsword. “It is my great honor to present thee with Excalibur.”

The Excalibur?! Oh my…

Before he could protest, John forcefully shoved the hilt into Allan’s hands. Suddenly, the jewels on the hilt glowed and a beam of light shot toward the ceiling, fading moments later. Allan couldn’t help but stare in awe at the sword.

“The sword has spoken. The balance of power has shifted.” John spoke in both English and in the foreign tongue as everyone in the room kneeled before Allan. “Only the pure of heart can wield the sword of Excalibur. Long live the King!”

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