He knew so because that was where they landed. Craig led him out and Kreig was made aware that they had landed in the middle of a large, empty prison courtyard. And only now, now that Kreig looked back at the helicopter, did he see how the soldier from before exited it as well. He seemed just as startled to see Kreig as Kreig felt seeing him. “Move along dude, move along,” Craig said, ushering Kreig through a sliding door that Kreig had to hunch to fit through.

They walked for a long while. The hallways were all grey and dreary, nothing interesting to look at, though once they descended a staircase and entered an elevator, that quickly changed. They grey shifted in a pristine, plastic white that seemed less ‘prison’ and more ‘high-tech’. To Kreig, who hadn’t seen a shiny white surface in a hundred years, it felt like he’d stepped onto an alien planet, which he kind of had.

They walked for a rather long time, descending further and further down, using codes and fingerprints and eyeball scans to open gradually thickening doors.

It felt suffocating in a way that his old prisons never had. This was something else entirely. A labyrinth of winding hallways, lit by invisible lamps and red blaring lights and nothing else.

Finally, they reached the end of it.

This door, unlike the last two dozen, was a dull metallic. Kreig could tell from a look that this metal wasn’t anything ordinary. It was Dragonheart, the toughest metal on Owred. As a matter of fact, his armour and weapons, the ones he’d been forced to undress, had been made with a mixture of Dragonheart, White Stone and Hearth. It was made to make the armour lighter than pure Dragonheart while keeping the same strength. This door, on the other hand… It wasn’t pure Dragonheart since the metal was extremely precious, but it seemed to have been mixed with several Earth metals to retain the strength and decrease the weight.

Craig did not open this door himself. Instead, he stepped to the side, letting a woman with a far lower level step up to the task. Opening the door required an eye-ball scan, a fingerprint scan, a vocal command and a final code. And when that was done and yet another person had repeated the process, the door finally slid open.

The room inside wasn’t very large, though the roof was extremely high. It contained a bed, a toilet, a sink, and a small table and chair. The bare necessities for living, but compared to what Kreig had been given in that sealing room below the Empire’s dungeons, it was a luxury.

Compared to what he’d been living off of for the last 30 years, it was a luxury.

He felt like crying.

He didn’t.

“Alright, Kreig, welcome to your new home! If you need a book or paper to write on or whatever, we can get it for ya! Though, obviously, we can’t let anything leave the facility. You’ll receive three meals a day through that hatch over there,” Craig pointed at a solidary hatch in one of the four bare walls, “and if anybody wants to speak with you, that mirror over there will turn into a window.” The wall he pointed to this time was made up entirely of a mirror fixture. He couldn’t see through it, but he could smell the people on the other side. They smelled like chemicals and soap. “-And, finally, if you don’t do anything wrong for long enough, you’ll not only be allowed to speak and hang around other otherworlders, you can also meet your family! Ain’t that neat?”

...Kreig supposed so. Don’t make a ruckus. Don’t do anything wrong.

Kreig stepped inside his cell. Going by the smell, all walls apart from the mirror-wall had some percentage of Dragonstone mixed in. They must have been thinking that it’d be able to keep him secure, though they likely didn’t construct this for him specifically. Even then, for now, this would be his home.

Constantly monitored. Never alone. Always observed.

...Better than always fighting.

Craig gave a little goodbye wave and the Dragonstone door slid shut, leaving Kreig alone in his new abode. The bed had a metal frame and only creaked a little when Kreig sat down on it. The covers were soft and welcoming. He wanted to lie down immediately, but decided to check out the rest of his room first. The desk was basic, though not as imperfect as the ones he was used to. He wouldn’t need to use the toiletries, and the hatch would remain shut for now.

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That left him with the matter of what to do. There were plenty of skills he could try to strengthen, but somehow, he felt like it’d be an improper use of his time. No, he’d rather do something more concrete.

He turned to the mirror wall and stared at the most prominent scent spot. “-I’d like paper and pencils.”

That way, he could do something with his time. He wasn’t sure what yet, but until he knew and until he received the things, he might as well lie down.

The bed was soft. Softer than the blood-soaked mud. Softer than the stony floor. Softer than anything. A pillow under his head. Although his body was as straight as a board, uncomfortable with this new act, he slowly relaxed. Muscles softened. Bones shifted into the proper place. His eyes fluttered shut. The darkness felt warm and welcoming instead of the usual cold and callous. It felt good. He let the air escape his weary lungs. Slowly, quickly, softly, hardly, he slipped into slumber.

Sleep was welcome. Lying down was welcome. He did not dream, but he rested.

In the Empire’s dungeon, he slept for singular hours at a time.

Now, he slept for a full 12 hours. Never tossing, never turning.

Resting as sweetly as a snake.

When he woke up, he did so to the sound of a metallic shuffle, and he quickly found the cause of it being the hatch on the far-off wall opening to allow a tray of food to slide through. Kreig stood up, wobbled to the side, wobbled to the other side, found his footing, and took a deep breath. After all, he hadn’t slept in many years. It made sense that it’d make him feel a bit off.

Though that wouldn’t keep him from taking a peek at the hatch. He hadn’t eaten in a fair few years (though he had taken a bite out of the arrogant dragon, just to see if it did make the eater immortal (he’d forgotten the fact that he already was semi-immortal)) and the smell of actual, honest-to-God food was making his mouth water. Well at the hatch, he found the tray of food. He grabbed it and put it on his desk, where he sat down on the chair.

Whatever the hour was, this was clearly lunch. A bowl of warming stew. A piece of newly baked bread. Some butter and a few individual pieces of greenery. A little cookie.

A balanced meal.

Kreig wolfed it down in mere minutes. The stew was rich and flavourful, the perfect mixture of salty, sweet and savoury. The bread was crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, and the second he thought of dipping the bread into the stew he felt like a true genius. The greenery was good. But he couldn’t stomach the cookie. It was far too sweet for him and the second his tongue lapped against the side of it he recoiled.

He left the cookie on the tray before putting the whole thing back over on the hatch. Then, he noticed something that he really should have noticed. In the hatch, beside where the tray had been, there was a bundle of paper and a case of pens, a few erasers and a pencil sharpener.

He hummed while bringing it over to the desk.

He unboxed the pencils, sharpened one, picked out a paper, and there he was. Staring at the empty sheet. Wondering what to do. In the end, he placed the sharp pencil against the paper and watched unhappily as the pencil exploded the second he applied any kind of pressure. That was… a problem. He grabbed another pencil. Sharpened it. Placed it to the paper, and dropped it. His grip was now too weak to so much as hold it. He increased the pressure slightly. A little more. Until he could hold it without dropping it or crushing it.

Then, he dragged it across the paper. His hands trembled, the line was all crooked, but it was a line. It hadn’t gone through the paper, it hadn’t not left a mark. Progress.

Another line. And another. A triangle! Slowly, with trembling movements, he brought the tip of the pencil to the middle of the triangle. A little bow, and two dots. A smiley. Kreig mimicked the smile. Beside the triangle, he drew the pencil in a large arc, creating a crooked oval-like circle. He drew a smiley on it as well. Two happy friends. Then, to finish the drawing, he drew two little legs on both the shapes and two little arms, two of which connected to the other with a thicker dot.

They were holding hands. Friendship. Yes, that was good.

Kreig’s little smile faltered. He didn’t have anyone like that anymore.

He slid the paper to the side and grabbed another blank sheet. Back in Owred, papers were rare and expensive, but he knew they were cheap here. Now, he drew five circles quickly, one after another, gaining confidence as he went. Two were taller than the three, with the three all being of varying sizes. Then, he gave them bodies out of rectangles and stick limbs. All five were holding hands, and once he added wide smiles and hairs, the picture became obvious. A family. Mother, father. Three siblings.

He moved his pencil to just above the second-tallest child. There, he wrote, in the most uncertain and trembling handwriting: “Kreig.”

Above the two parents, he wrote “Mother” and “Farther”. Above his siblings, “Brother” and “Sister”. Then, he turned the page around. Sure, he hadn’t written in years, but he had to do this. He had to relearn this. He set the pencil to the paper, and started writing a letter.

It read,

“Dear venerable mother and father. And my sister and brother too, whom I love deeper than the Reignan seas.

I have not been well. Time has been long and rough and I cannot help but confess that I have not missed you as of the last hundred years, yet at knowing your lives remain here, I realize now that you are all I have. So too do I remember scantily the few years I had with you before I was taken to a world much unlike our own. Never did I tell you I loved you. I regret that now.

Truthfully, there is much I regret, such as never keeping my memory of you alive. Always, I thought of you, my family, as an unmovable, unshakable memory, something that would never leave me. It did. Your faces are foregin, your voices the hum of the Earth. If we met on the battlefield, I would have reaped your life, never knowing your worth.

Coming to Earth has been a journey I never intended upon succeeding in, and where I sit, in my endlessly compact isolation, the idea of meeting you is all that keeps me from unhappiness. My chest is light. I hope you will forgive who I have become. What sins I have commited are justified in the eyes of God, but to mortals such as you or I, I remain unacceptable.

I will never hurt you, and I hope that you will not hurt me through your absence.

May the warm hands of God bring us closer soon and may we meet in joy,

Your lonesome son and brother,

Kreig.