Loud thumping echoed through the prison beneath the palace as Marianne was hurriedly escorted through the myriad of tunnels.

“The man’s going crazy,” the guard escorting her kept muttering.

It wasn’t her prescribed time to see the prisoner at the lowest point of the palace, but the guards impressed on her the urgency of the situation. The banging she could hear was getting louder, but it maintained a certain rhythm. She could not understand where it was coming from or why she was needed.

The final corridor was packed with guards, heavily armed and armoured, facing the door she entered weekly. The guard leading her began pressing through the assembled mass, calling out for Redmond. The way began to part as they got closer to the door and Marianne could see that Redmond was standing there looking through an open slot in the door.

He turned to face her as he heard the noises behind him change.

“Oh, thank the gods you’re here Marianne,” his voice was tinged with worry, “He’s been like this since early morning. We’ve tried talking to him, but he doesn’t respond. It’s unnerving people.”

Redmond moved out of the way so Marianne could look through the slit in the door. Standing on her tiptoes she peered into the circular room. The prisoner wasn't sitting in his usual position atop the mound but had instead stood up and was standing at the wall opposite the door, facing away from the door. The rhythmic sound she had heard on her way down was the prisoner slamming his forehead into the marbled walls.

“Oh my,” she gasped, “Have you tried to stop him?”

"We went in, two of us, and tried to pull him away. But we couldn't budge him," Redmond was looking at another guard who was nodding, "We aren't weak, but it felt like we were trying to move a stone statue.”

She looked in again. He had smashed his head into the wall another three times since she got there.

“He’s been doing this since morning? It’s past noon!” she moved away from the door, straightened her dress and curtly said, “Open the door, I’ll do what I can.”

The guards crowded in as the door was opened, trying to provide whatever protection they could. Or maybe it was to try and stop the prisoner if he attempted to escape. Marianne slipped through the small gap they opened and motioned for them to shut the door and close the slit. The guards complied. She knew they would not leave the corridor, but she felt a little more at ease without all the eyes on her.

“Hello?” she said in a shaky voice.

The prisoner did not stop.

“Sir, I have come to see how you are. Would you mind talking with me?”

He ignored her.

“Tyran?” she said in little more than a whisper.

The man paused for a moment, a shudder travelling through his body. But he continued with his purpose, albeit slower, with more pause between.

Marianne moved closer. She could see now that the marble was showing cracks in it. Cracks that were not there before. They radiated from where he was striking his head. A small red mark was on the wall at the epicentre of the blows, trickling down the wall slightly, blood she thought. But from what the guards had told her about how long he had been repeating this, there should be a lot more blood than this.

“Tyran?” she said again as she got closer, a little louder and more confidently.

Without stopping he replied between strikes.

“How do you know that name?” his voice was low and sorrowful.

“I read it in a book the other day.”

“I hear it. I hear that name in my head. I don’t know why…”

“The book said he was the seventh son of the king.”

“The story I told you?”

“Yes, I was interested so I went and looked it up,” she inched closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. His muscles were tense, but that was to be expected.

“It’s not the only thing I hear. They’re calling out.”

“Calling out to you?”

“No, not to me. Just calling out. To each other maybe,” he turned his head to face her and she noticed there was no mark on his forehead, where surely there should be some kind of wound.

“Why don’t we sit down and talk,” she felt his shoulder relax and urged him towards his mound. He allowed her to guide him back to his seat and he placed himself there with poise. She sat down before him and looked into his piercing eyes, which were now etched with a haunted shadow. “Tell me what you see.”

“There’s six of them. No, that’s not right. There’s seven. But the seventh is standing apart from the others. They aren’t clear, like shadows. The six are more solid though. More solid,” he raised his head slightly as if looking at the wall, but she could tell his eyes were looking at something more distant, something only he could see in his mind.

“There’s a bear, like the one I told you about. Large and shaggy. Towers above the others. The air about him seems cold and uninviting. He’s distant. He? It? I don’t know why I said he,” his brow furrowed in thought, “but I feel it is a he. He stands on one end.

"Next to the bear it looks like a snake, or maybe some kind of lizard. It's indistinct, blurry. They're all blurry. Like my memory is fuzzy. My memory is fuzzy though. I don't even know who I am. Or why I am…

"Beside the snake there is a, I'm unsure. A peacock maybe? It's strutting around and showing its tail off. It seems a bit conceited, full of itself. It keeps looking at the snake and the one next to it, a lion. It seems to adore both the lion and the snake, but it's showing off, trying to get their attention. But neither so much as glanced back at him.

"On the other side of the regal-looking lion is a bird. There are bright colours, like a parrot maybe. It gives off a feel of cockiness, but not in an attention-seeking way. Water rises behind it and drops, like waves, or something else. Everything is so indistinct.

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“The final one in the line is a large horse. It’s huge, not as tall as the bear, but it’s solid and looks like it could go and go and go and outrun the bear. There’s a glint of metal around it. I don’t know, the skin of the horse just seems to be glinting like metal in the sun. He’s bright.

"Above the six of them, the seventh one looms above them all, little more than a shadow. It feels like it's trying to wrap them up. There are no features to it, it’s just formless. And before the six people is a rock. A rock of some kind.”

“The six people?” Marianne interjected as he changed how he was talking.

“People? No, I said animals. A bear, snake, peacock, lion, parrot and horse. Just the six people with a stone before them.”

“You said people again,” she laid a hand on his knee and he looked her in the eyes.

“Did I?”

“Never mind,” she tried to smiley warmly at him, but it was difficult under the circumstances, "just continue. I'm interested."

“Before the six people is a stone. It glows. It glows a weird greenish colour. Or is it red? Or maybe blue? It keeps changing. But it glows. And the six people reach forward and put their hands on it. Then the glow rises from the stone and flows up each of their arms and into them. Then they are glowing. The shadow above them recoils.

“It’s scared, the shadow. There’s also anger in there, and hatred. It comes back and tries to wedge itself between them. It’s glowing now too. But it’s glowing stronger than they are singly. But when they all stand together, they glow just as bright. And it’s like the two lights are trying to clash.

“That’s not all there is though. Landscapes around are swirling and changing. Whenever I try and focus on any of the seven, I get flashes of other pictures. Little bits and pieces, but nothing complete. And then their gone, and the next time I try and focus something different appears.

“But the glows have moved into a closed area now. The swirling landscapes are just stone walls now…”

* * *

The throne room was cold and quiet. Sounds of fighting came through the windows, but they sounded distant compared to oppressiveness in the room. Blood trickled down the steps that led to the throne, pooling at the base.

Tyran stood before the person who had been named Overlord by all the people, those who opposed him and those that followed him. He pushed the hilt of his sword a little further, the blade sliding into the throne itself bit by bit.

The Overlord gurgled, his hands grasping at the blade which had been sunk through his heart. He reached a hand forward weakly and tried to grab Tyran about the throat. There was no power left in his fingers though and they did little more than brush against the young man’s skin.

Tyran leant in, bringing his face close to the once-powerful man, who jerked as more pain flowed through him.

“This is for West,” he snarled between clenched teeth, “and for those who die in your streets today.”

Grand Marshal West lay on the ground in the middle of the throne room. The side of his helmet was caved in. His sword lay beside him, his hand lifeless atop it. His breath came ragged. The blow had been struck to the side of his head while he had tried to protect Tyran from certain death. He was lucky that he caught the side of the blade and not the edge.

“We have defeated you,” he spat in the man’s face, “your reign ends now!”

The battle continued to rage outside. The others had broken through the main gates or scaled over the walls. Ulfgar had been positioned to use his considerable strength to smash the heavy wooden gates with his fists. Once the gates were down Maldoren led a charge of cavalry through the streets, sweeping the Imperial soldiers away in swathes. A horse’s whinny came to his ears telling him his friends were close.

The man laughed weakly, his strength fading further as time dragged on. He smiled at Tyran and Tyran could see a cruel light in his eyes.

“Boy,” he said between spittle’s of blood, “nothing is over.”

Tyran leant in again and the Overlord’s back arched, but he couldn’t move with the sword stabbed through him into the wooden chair he sat upon.

“This is only another beginning.”

“What could you mean?” Tyran’s face was now covered in blood as the man was staring him directly in the eyes. His physical strength may have faded but the light in his eyes scared Tyran.

“The cycle continues. Once it turns around you think it’s stopped, but it only turns around and around again.”

“You speak in riddles old man!”

The way he spoke reminded Tyran of Tree-Walker, a beautiful tan-skinned warrior maiden from the jungles whom he had fallen for. She barely even glances at him, but he could not keep his eyes off her. Her part in the plan had been scaling the walls. Her warriors, and those of the pirate Amadeus, were adept at moving through unusual terrain. There would be casualties suffered, but they would have been over the walls much quicker than a conventional siege.

They entered the city from the opposite direction to Ulfgar and Maldoren, forcing the soldiers stationed on the walls to split their defences. No mere soldier would be a match for any of them. They would lose their own soldiers, for sure, but overall the battle would swing in their favour as they mowed down the enemy.

All of this had been but a distraction though. Taking the castle's eyes away from the true attack. Tyran and West had had the job of entering through the underground passages. Tyran’s skills had made it easier, allowing them to get through areas they would have otherwise not been able to. All so they could reach the Overlord, unattended, or as close to as possible. There had only been a few sparse guards as they ran through the corridors.

Only to come face to face with their target in the throne room. Damage to the floor and walls showed the power which had been on display in the fight. Tapestries hung torn, windows and floor tiles smashed beyond recognition, debris littering the floor in every corner. All for it to end like this. With Tyran driving his sword through the Overlord’s heart.

“One of you will become like me,” the man laughed again.

“Never!” Tyran screamed at his face.

“You can’t avoid it. It is inevitable. One of you will become like me. And you cannot stop it.”

The last light fled from his eyes, and the last breath escaped his lungs, as the doors burst open. Tyran’s allies entered the room, rushing over to either West or Tyran. They rolled West over and removed his helm. Ulfgar banged a fist on his chest and the man on the ground spluttered and coughed.

“He yet lives!” he exclaimed in a gruff voice.

Amadeus grabbed Tyran by the shoulders and pulled him away from the corpse of the man who used to be the Overlord. He pried his hands lose from the hilt of the sword and moved him away from the throne.

“Aye lad. Ye’ve done it,” Amadeus’ way of speaking always confused Tyran a bit, but it seemed to be a common way for sailors to talk, “Ye scuttled ‘im. We can all begin pickin’ up th’ pieces o’ our lives now”

* * *

“The shadow seemed to fall, but it’s still there, waiting. The glow has left it though. It’s gone back into the stone. Back into the stone? Why would the glow go into the stone? Why would it come out of the stone? What is the stone?”

The prisoner trailed off his thoughts as Marianne patted his hands.

“It’s okay now. Just relax. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

"And I'll be here, same as always," he smiled at her. A smile that reached his eyes and made the strangeness of the last hour seem to fade away. "Forget what I've told you, it's not worth it."

“It’s good to get it out,” she smiled at him as she knocked on the door to be let out, “and I’ll be here to listen whenever you need me to. Just don’t try to destroy the walls anymore, okay?”

He grunted and turned away from the door as the guard opened it and all but dragged her out of the cell. She looked at him and felt he was back to his old stoic self, sitting on the mound, waiting for her return.

“He’s stopping right?” Redmond inquired when they got the door shut again.

“Yes, I believe he is,” the guard that brought her down nodded at her and motioned to come back upstairs with him.

As she walked past, she could hear the guards murmuring to each other.

“He’s never done anything like this before.”

“He’s always just been so quiet.”

“Everything was fine until she showed up, she’s done something to him.”

“Shh, she’s still here. She calmed him down and that’s what matters.”

She tried to ignore the comments and their voices droned on as a small buzz in the back of her mind. New information was flooding in from what she had heard him say. Marianne was sure that she could find something relating to his story. Six heroes? The animals? Whatever it was it was bound to be interesting. She felt the free time she was given for doing this job had helped ignite a fire inside her to learn new things, and this man was a mystery waiting to be solved.