You know right at the start of The Phantom Menace when Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are kicking ass and taking names on the droid ship? Cool scene, right?

Well, there's this really weird bit when they suddenly move really, really quickly. Like, they become The Flash for a couple of seconds.

There's no real plot reason for it - it's not like it's a life-or-death situation or anything like that - and they never actually do it again. It bugs the hell out of me when, at the end of the movie, they're chasing Darth Maul and the two of them manage to get separated. And, lo and behold, Obi-Wan never tries to use this fantastic capacity for superspeed to catch up with his mate.

Ultimately, Liam Neeson gets shish kebabed because his Padawan appears to forget he has this massively helpful and extremely handy situational skill. I always thought his final words should have been something a touch more aggrieved than 'train him ...' More like, 'What happened, dude? You stopped for a snack or something?"

Why on earth am I telling you this . . .

Honestly, I have no idea.

I guess other than the sight of Drynwyn carving through my cell door like an oxyacetylene torch through ice cream, reminded me of earlier in that opening scene when Qui-Gon used his lightsabre to slice through the blast doors.

I guess, if we're really lucky, uninvited monologues on the vagaries of popular culture will be the only consequence of my isolated imprisonment.

I fear there might be a bit more to it than that, though . . .

Anyhow . . .

So, it turns out 'Drynwyn versus Cell-Door' is somewhat of a one-sided deal. In about three minutes, he's through, and I'm out into a dark corridor that stretches left and right in an unbroken straight line without apparent end. I can make out similar doors to mine on both walls where, presumably, a bunch of people are also experiencing their own private time loop hell.

"Good job," I said, reslinging the sword into its scabbard on my back.

Cheers. You feeling up for some bad news?

Whilst it was cutting, I'd filled the sword in on the little time-loop-Morgan-going-crazy-Big-Bad-ripping-out-all-my-techniques thing that had been going on.

It had proved to be a surprisingly good listener.

I imagine Rhydrech Hael had probably needed to unburden himself reasonably regularly.

"How bad?"

I mean, it's not 'that succubus has poisoned you, and there's no antidote ' bad. But neither is it 'there's too many cocks in this room to adequately give them all equal attention' bad either.

"Those are two strangely specific examples."

Long and traumatic history, my friend. Long and fucking traumatic history.

I tried to take the temperature of my internal resources. I'm not going to lie, I was in quite a state. If I kept everything tightly buttoned up, I hoped I had a decent chance of getting out of here before crumbling into tiny little pieces. But I wasn't sure I had much more 'bounce back' left to take on board any bad news.

"Can you try to sugarcoat it?"

Sure. There was a pause. You know the time loop?

"Pretty intimately at this stage."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

There's a chance - and probably not a big one. In fact, it is so unlikely I don't know why I'm fucking mentioning it. But, you know, I'm a full-service sword, and I like to explore all possibilities - so there's a tiny, slight, little chance that . . .

"For the love of God, spit it out!"

As the succubus said to Rhyddrech Hael. Sorry, that was inappropriate. What I'm getting at is what do you think the chances are the time-loop might not have just been localised within the cell . . .

"Fuck's sake, Drynwyn."

Sorry.

I was letting the weight of that wonderful bit of news settle on me when something shook me right back to the present.

"Is there someone out there?"

I pressed myself against the wall. The voice - a husky female one. Think Stifler's Mum after more fags - had come from behind one of the cell doors a little way down on my left.

"What do you think?" I asked Drynwyn. "Do I answer?"

"Because if there is, dearie, and you've managed to get yourself free, I would be ever so grateful if you could see your way clear to getting me out, too!"

I don't know. A problem shared is a problem fucking cut in half and all that? Anyway, if you let her out - and you are still in the time loop - and it all goes to shit, you'll know not to do it next time.

Sound as that advice was, I didn't want to deal with a reality in which there was a chance the day was going to reset again. I wasn't sure I could cope with that right now.

"Hello? Look, I don't want to sound clingy," the voice pressed on, "not on such a short acquaintance, but it's been quite some time since I heard another human, and I would like to make the most of this opportunity. Even if you're planning on leaving me to rot in here, I'd appreciate a few words?"

You know, there's something about that voice that sounds familiar.

"Good familiar or Rhddrech Hael's archnemesis familiar?"

No idea.

"I sense your level of 'help' might have peaked earlier today, right?"

I cautiously walked toward the cell from which the voice was coming. "Hello! Sorry, just trying to weigh up the pros and cons of letting you out. Look, I recognise the hypocrisy in me asking you this, but was there a good reason you were locked up?"

"Oh, undoubtedly. I pretty much left the High King with no choice at all. That is not to say I don't wish to bring my incarceration to an end. But, in the spirit of building trust, I freely admit I was bang to rights."

I knew there was an obvious follow-up question here, but for my life, I suddenly couldn't figure out what it was. It was like there was an itch in the back of my brain exactly where what I should say next existed.

I have definitely heard that voice before . . .

"And are you stuck in a time loop, too?"

"A time loop? Goodness me, no. That would be insanel cruelty. I'm just your common-or-garden 'stick them in a cell and throw away the key' type. Time is passing entirely normally for me in here."

I drew Drynwyn and pressed it against the door. "Look, I have no idea whether this is a good idea or not. But, you've asked nicely, and I could do with someone to talk to who doesn't want to kill everything we come across."

"Much obliged; I am sure this will be the start of a beautiful friendship."

There was still that strange itch in my head distracting me away from . . . something. What was it?

Drynwyn caught fire and began carving its way through. Where do I know this voice from? It's on the tip of my blade.

As it cut, I tried to fill the silence. I wasn't sure about jailbreak small-talk etiquette, but it seemed sensible to keep the chat going. "So, how long have you been locked up?"

"Best part of ten years, as well as I can figure it, dearie."

That little itch flared up again; for some reason, there were questions I knew existed that did not seem to want to come forward. "And you say you've not spoken to anyone else in all that time?"

"No. Not a soul. Not seen sight nor sound of anyone. I don't mind telling you, dearie, that sort of isolation can really get to a person. Not wholly sure I'm quite in my right mind if truth be told."

Drynwyn was done on one side, and I moved it to start cutting through to the other. It was still mumbling away about how familiar the voice was.

"I hear you on that. But you're exaggerating slightly, right? Because if you're not being kept in the same type of time loop prison as me, someone must have been popping in to feed and water you."

"No," the voice sounded bemused. "Why would they need to do something like that? I doubt the High King would want anyone dropping by to see me. Chance would be a fine thing. I'd have been out of here like a shot."

That itch was getting bigger.

"Well, to keep you alive. Surely, someone's been bringing you things to eat and drink over the last ten years!"

Drynwyn completed that extended cut and started to sweep across the final line to join everything up.

"Ha. It's been a long time since I've needed food or drink. What self-respecting cultivator needs such things? Especially at my time of life."

That gave me pause, and I tried - at the last minute - to pull Drynwyn free from its cut, but it was too late. The door crashed inwards, narrowly missing hitting a short, plump-looking woman in the face.

Ah, I knew it! Could recognise those dulcet tones anywhere. Morgan, nice to see you again!

Because, of course, the cultivator I'd just free from her prison was the original Morgan Le Fay.