Lucy hobbled her way through the crowded town square, mindful of slowing her pace down so that the boy holding her hand wouldn’t get lost among the throng of bodies. Even at dusk, the square was restless, though in the dim green phosphorescent light that shone from enchanted lamp posts, all of the dirty browns and greys and greens of the serfs’ attire melded together into an ocean of nondescript hubbub. This had the effect of robbing each person of their individuality, but by that same token, this formless mass of human life held the potential to coagulate into a more unified and aggressive formation: a mob, in the most classic sense. There were not hundreds of eyes observing Lucy and Kenneth, but rather a single unified eye assessing and judging the two of them from every angle. Lucy knew that Kenneth was deftly aware of this, for his anxiety was palpable in the stiff and slightly shaking tension of his hand.

  “It’ll be all right,” Lucy said to him in a low voice, in as reassuring a tone as she could muster despite feeling the eyes boring into her. “We have it all planned out. And if anything goes wrong, Miss Diana and I will protect you.”

  Kenneth stared up at her with his wide, doe-like eyes, and Lucy gave an earnest smile that finally got him to nod and refocus his efforts on finding a way through the crowd.

  Lucy gave a silent sigh. In truth, she was speaking to herself just as much as to Kenneth. Diana had made her plan appear to be the best option by mercilessly pointing out flaws in every idea Lucy had come up with. Find another way into the castle? Too time-consuming without any guarantee that they would find anything. Fight their way through the castle to the queen’s chamber? Given how many guards had swarmed the church, there was likely to be a near-infinite supply of them in the castle, and in a battle of attrition the two Dream Knights would eventually but surely lose. Persuade the guards and the queen to have a civil discussion so Kenneth can apologize and make up with his aunt? Diana’s mocking laughter said everything about how delusional that was.

  So now, hers and Kenneth’s target was the band of royal guards standing under the tallest lamp post in the middle of the town square, their gleaming silver figures standing out against the serfs milling about. While Lucy and Diana had spotted other royal guards while walking through town from the gateway that led to the hill, what caught Diana’s attention about this particular band was the guard who stood at the centre. He stood a full head taller than all the rest, and atop his helmet was a magnificent plume, similar to the crimson one adorning Diana’s own, but lightning-yellow in colour. His armour matched in ostentatiousness, for it traded the stark silver of the other guards’ attire for a rich, gleaming gold.

  As the townspeople parted to give way to Lucy and Kenneth, Lucy could now see Diana several paces in front of them and fast approaching that golden guard. The other guards at his side raised swords in defence, and Lucy couldn’t blame them given how Diana’s towering figure in the lamp light looked like an armoured giant hulking toward them from the shadows.

  The golden guard noticed Diana as well, but in response to her approaching storm of a presence, he looked to his fellow guards and said something that made them re-sheathe their weapons. Seeing this, Lucy’s shock propelled her to give Kenneth an urgent look before bringing the two of them to jog forward and catch up with Diana just as she stopped before the band of guards.

  “Well met, warrior of the red plume.” The golden guard’s voice was deep and steady, but lacking in harshness, instead giving off an air of easy calm. This was matched by the arms he kept crossed before his chest as well as his slightly-upturned chin that politely indicated his attention toward Diana. “What business might you have with I, General Hawthorn, of Her Highness’s Holy Royal Guard? I see that you bring the Royal Heretic in tow.”

  Lucy regarded him with curious intrigue. He spoke in an unnaturally informative manner, like an NPC in a role-playing game. Lucy hadn’t thought much of it until now, but with the medieval setting and the large presence of swords and other classic melee weapons, she wondered if this whole Dream was born out of Kenneth’s fondness for a certain kind of video game.

  Diana appeared to find the general’s speech amusing as well, for she gave a single brief but sharp chuckle. “Appreciate your polite regards, but I’ll cut to the chase. We’ll hand the boy over to your queen.”

  “Oh?”

  While the general’s underlings went through an animated rollercoaster of jolted shock to staring at Kenneth with ravenous intensity, the general himself gave only a soft sound of astonishment, slowly raising his hand to his helmet’s chin piece. His response was not one of shock, nor disbelief, but expectation inviting Diana to say more, indicating that he knew there was more to Diana’s spiel.

  This was far from a surprising reaction in normal conversation, but Lucy felt unease dredge up her spine. It was difficult to place why, given that this general hadn’t shown any form of hostility, but there was something in the way he differed from all the other guards they had encountered so far. All of them had been single-minded followers whose only purpose was to fight and chase after Kenneth. Ostensibly, they lacked a will of their own. But the general clad in gold seemingly possessed an intelligence all his own, making him a distinct entity. Lucy lacked the information to know what this distinguishing feature entailed, but she was sure there was some major significance to it within the context of Kenneth’s Dream.

  As Lucy was lost to pondering her incomplete theories, Diana proved the general’s expectation correct as she added: “We’ll hand him over. On one condition. You and all your other grunts stand down and stay back once we’re with the queen. It’ll be a private audience for a private little talk between queen and heretic.”

  Lucy clicked her tongue in annoyance at hearing Diana so readily call Kenneth a heretic, but she caught herself from giving into her annoyance and drawing attention. The influence of Diana’s Rebellion alignment would be their strongest factor in a successful negotiation, and for that to work their foes needed to keep their attention squarely on the Knight of Rebellion and her words.

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  The general paid Lucy’s admonition no heed, or at least, his helmet didn’t turn in her direction. It was impossible to gauge where his eyes were gazing with the metal visor obscuring them. But regardless of where his sights were truly set, he gave Diana a small murmur of acknowledgement. “Your condition is clearly understood. But surely, you did not expect us to acquiesce immediately to a demand that so clearly puts us in a disadvantageous position. Why, pray tell, should we accept your offer?”

  Lucy was again taken aback. Although the general’s words were as confident and clear as his pristine gilded armour, his voice lacked any sort of edge of hostility or caution, especially in contrast to Diana’s voice before him. Even while he was taking in Diana’s condition, he appeared unflappable, eagerly but calmly regarding every word she spoke—in stark contrast to the lower guards who kept their visors and weapons pointed squarely at Kenneth and surely had not paid a single modicum of attention to the negotiation happening before them.

  Stepping a little to the side so that she could see Diana’s face in profile, Lucy saw a smirk briefly reveal itself on Diana’s face. She could chance a guess at why: this general was far from the obstinate, cutthroat commander they had expected to struggle negotiating with. More than anything, his presence radiated a distinct air of empathy and congeniality. Even Kenneth, still holding Lucy’s hand, had lost the initial tension in his hand despite the guards eyeing him like prey. To Lucy, it appeared as though this laidback general would listen to anything they had to say.

  “Take off your helmet.”

  Diana’s sudden utterance shocked Lucy the most yet, as this demand sought to challenge the very notion running through Lucy’s mind.

  The gilded general was silent for a spell, then gave a short laugh. It was a hearty, mirthful laugh of amusement, the kind one might give to a longtime friend for blathering out an old inside joke. Listening to him, Lucy found the word to describe one of the impressions he gave: nostalgic.

  He stopped laughing, letting his voice fade naturally, before fixing Diana with that same easy look and asking: “Would it trouble you terribly to explain the intention behind such a bold request?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing complicated,” Diana said without skipping a beat, though her voice was a hint lighter in order to match the general’s tone. “I just believe in true face-to-face interaction for serious matters. As a man of honour, you have no objections, I assume.”

  Diana spoke with an even temperament, but the lack of a question at the end indicated the power dynamic she was trying to instill.

  Still, the general responded as though he had been asked with the utmost respect. “You assume correctly.”

  “Here,” Diana added before the general could continue, “It’s only fair I reciprocate.”

  She reached up and, with weighty, deliberate slowness, took her plumed helmet off her head. A cascade of auburn hair tumbled out, flowing backward from the light but persistent breeze.

  It was certainly a captivating sight, but Lucy wasn’t sure what Diana hoped to achieve by unveiling her hair and face. But then Lucy’s eyes wandered to the older Dream Knight’s eyes—and were ensnared. Without her helmet casting a shadow over her face, the indignant glow and piercing certainty of her eyes was as oppressive and intimidating as the sun emerging after centuries of cloud cover, lording over all life as its celestial ruler.

  Every nerve in Lucy’s body went ice cold as she regarded the eyes that had stared her down so many times, that could have been unveiled like this at any point to completely shatter any semblance of confidence she had in herself. Kenneth’s hand, wrapped around Lucy’s wrist, suddenly tightened as if using Lucy’s figure to keep from being blown away. Even the guards, who had been shifting restlessly and itching to brandish their weapons, went stock still with their arms stiffly pinned to their sides, as if they were now standing in the presence of a titanic figure on equal footing with their own queen.

  “Magnificent! I deeply respect those who keep to their own word.” Amidst the constricting air of tension, the general remained standing with the same crossed-arm posture, speaking with the warm tone one might use to praise a cherished comrade. Again, Lucy felt deeply unsettled. Surely, he had to be forcing this air of lax affability, and one would see the strain on his composure once his face was visible. But why did it sound like this was far from the case, that he was regarding everything going on as the world itself marching to his rhythm? Lucy supposed that might be the nature of true confidence and power, different from the kind Diana exuded, yet still there was the awful sense of there being a whole other facet to this gilded general.

  And when at last the general pulled off his gleaming helmet unceremoniously and held it under his arm like a basketball, the surprise that welled up in Lucy’s being was fuelled by the sheer lack of surprise or anything of the sort in the general’s countenance. A wrinkled forehead, creases along around his nose and eyes, and a dark beard that was well-trimmed but unruly like the brambles of an old bush all confirmed the expectation of a man who was getting up there in years.

  But like Diana, it was the eyes that demanded attention. In contrast to hers, the general’s eyes were slightly lidded, and this coupled with how they were slightly squinted to accompany a light but genuine smile made his gaze an immediately amiable one. Looking at this, Lucy could scarcely imagine him as a warrior wielding a sword to battle; he was the kind older neighbour you would see happily tending to his garden without any rush, the jolly hotel bellhop telling you in the elevator about how he can’t wait to play bridge with his old chaps later tonight, the school counsellor who would listen with eyes soft and understanding just like those when you told him about a family member’s passing. His smiling face alone was enough to evoke a warm and familiar comfort, and once again Lucy noted the distinct sense of nostalgia.

  “There you have it,” said the general, his smile growing wider, his posture reclining back a little as he continued gripping his helmet under his arm with complete nonchalance. “I hope you don’t mind looking at such an old, youthless face as we continue this conversation. They say speaking too much to one so old causes time to tick faster for yourself.”

  He gave that same mirthful laugh, his eyes squinting and his mouth flashing a grin, all in such a way that Lucy could see he wasn’t forcing anything. Even in the shadow of the queen and her castle, this carefree personality was truly his own.

  Diana gave a smile and a light “hmph” of acknowledgement, but her eyes remained sharp and focused. “It’s an interesting saying. But the good thing is we won’t be speaking much longer. You’re a good man, General. I can see that much. And I don’t want to waste your valuable time. So I’ll give you a clear-cut, no-nonsense reasoning that a sensible chap like yourself will quickly come to grasp.”

  “I dare say I like the sound of this,” said the general, grinning as if he were listening to an old drinking buddy tell him about a new hole-in-the-wall tavern down the block. “By all means, please proceed with your elaboration. I shall listen to every word.”