He swallowed hard, throat dry and sore. "...Is anyone there?" he whispered, though he wasn't sure he wanted an answer.
After being locked up for so many days, Rowan didn't feel like he'd lost his mind. Sure, he'd been trapped in a cold, dark, damp room but strangely, nothing really felt wrong with him. His body hurt but his thoughts were still his own. Maybe it was because he came from another world, one where the mind had to be stronger than the body.
A modern world, after all.
"Y–Your Majesty?" Rowan's voice came out hoarse as he lifted his head. He didn't move, just stared at the man standing there. Despite the hollowness in his face, he forced a smile — thin and fragile, like it might shatter if he tried any harder.
His wrists were numb now, though every pulse still sent a dull sting through them.
"Johann, are you alright?" Dylan asked as he approached, sliding his sword back into the scabbard at his hip.
