The next day, the first thing Alfred registered was a stabbing pain across his forehead.

He sat up, trying to ignore the several bruises that decorated his body in a gruesome pattern. He stretched out his hand and gingerly touched his face.

Alfred hissed in pain as he felt dried blood. He tried to stand, and when that went well enough, he proceeded to open his eyes.

Alfred was met with a world he had never experienced before.

Everything was black.

Simply black.

He reached out with his hand, and waved it in front of his face. He could feel the small waves of air coming from it, but he couldn’t see it.

“Are you alright down there?” a voice sounded from above, and Alfred tilted his head upwards.

A few minutes later, Alfred was sitting next to an elderly man and greedily drinking water.
“Ruven the blacksmith at yer service,” he said, and Alfred turned his head to acknowledge him.

“Could you tell me what time of day it is?” Alfred asked.

“Why, sir, it’s blinkin’ afternoon, it is.”