The prison is dank and dark, its stone walls cold to the touch. It smells of piss and rottenness, and a type of desperation that can't be put into words. Zeiss feels it cling to him as he moves past the cells, most of them empty, though the place is much fuller than it was before the beginning of Zephiel's reign. The clanking of his armor reverberates against the walls, and Zeiss is suddenly very acutely aware of how heavy the metal is on his back.

He finally comes to a stop in front of a cell he's been avoiding for too long. Inside, sitting on a nondescript wooden bench, is a man. He has all the appearance of someone who has spent too long trying to survive. Like all the prisoners, he wears a thin cotton tunic and pants, leaving his feet bare and dirty. He's thinner, and the gold in his eyes is more lackluster than Zeiss can ever remember seeing it. There are lines and scars about his face, and Zeiss thinks the man is too old for this place. His green hair, never before shorter than shoulder length, has been hacked away. There are some nicks and cuts around his ear and scalp where whoever was doing the chopping wasn't careful, or didn't care enough, to take notice of the man.

Zeiss doesn't really know what to say as he looks at this man, who he has admired for so long, only to see him now thin and dirty, broken and weary, with the word traitor cut into his every breath.

The man looks up, spots him.

"Zeiss?"

He's a little surprised at the strength in the man's voice. Nothing about it reflects his appearance.

"Heath," he replies uneasily. Maybe this wasn't a great idea.

Heath slides off the bench and walks across the small expanse of his cell. There is a slight grating sound, as the chains around Heath's ankles scrape across the floor. He stops just in front of the bars that separate him from Zeiss.

"So," he says, when Zeiss remains silent, "How have you been?"

Zeiss thinks it's a stupid question to answer, when Heath has only so much time left, when the axe's edge looms closer every minute. But he answers it anyway.

"Fine," says Zeiss, "I've been training with Galle. He says I'm getting better, and I might even be be placed under General Narshen, so long as I keep improving."

"That's great," says Heath, but there's no smile in his eyes.

"Yeah," continues Zeiss, suddenly not wanting Heath to talk, suddenly scared of what he might say, "There are rumors that war is coming, too, that King Zephiel is planning to strike soon."

"I've heard those rumors, too," says Heath.

"You heard more than that." The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. Heath just looks at him.

"Why are you here, Zeiss?" he asks.

"Because...because I don't understand!" He feels like a child again, one just discovering the many pitfalls and trappings of his world. "You used to talk of nothing but loyalty to a King and country, you and Dame Vaida worked hard to protect and guard Zephiel - and now that he has become King, you turn your back on him? Toss our country's secrets to the wind, and help smuggle out traitors?" Zeiss's voice is rising, but he doesn't care. "How could you betray us like that?"

Heath is silent, and the way he stares at Zeiss sends a crawling feeling down his spine. He remains standing straight, but Heath's eyes almost make him regret what he's just said.

"I know you hear this a lot," begins Heath, wrapping his hands around the bars in front of him - Zeiss can see where his wrists have been rubbed raw from his shackles. "But you're young, Zeiss. And it shows."

"That's not an answer."

"Narshen won't tolerate that sort of impudence," replies Heath, but he's grinning. "This isn't the first time Bern has labeled me a traitor."

"...What?"

"Loyalty is one thing, blind loyalty another. A country should be its people, not its King." The smile has disappeared from Heath's face. This close up, Zeiss can see just how much Heath has aged since his incarceration. "I've seen Bern's people left behind too often. Under both King Desmond and King Zephiel."

"You should have talked to King Zephiel!" exclaims Zeiss, "You've been smuggling out criminals, and, and spying for - "

"I am not a spy," says Heath, his voice stone.

"Then how are you charged - "

"I did try to warn Sacae, if that's what you're getting at."

"Sacae?"

"You're so eager to join Narshen you won't even question his motives." Zeiss feels himself shrink a little. "Yes, Sacae. The people there aren't anywhere near as barbaric as our King would have us believe. Maybe you'll learn that yourself one day, if Bern doesn't wipe them all out."

"The criminals, though." Zeiss cannot stop, cannot believe what Heath is trying to do. Cannot believe that everything he's ever built up or put his faith in has all been a hollow lie.

"Supporters of the old King," says Heath, "That would have died merely for putting their stock in the wrong man. Don't you see how quick Zephiel is to eliminate anyone who would dare to even think against him? He wants us all to live a life of fear." Heath's grip tightened on the bars. "I spent a long time living in fear. It's a waste."

"But...Zephiel is our King."

Heath's smile is a sad one. It makes Zeiss feel as though he is being pitied, and the thought causes him to bristle.

"How is Vaida?"

Zeiss notices the subject change, and is grateful for it. "Still fighting for your release."

"You'd think she'd have better things to do. How's...Hyperion?"

Heath asks the question hesitantly, because they both already know the answer.

"He's fine," lies Zeiss, "Dame Vaida has been watching over him."

"That's good." Heath accepts the lie as easily as Zeiss tells it, even though he knows as well as any other rider that his wyvern is as dead as he will be. A wyvern will fly for only one soldier, and if that one soldier turns traitor then what good is the beast?

"I should go," says Zeiss.

"One more question," says Heath. Zeiss is suddenly very aware of the bars that separate the two of them. "There was another man there the night I was arrested. Do you know if they ever caught him?"

"The old man, with the scar on his face?"

"Well, he wouldn't want you to call him old." Heath jokes, but Zeiss sees the worry on his face.

"No, they haven't caught him," replies Zeiss. And when he sees Heath relax, he adds, "Not yet, anyways."

"Thank you."

Zeiss can barely believe this. "You care more for the welfare of this traitor then your country?" He shakes his head, turns to walk away, "Goodbye Heath."

He's halfway down the hall when Heath shouts back at him.

"Don't ever think I've given up on Bern!"

He's shocked. Heath's voice is beyond anger or despair. It is a desperation wrought out of needing to be believed.

"As long as there are good people, people willing to fight for justice, even when no one else will, I have hope for this country!"

His voice goes beyond the bars of his cell. The chopping block suddenly comes to Zeiss's mind, and a cold fear is spreading through him. He turns and rushes back to Heath's cell.

"Please, Zeiss," says Heath as the young rider comes to a halt in front of him. Maybe it's the closest he's ever come to begging. "Even if the rest of our people do, even if the King decrees it, don't think of me as a traitor."

"Of course," says Zeiss. How can he say anything else now? Heath reaches one hand through the bars, and Zeiss takes it within his own.

"The right fight is never the easiest," murmurs Heath.

Everything else Heath has said has seemed, in some way, to be for his own sake, to justify himself. But this last bit, these few words that he almost whispers, are for Zeiss only, and he knows it. The words sink in slowly, and Zeiss knows it will be hard to shake them, no matter how much they unsettle him.

Slanted gold beams start to filter their way through the small, barred window near the top of Heath's cell. Zeiss wishes he could ignore them, them and the morning they herald.

"Dawn's coming," says the wyvern rider.

"I know," says the traitor.

He won't let go.