Chapter 11
Last echo of betrayal
The cell was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from faint, flickering lines of light embedded in the stone walls. Alistair sat hunched on the small bench, his hands bound, his breathing shallow. His body ached, every bruise and scrape a reminder of the humiliation he had suffered. His lip curled in disdain as he replayed the events in his mind.
Those freaks... those meddling, color-wearing fools!
They had taken him—dragged him from Greymoot like he was some common criminal. Alistair had always seen himself as untouchable, a man of influence and cunning. But now, here he was, imprisoned by those costumed warriors who had no right, no authority, to judge him.
And yet, a part of him couldn't shake the memory of the battle—the terrifying strength they wielded, the way they tore through the cult's forces like a storm. His arrogance faltered, his thoughts slipping into an undercurrent of fear.
He didn't know where he was. There were no windows, no familiar landmarks, nothing but the cold, sterile stone of the containment cell. It could have been hours, or perhaps days, since they'd taken him. Time blurred in the quiet isolation.
Alistair straightened, trying to summon the indignation that had carried him this far. "They'll regret this," he muttered, his voice low and venomous. "I'll find a way out. I always do."
The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, sharp and deliberate. Alistair stiffened, his breath catching as a shadow appeared at the edge of his vision.
Then she stepped into view.
The yellow armor glinted faintly in the dim light, the intricate patterns of her suit giving her an almost otherworldly presence. Her helmet, designed like a Spinosaurus's fearsome visage, tilted slightly as she regarded him in silence.
Alistair's mouth went dry. His heart pounded against his ribs as he locked eyes—or what he imagined were eyes—with the blank, emotionless gaze of the Spinosaurus helmet.
The arrogance he had clung to so fiercely began to slip away. The yellow ranger stood there, unmoving, a figure of quiet menace.
"You…" His voice cracked slightly, but he forced himself to speak. "You think you're better than me? That your... your costumes make you righteous?"
She didn't respond, her silence unnerving.
"Say something!" he snapped, his voice rising in pitch. "Do you even understand what you've done? You've taken me from my home, my people. You're nothing but cowards hiding behind masks!"
Still, she said nothing. She didn't need to. Her presence alone was enough to make the cell feel smaller, the air heavier.
Alistair's bravado crumbled further. He leaned back against the wall, his gaze darting nervously around the cell. His voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if he were speaking to himself.
"What do you want from me?"
The yellow ranger finally moved, taking a single step closer. Her movements were deliberate, almost predatory. She reached up, her hand hovering near her helmet, and for a brief moment, Alistair thought she might remove it.
Instead, her voice came, cold and sharp like the edge of a blade.
"We don't want your excuses, Alistair. We want the truth."
Alistair flinched at her tone, his once-confident posture crumbling further. He opened his mouth to retort, but the words stuck in his throat as she stepped even closer, the menacing Spinosaurus helmet looming over him.
"Truth?" he scoffed weakly, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. "What truth? You've already decided I'm guilty. Why bother pretending this is anything but vengeance?"
The yellow ranger tilted her head slightly, her helmeted face unreadable. "This isn't vengeance," she said, her voice calm but laced with a dangerous edge. "This is justice. You betrayed your own people, handed them over to a cult for what? Power? Coin?"
Alistair sneered, though his face was pale. "You think you understand the choices I made? You, with your fancy armor and your Zords, flying above the world like gods. You don't live among us. You don't know what it's like to survive in Greymoot. I did what I had to—"
"Stop."
Her single word cut through his tirade like a blade. Alistair snapped his mouth shut, his defiance wavering.
"You did what you wanted to do," the yellow ranger continued, her tone icy. "Survival wasn't your goal. You executed an innocent man. You sold out your town. And you nearly got everyone killed."
She leaned in slightly, her presence suffocating. "We already know why you did it, Alistair. Greed, arrogance, the desire to play god in your little corner of the world. But here's what you're going to tell us: how long you've been working with the cult. Who else you've betrayed. And where they're hiding."
Alistair swallowed hard, his back pressed against the cold wall of the cell. "And if I don't?"
The yellow ranger straightened, her hand resting on the hilt of her weapon. She didn't need to make a threat—her very presence was enough to make his blood run cold.
"Then I leave you to my friend," she said simply.
As if on cue, the cell door opened with a metallic groan, and another figure stepped inside. Alistair's eyes widened as the black-armored ranger entered, his tonfa spinning lazily in his right hand.
"Good morning, Alistair," The black ranger said, his voice light but with an unmistakable undercurrent of menace. "I hear you've been uncooperative."
The two rangers stood there, their presence oppressive, the silence stretching out unbearably. Alistair's bravado shattered completely.
"All right!" he blurted out, his voice trembling. "I'll talk. Just... just don't hurt me."
The black stegosaurus ranger chuckled softly, the sound devoid of humor. "Oh, we're far past worrying about you."
The yellow ranger crossed her arms, her voice steady. "Start talking, Alistair. From the beginning."
Alistair took a shaky breath, his mind racing. There was no escape, no way to outwit these rangers. Reluctantly, he began to speak, the words tumbling out in a mix of fear and desperation.
He told them about his first contact with the cult, the promises they made, the power they offered. He spoke of secret meetings, the symbols they used, the sacrifices they demanded. As the confession continued, the yellow ranger remained silent, her helmeted gaze fixed on him, while The black helmeted ranger leaned casually against the wall, his tonfa still spinning.
When Alistair finally fell silent, exhausted and pale, the yellow ranger stepped closer, her voice low and firm.
"And where are they now?"
Alistair hesitated, but the brief flick of The ranger's tonfa was enough to make him flinch. "They... they move constantly," he stammered. "But the last I heard, they were gathering near the eastern forest. Something about a ritual. That's all I know, I swear!"
The yellow ranger studied him for a moment before turning to The blackranger. "We have what we need."
The black ranger nodded, his tone lighter now. "Finally. I was starting to think he'd never shut up."
Alistair watched as the two rangers turned to leave, the yellow ranger pausing at the door.
"Pray we don't meet again, Alistair," she said, her voice cold. "Because next time, there won't be a cell waiting for you."
The door closed behind them, leaving Alistair alone in the dim, oppressive silence. For the first time in his life, he felt the crushing weight of true fear.
--
Alistair's heart leapt at the loud, mocking voice from behind the door.
"Hey, you heard the confessions of the traitorous lord?" The voice was laced with biting sarcasm, and it echoed eerily in the dimly lit chamber.
The room suddenly came alive with a blinding glow. Crystals embedded in the walls flared to life, casting an unnatural, cold light that seemed to seep into every shadow. Alistair flinched, shielding his eyes with one hand.
"Wh-what is this?" he muttered, his voice cracking.
Then he saw it—a mirror set into the wall across from him, large and foreboding. At first, he thought it was just a decoration, but as he stared, the realization hit him like a hammer.
It was a one-way mirror.
Alistair's blood ran cold. Whoever had been listening to him, whoever the rangers had spoken to before they left, was behind that mirror. He felt his throat tighten, the fear clawing at him anew.
Someone even worse than the rangers.
He scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting around the room for an escape, but there was none. The door was reinforced, the walls solid, the only break in the oppressive space being the mocking mirror.
Suddenly, the heavy thud of boots echoed down the corridor outside.
"No... no, no, no!" Alistair whispered, backing into the corner of the room like a caged animal.
The door rattled violently, then burst open with a deafening crash. The knights of Greymoot stormed in, their armor gleaming under the crystal light.
"By order of the council of Greymoot!" one of the knights bellowed, his sword drawn and glinting ominously.
Another knight sneered at Alistair, his eyes cold. "Traitor."
Before Alistair could even attempt to speak, two knights grabbed him roughly by the arms, dragging him to his feet. He struggled, but their grips were ironclad.
"W-wait!" Alistair stammered, his voice rising in panic. "You don't understand! They—they made me say those things! I was coerced!"
The first knight scoffed. "Coerced? You think the rangers coerced you into selling out your people? Into killing Wylam?"
"Wylam was a hero to this town," another knight growled, stepping closer, his face twisted with anger. "And you betrayed him, betrayed all of us, for your own selfish gain, you sold us all to a cult!"
"No!" Alistair shouted, his voice breaking. "It's not like that! Please, you have to believe me!"
The knights didn't respond. They hauled him toward the door, their movements efficient and unrelenting. Alistair's struggles were futile, his pleas ignored.
As they dragged him out of the cell, he craned his neck to look back at the one-way mirror. His reflection stared back at him, pale and terrified, but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone—something—was watching him from the other side.
Alistair's boots scraped against the floor as the knights dragged him into the corridor, their silence more terrifying than any shouted threats. His mind raced, trying to piece together a way out of this nightmare.
They marched him through the cavern's winding passages, the crystals glowing faintly on the walls, casting strange shadows that seemed to flicker and twist. Alistair's breathing quickened. This place was nothing like anything he had seen in Greymoot.
Where am I?
He glanced at the knights flanking him. Their expressions were set like stone, cold and unreadable. He couldn't tell if they were local men he might know or if the rangers had some larger force hidden away. The thought made his stomach churn.
As they turned a corner, the corridor widened into an open chamber. Alistair's heart sank further. The room was lined with strange devices—tables covered in instruments and runes he couldn't begin to understand. At the far end, a raised platform stood, with glowing symbols carved into the floor.
And standing on that platform, waiting, was the Yellow Ranger.
The Spinosaurus helmet turned toward him, its sharp edges gleaming under the crystalline light. The sight made Alistair's knees weak, and the knights had to tighten their grip to keep him upright.
"Put him there," she said simply, her voice cold and commanding. She gestured toward a lone chair in the center of the room, its metal surface gleaming ominously.
The knights shoved Alistair forward. He stumbled but caught himself, his hands instinctively flying up.
"Wait! You don't have to do this!" he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Whatever you think I've done, I can explain! I can—"
"Sit." The Yellow Ranger's voice cut through his protests like a blade.
Alistair froze, the weight of her command rooting him to the spot. Slowly, shakily, he sank into the chair. The knights moved to strap him in, but she held up a hand to stop them.
"I don't think he's going anywhere," she said, her tone carrying a chilling edge of mockery.
The knights stepped back, standing at attention as the Yellow Ranger approached. She stopped just in front of him, towering over him with an air of quiet menace.
"Do you know where you are?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Alistair swallowed hard, his throat dry. "No," he croaked.
"This is our domain," she said, her voice low and steady. "You're far from Greymoot. Far from anyone who might help you. If you're thinking of lying, don't. I'll know."
Alistair stared up at the gleaming visor, unable to see the eyes behind it, and felt a shiver run down his spine.
"Why did you betray your people?" she asked, her tone sharp and unyielding.
"I—I didn't betray anyone!" he protested, his voice rising. "I was trying to protect them! The cult... they gave me no choice!"
"No choice?" she repeated, her tone icy. She took a step closer, and Alistair flinched. "You chose to execute an innocent man. You chose to turn Greymoot into a target. You chose to work with them."
Her words were like hammer blows, each one driving deeper into his crumbling defenses.
"You don't understand," he whispered, his voice trembling. "They're... they're too powerful. If I hadn't—"
"They?" she interrupted. "Who are 'they'? The cult? The ones who gave you orders? Names. Locations. Now."
Alistair's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. The weight of her demand, the intensity of her presence, left him paralyzed.
"I..." he stammered, his mind racing for something—anything—that might save him.
The Yellow Ranger leaned in closer, her visor inches from his face.
"You think you're scared now?" she said softly, her voice like a blade pressed to his throat. "This is nothing. Tell me what you know, or I'll show you what real fear looks like."
Alistair's breath hitched. For the first time in his life, he felt truly powerless.
--
Alistair's voice trembled as he finally forced words out. "They... they call themselves the Night Heralds," he stammered, his gaze darting between the Yellow Ranger and the knights standing silently behind her. "I swear, I didn't want to work with them, but they— they promised they wouldn't hurt anyone if I cooperated!"
The Yellow Ranger straightened, her Spinosaurus helmet tilting slightly as if she were weighing the truth of his words. "You mean to tell me you trusted a cult? One that thrives on death and chaos?"
"They didn't give me a choice!" Alistair's voice cracked, desperation bleeding into his tone. "They had... things! Beasts I couldn't control! They said they'd burn Greymoot to the ground if I didn't comply!"
The Yellow Ranger remained silent, letting his panicked words fill the room.
"They... they approached me months ago," he continued, his hands shaking as he gripped the edges of the chair. "At first, it was small things—information, supplies. Then they demanded more. They said someone was... watching. That they'd know if I didn't obey."
The Yellow Ranger stepped back, her hands clasped behind her back as she processed his words. "You're claiming you were nothing more than a pawn," she said coldly. "Convenient."
Alistair clenched his fists, his face flushing with anger and shame. "You don't understand! They're everywhere! Their power reaches farther than you can imagine!"
She tilted her head again, her visor glinting under the crystalline light. "And yet, here you are. Broken. Defeated. If they're so powerful, why didn't they save you?"
Alistair's jaw tightened, but he couldn't find an answer.
A voice from behind the one-way mirror cut through the tense silence. "Enough games, Tomo. Ask him what we don't already know."
The Yellow Ranger—didn't react immediately, but there was a faint tightening in her posture. She turned back to Alistair.
"Where are they now?" she asked, her voice sharp and precise.
Alistair blinked, sweat beading on his forehead. "I don't know!"
Tsuyen's helmeted face remained impassive, but her tone darkened. "Wrong answer."
"I swear!" he cried, his voice cracking. "They never told me where they were based! They only sent messengers—people I didn't recognize. They gave me instructions, and I followed them. That's all!"
"Then how did you contact them?" Tsuyen pressed.
"They contacted me!" Alistair shot back, his voice a mix of fear and frustration. "I never had a way to reach them. They'd just... appear, like shadows!"
Tsuyen's visor tilted slightly, as if she were studying him. "And yet, you thought betraying your people to them was a good idea."
"I didn't think I had a choice!" he shouted, his desperation spilling over. "Do you know what it's like to be faced with that kind of power? To know that no matter what you do, you're doomed?"
Her silence was damning.
"Please," Alistair whispered, his voice barely audible now. "I didn't want this. I never wanted this."
Tsuyen leaned in again, her voice low and deadly. "What you wanted doesn't matter anymore. What matters is how long you've been helping them and what they plan to do next."
"I told you, I don't know their plans!" Alistair pleaded. "All I know is that they wanted Greymoot as a foothold. Something about ley lines. That's it!"
"Ley lines," Tsuyen repeated, her tone skeptical.
"Yes!" Alistair nodded furiously. "They said the territory was important because of its... its alignment or something. I didn't understand it, but they seemed desperate to control it."
The Spinosaurus ranger straightened, her gaze shifting briefly to the one-way mirror. "You've given us something, at least," she said coldly. "But don't think this excuses you."
"What... what happens now?" Alistair asked, his voice trembling.
Tsuyen didn't answer. Instead, she turned on her heel and gestured to the knights. "Take him back to his cell."
As the knights hauled Alistair to his feet, his legs buckled, and they had to half-drag him toward the door.
Before they exited, The yellow ranger's voice rang out, stopping them in their tracks.
"Remember this, Alistair," she said, her tone quiet but cutting. "You may think you've escaped their wrath, but your sins will find you—whether it's through us, the cult, or your own guilt."
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Tsuyen alone in the chamber. She exhaled slowly, her hands tightening into fists as she turned back toward the mirror.
"Well?" she asked sharply.
"Useful," came the voice from the other side. "But not enough. We'll need to dig deeper into this ley line business."
The ranger nodded, her jaw tight. "I'll prepare the report."
The room fell silent as she exited, leaving the glow of the crystals to dim once more.
--
Alistair's breathing hitched as he tried to steady his nerves. He stared at the dim ceiling, the faint glow from the crystals giving the room an unnatural, sterile light. It was maddeningly quiet. No sound but his own uneven breaths echoed in the space.
He shifted uncomfortably, his body tense and his mind racing. They're watching me. I know they are. Waiting for me to slip up. Waiting for me to... to confess to something I didn't even do.
The silence was oppressive, like a weight pressing down on him. His eyes flicked to the one-way mirror again, and he clenched his fists. He couldn't help but imagine what might be lurking on the other side.
And then, like a crack of thunder, a loud, heavy knock echoed on the door.
Alistair jumped, his heart slamming against his ribs. He tried to push himself up, but his legs felt weak beneath him.
The door creaked open slowly, and in walked the Red Ranger.
She didn't storm in like some enraged knight ready to mete out justice. No, her entrance was far worse. It was calm, deliberate, and casual.
She strolled in, hands loosely clasped behind her back, her crimson armor glinting faintly in the glow of the crystals. The tyrannosaurus motif on her helmet seemed to leer at him, its sharp teeth frozen in an eternal snarl.
"Lord Alistair," she said, her voice even, almost conversational. "I trust the accommodations haven't been too... unpleasant?"
Alistair stared at her, his mouth dry. He couldn't tell if she was mocking him or if she was genuinely indifferent to his predicament.
"I-I've cooperated," he stammered, pushing himself into a sitting position. "I've told you everything I know. I swear it!"
The Red Ranger tilted her head slightly, as if considering his words. "Yes," she said slowly, her tone unhurried. "You've been quite... forthcoming. Almost eager, one might say."
Her words cut deeper than any shout or accusation. They were laced with a quiet menace that made Alistair's stomach churn.
She took a step closer, and he instinctively recoiled, pressing his back against the wall.
"You've told us a lot," she continued, her voice calm. "But the thing about traitors, Lord Alistair, is that their words are... hard to trust."
"I'm not a traitor!" he blurted out, his voice cracking. "I didn't want this! The cult—they forced me! You have to believe me!"
The Red Ranger stopped in her tracks, her visor fixed on him. For a long, excruciating moment, she said nothing.
Then, with an almost casual shrug, she said, "Perhaps."
She turned slightly, as though inspecting the cell. "Or perhaps you saw an opportunity. A way to get ahead. To secure your place in the cult's favor."
"That's not true!" Alistair shouted, his voice desperate. "I didn't have a choice!"
The Red Ranger turned back to him, her stance relaxed but her presence oppressive. "There's always a choice, Lord Alistair," she said, her voice low. "The question is whether you'll make the right one now."
Alistair swallowed hard, his palms clammy. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air.
She leaned slightly closer, her helmet inches from his face. "Tell me, Lord Alistair," she said, her tone almost conversational again. "How long have you been working for the cult? How many lives have you sacrificed for their cause?"
"I-I didn't sacrifice anyone!" he stammered, his voice shaking. "I told you, they forced me! I didn't—"
The Red Ranger straightened, cutting him off with a dismissive wave. "Save your excuses," she said coolly. "We'll find the truth, one way or another."
She turned to leave, her movements smooth and confident. "Oh," she added casually, glancing back at him. "And I'd suggest you start being honest. It might just save your life."
With that, she walked out, leaving Alistair alone once more. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing in the small room.
Alistair sat there, trembling, his mind racing. They have to believe me. They just have to.
Alistair's head jerked up at the sound of the door creaking open again. His nerves, already frayed, stretched thin like the strings of a poorly tuned harp. He expected the Red Ranger again, her calm menace suffocating him with every word. Instead, she walked in with another figure trailing behind her.
His breath caught in his throat.
"Baron Mono?" he rasped, the name slipping out before he could stop himself.
The figure who followed the Red Ranger was unmistakable. Baron Mono, a stern and imposing man draped in the deep purple-and-gold regalia of the Central Plateau, carried an air of authority that made the room feel even smaller. His cold gray eyes settled on Alistair with a mixture of disdain and grim satisfaction.
"Ah, thou knowest me," Mono said coolly, his tone slow and deliberate, the cadence of his speech almost theatrical. "Tis a relief to not waste my presence on one so... inconsequential."
Alistair opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. The room felt colder, his chest tightening as the reality of his situation sank in.
The Red Ranger crossed her arms, the edges of her crimson armor glinting in the crystalline light. "Lord Alistair," she began, her tone as casual as ever, "I thought it was only fair to inform you—your confessions weren't private."
Alistair's eyes darted to the one-way mirror.
"Good," she continued, her voice growing sharper, "because you felt watched, didn't you? That's because you were watched."
She pointed at the mirror. "Behind there? That's the iris. The Central Plateau Council." Her voice turned mocking. "You might've heard of them. They have jurisdiction over matters of treason, cult activity, and other such... unsavory things."
Alistair's stomach churned. He stumbled to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You can't—this isn't—"
"Oh, but it is," the Red Ranger interrupted, her tone scathing. "You didn't think we were taking your word as the gospel truth, did you? Your confessions were heard, analyzed, and very publicly recorded."
"Thy words," Mono interjected, his voice dripping with disdain, "are now testament to thy villainy. Thy cowardice, thy treachery, and thy betrayal of kith and kin are laid bare for all to see." His accent grew smoother, sharper, as he continued, his speech tilting into a modern tone. "And trust me, Alistair, the Council doesn't look kindly on traitors. They never have."
Alistair took a stumbling step backward, his back pressing against the cold wall. "You—you can't do this," he stammered, panic rising in his voice. "I was forced! I didn't—"
"Save it," the Red Ranger snapped, cutting him off. She leaned forward, her helmet's faceplate inches from his. "You're a traitor, Alistair. And the Central Plateau doesn't tolerate traitors."
The Baron gave a slow, humorless smile. "You've made your bed, Alistair. Now you'll lie in it. Because in this era, excuses carry no weight. The Council has its laws, and treason is punished without hesitation. And trust me..." His voice grew cutting, colder still. "There is no mercy in justice."
Alistair's legs nearly buckled under him, the weight of their words pressing down like a boulder. "You have to believe me," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I... I didn't have a choice."
The Red Ranger straightened, her arms crossing again. "You always have a choice," she said, her voice cold. "And you made yours. Now it's time to deal with the consequences."
Baron Mono turned on his heel, giving Alistair one last contemptuous glance before striding toward the door. "He's all yours," he said to the Red Ranger, his tone curt.
Alistair was left staring at the two of them, his mind spinning.