The grand hall of the Castle of Hearts was bathed in an eerie crimson glow, the light filtering through stained glass windows. At the center of the hall, seated upon the jagged, blackened throne, was Gorlois.

Then dark smoke swirled before him, eventually revealing the forms of the Jester and Dullahan. In the Headless Swordsman's hands, he carried the Chronosphere

"My lord," Dullahan said, his voice hollow and echoing. "The Chronosphere, as you commanded."

Gorlois leaned forward, accepting the orb from Dullahan. His eyes narrowed as he studied the orb. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Well done, Dullahan," he said, his voice low and commanding. "You've proven your worth yet again."

Dullahan's headless form remained still, his voice steady. "It is my honor to serve."

Gorlois leaned back in his throne, his fingers drumming against the armrest.

"What is your next command, my lord?"

Gorlois' smirk faded. "Stay put for now. Consolidate our forces. Secure the castle. I have… somewhere I need to be."

Without another word, Gorlois rose from his throne, his form dissolving into a swirl of dark energy before vanishing entirely.

"The ever-faithful knight," The Jester suddenly spoke up, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Always so dutiful. So loyal. Tell me, Dullahan, do you ever tire of being his errand boy?"

Dullahan turned, his headless form radiating a cold, unyielding presence. He said nothing, simply staring at the Jester with an intensity that would have made a lesser man flinch.

The Jester chuckled, undeterred. "Yeah, of course. Give me that silent treatment again."

Dullahan remained silent as he turned and strode away.

The Jester watched him go, his grin never faltering. "Suit yourself, tin man," he muttered, before disappearing back into the shadows.

Dullahan could only sigh while he walked through the darkened corridors, however, his mind was far from the present. Memories of a life long forgotten stirred within him, fragments of a time when he wasn't the Headless Swordsman.

For once, he had been a boy—a poor farmer's son, living in a small village on the outskirts of Wonderland. Life had been simple then, though far from easy. The fields were harsh, the work backbreaking, but there had been a kind of peace in the routine. His father had been a stern man, but fair, and his mother had been the heart of their home, her laughter filling the air even on the hardest days.

He had been a quiet child, more comfortable with the animals in the barn than with the other children in the village. He had spent his days tending to the crops, his hands calloused from the plow, his skin bronzed by the sun. But even then, there had been a restlessness in him, a longing for something more.

That longing had led him to the sword.

It had started as a game, a way to pass the time. He had fashioned a crude wooden blade from a fallen branch, practicing his swings in the fields when no one was watching. But as the years passed, the game had become an obsession. He had begun to dream of battles, of glory, of a life beyond the fields.

His father had not understood. "The land is our life," he had said, his voice heavy with disapproval. "You'll never make a living swinging a sword."

But Dullahan did not listen. He continued to practice, even more fervently. He continued to dream of battles, but dream alone could not change his reality. Not yet.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Dullahan wandered the outskirts of the village. The air was thick with the scent of hay and earth, and the distant laughter of children echoed through the streets. He was lost in thought, his wooden sword resting on his shoulder, when a sharp cry pierced the stillness.

His head snapped up, his instincts kicking in. The sound came from a narrow alley between two crumbling cottages. Without hesitation, he broke into a run, his heart pounding in his chest.

As he rounded the corner, he saw them—three older boys, their faces twisted with cruel amusement as they surrounded a young girl. She couldn't have been more than ten, her dress torn and her face streaked with tears. One of the boys held her doll high above her head, taunting her as she reached for it in vain.

"Give it back!" she cried, her voice trembling.

The boys laughed, their voices harsh and mocking. "What's the matter, little mouse? Can't reach it?"

Dullahan's blood boiled. He tightened his grip on his wooden sword and stepped forward, his voice low but firm. "Leave her alone."

The boys turned, their smirks faltering for a moment before they burst into laughter. "Look at this," one of them sneered, stepping toward Dullahan. "The farmer's boy thinks he's a knight."

Dullahan stood his ground, his jaw clenched. "I said leave her alone."

The boy's smirk widened. "Or what? You'll hit us with your little stick?"

Before Dullahan could respond, the boy lunged at him. Dullahan swung his wooden sword, but the boy was faster, dodging the blow and landing a punch to his stomach. The air rushed out of Dullahan's lungs, and he stumbled back.

The other two boys joined in, their fists raining down on him. Dullahan tried to fight back, but he was outnumbered and outmatched. His wooden sword was knocked from his hand, and he fell to the ground, his body aching from the blows.

One of the boys raised his foot, aiming a kick at Dullahan's ribs. But before the blow could land, a hand shot out, catching the boy's ankle mid-air.

"Enough."

The voice was calm but commanding, and it sent a chill through the air. The boys froze, their eyes widening as they looked up at the figure who had intervened.

It was a knight.

His armor gleamed in the fading light, the sigil of Wonderland's army emblazoned on his chest. His face was stern, his eyes sharp and piercing. With a single motion, he shoved the boy back, sending him stumbling into his companions.

"Run along," the knight said, his voice low and dangerous. "Before I decide to teach you a real lesson."

The boys didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet and fled, their laughter replaced by panicked whispers.

The knight turned to Dullahan, who was still on the ground, clutching his side. "Are you alright?" he asked, his tone softer now.

Dullahan didn't answer. He couldn't. Shame burned in his chest, hotter than the pain from his bruises.

The knight crouched down, his armor creaking softly. "You did great," he said, his voice warm with approval.

Dullahan's head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I… I lost," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The knight chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Of course you did. You're untrained. But that can be fixed." He reached out, placing a hand on Dullahan's shoulder. "What's important is that your heart is right. You stepped in to protect her, even when you knew you might lose. That's what makes a true knight."

Dullahan stared at him, his mind racing. The knight's words echoed in his ears, stirring something deep within him. For the first time, he felt a flicker of hope.

The knight stood, offering his hand. "Come on up. The girl you saved still needs you to accompany her home."

Dullahan hesitated, then took the knight's hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. As he stood, he noticed the young girl still standing nearby, her doll clutched tightly to her chest. She was looking at him with wide, grateful eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Dullahan nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

The knight clapped him on the shoulder, a grin spreading across his face. "Think it over," he said. "When you're ready to become a soldier, look for me. My name is Gorlois."

With that, the knight turned and strode away, his armor gleaming in the fading light. Dullahan watched him go. For the first time, his dream felt within reach.

He looked down at the girl, who was still staring at him with those wide, grateful eyes. "Come on," he said softly, offering her his hand. "Let's get you home."

Fast forward, and time came when his dream finally became a reality. He stood among the rookie soldiers, his body drenched in sweat, his muscles burning with exertion. Around him, the sounds of clashing steel and shouted commands echoed. But he didn't complain. He didn't falter.

At the edge of the training ground, an overseer, a grizzled veteran with a voice like gravel, barked orders from the sidelines. "Keep your guard up! A loose stance gets you killed! And you—" He pointed at Dullahan. "Your form's improving, but you're still too slow. Speed wins battles, boy. Remember that."

Dullahan nodded, gritting his teeth as he adjusted his stance. He had been training for months now, pushing himself harder than anyone else. The other recruits whispered about him, calling him obsessed, but he didn't care. He had a goal, and nothing would stand in his way.

The overseer blew a sharp whistle, and the recruits immediately stopped, falling into formation. Dullahan stood at attention, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The overseer paced in front of them, his eyes scanning the group.

"Listen up, maggots!" he barked. "Today's a big day. A few of you will be chosen to serve under one of the High Keepers. This is your chance to prove yourselves, to show that you've got what it takes to be more than just another soldier. But don't get your hopes up. Only the best will be chosen. The rest of you? Back to the grind."

A murmur rippled through the recruits, but Dullahan remained silent, his eyes fixed straight ahead. This was it. The moment he had been waiting for.

The overseer continued, his voice carrying across the training grounds. "The High Keepers are the elite. They're the ones who lead us into battle, who protect Wonderland from its enemies. If you're chosen, consider it the highest honor. But remember—honor comes with responsibility. You'll be expected to give everything you've got. No excuses. No failures. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the recruits shouted in unison.

The overseer nodded, then turned as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the training grounds. All eyes shifted to the five figures striding toward them, their presence commanding immediate attention.

The High Keepers.

Each one was clad in unique armor, their emblems gleaming in the sunlight. There was no mistaking them—these were the legends of Wonderland's army, the warriors whose names were spoken with reverence. But Dullahan's eyes were drawn to one figure in particular.

Gorlois.

The knight's armor was a deep, burnished gold, the sigil of a rising sun emblazoned on his chest. His presence was magnetic, his every movement radiating confidence and strength. Dullahan's heart pounded in his chest as he recognized the man who had saved him all those years ago.

The overseer stepped forward, bowing his head respectfully. "High Keepers," he said, his voice carrying across the training grounds. "These are the recruits. The best of the best. They've trained hard, and they're ready to serve."

The High Keepers surveyed the recruits, their expressions unreadable. But Gorlois' gaze lingered, his sharp eyes scanning the group. And then, as if guided by fate, his eyes locked onto Dullahan.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Gorlois' brow furrowed slightly, as if trying to place the young soldier's face. Dullahan stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat. He wanted to speak, to remind Gorlois of their meeting, but the words wouldn't come.

Before the overseer could finish his introductory speech, Gorlois stepped forward, his boots crunching against the gravel. The other High Keepers exchanged curious glances, but Gorlois paid them no mind. He stopped in front of Dullahan, his gaze piercing.

"What's your name, soldier?" Gorlois asked, his voice calm but commanding.

Dullahan straightened, his heart pounding. "Dullahan, sir."

Gorlois' eyes narrowed slightly, as if the name stirred something in his memory. He studied Dullahan for a moment longer, then nodded. "You've got fire in your eyes, Dullahan. I like that."

The overseer stepped forward, clearly surprised by Gorlois' sudden interest. "High Keeper Gorlois, if I may—"

Gorlois held up a hand, silencing him. "I've made my choice." He turned to Dullahan, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You'll serve under me. Report to my quarters at dawn. Don't be late."

Dullahan's breath hitched, his mind racing. This was it. The moment he had been waiting for. He nodded sharply, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside him. "Yes, sir."

Gorlois gave him one last appraising look, then turned and strode away. But before he could take more than a few steps, Uther stepped forward, his hand resting on Gorlois' shoulder.

"Are you sure you're only picking one?" Uther asked, his tone light but curious. His armor, a deep emerald green adorned with the emblem of a coiled serpent, contrasted sharply with Gorlois' golden brilliance.

Gorlois didn't stop walking, but he glanced back at Uther, his expression unreadable. "I only need that one," he said simply, his voice firm and final.

Uther raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across his face. He had long since grown accustomed to Gorlois' decisive and often cryptic ways. "Fair enough," he said with a chuckle, shaking his head. "But don't come complaining to me when you realize you need more hands."

Gorlois didn't respond, his focus already shifting as he continued toward the edge of the training grounds. Uther watched him go for a moment, then turned his attention back to the recruits, his sharp eyes scanning the group.

The other High Keepers followed suit, each stepping forward to make their selections. Uther himself chose three recruits. The others chose more.

The recruits who were chosen stood a little taller, their chests swelling with pride, while those left behind tried to hide their disappointment. The overseer barked orders, directing the chosen recruits to their new commanders and dismissing the rest to continue their training.

Dullahan, however, barely noticed the commotion around him. His eyes were fixed on Gorlois' retreating figure, his mind already racing with thoughts of what lay ahead. He had been chosen—not just by any High Keeper, but by Gorlois himself. The man who had inspired him, who had given him hope when he had none.

The overseer approached Dullahan as the other recruits dispersed, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp. He stopped a few paces away, his voice low as he leaned in slightly. "You'd better be careful with that one," he said, his tone carrying a weight of caution. "Gorlois… he's a bit—" The overseer hesitated, tapping his temple with a finger. "Loose up here."

Dullahan met the overseer's gaze, his expression neutral. He nodded once, acknowledging the warning, but said nothing. Inside, however, the words barely registered. All he could think of was the knight who had once stood up for him, who had seen something in him when no one else had. Gorlois had believed in him then, and Dullahan would prove that belief right now.

The overseer studied him for a moment longer, then shrugged. "Your choice, boy. Just don't say I didn't warn you." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Dullahan alone on the training grounds.

Dullahan stood there for a moment longer, his mind replaying the memory of that day in the village—the day Gorlois had stepped in and changed his life. He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He didn't care what anyone said about Gorlois. He would follow him, no matter what.

Fast forward.

The battlefield was chaos.

Smoke filled the air, the acrid stench of burning wood and blood mixing with the cries of the wounded and the clash of steel. Dullahan fought at Gorlois' side, his sword moving with a precision and ferocity that had become second nature. He had trained relentlessly, honing his skills under Gorlois' watchful eye, and now, in the heat of battle, it showed.

Gorlois was a force of nature, his golden armor gleaming even amidst the grime and blood of war. He moved with a calculated brutality, his every strike deliberate and devastating. Dullahan mirrored his movements, his loyalty unwavering as he fought to protect his commander and their comrades.

"Dullahan!" Gorlois' voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding. "Flank left! Push them back!"

Dullahan didn't hesitate. He broke away from the main force, leading a small group of soldiers around the enemy's flank. They moved swiftly, their swords cutting through the enemy ranks like a scythe through wheat. The Outlanders, caught off guard by the sudden assault, faltered, their lines breaking under the pressure.

Dullahan's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. This was what he had trained for, what he had dreamed of. This was his chance to prove himself—not just to Gorlois, but to himself.

As the battle raged on, Dullahan found himself face-to-face with an Outlander commander, a hulking figure clad in dark armor. The man swung a massive axe, the blade whistling through the air as it came down toward Dullahan's head.

Dullahan dodged, his movements fluid and precise. He countered with a swift strike, his sword biting into the man's side. The Outlander roared in pain, swinging his axe wildly, but Dullahan was faster. He ducked under the blow, driving his sword upward into the man's throat.

The Outlander crumpled to the ground, and Dullahan stood over him, his chest heaving. For a moment, the world seemed to slow, the sounds of battle fading into the background. He had done it. He had proven himself.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder, and Dullahan turned to see Gorlois standing beside him, his expression unreadable beneath his helmet. "Good work," Gorlois said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of pride. "You've come a long way, Dullahan."

Dullahan nodded, his grip tightening on his sword. "Thank you, sir."

Gorlois studied him for a moment, then turned back to the battlefield. "Don't get comfortable. This isn't over yet."

Dullahan followed his gaze, his eyes narrowing as he took in the chaos around them. The battle was far from won, but he was ready. He would fight until the end, no matter what.

As they charged back into the fray, Dullahan felt a sense of purpose he had never known before. He was no longer the boy who had dreamed of glory. He was a soldier, a warrior, and he would fight for Gorlois—for the man who had believed in him when no one else had.

And he would not falter.

But then, that tragic day came.

"Dullahan, take ten men and hold them off!" Gorlois barked, his eyes blazing with determination. "The rest of us—we make for the ridge! Now!"

"Go, Commander!" He shouted, fighting off the fear that started to well inside him. "We'll buy you time!"

"With me!" he shouted, leading the small group toward the advancing Outlanders. They were outnumbered, outmatched, but Dullahan didn't care. He would hold the line, no matter the cost.

The clash was brutal. Dullahan fought with everything he had, his sword a blur as he cut down enemy after enemy. His men fought bravely beside him, but the Outlanders were relentless, their numbers overwhelming. One by one, Dullahan's comrades fell, their cries of pain echoing in his ears.

But Dullahan didn't stop. He couldn't. He had sworn to protect Gorlois, to fight for Wonderland, and he would do so until his last breath.

And then, it happened.

From out of nowhere, a blade swung.

Dullahan didn't even see it coming. One moment, he was fighting, his sword slicing through the air. The next, there was a flash of steel, and everything went dark.

His head fell from his body, tumbling to the ground as his lifeless form crumpled beside it.

In those final moments, his mind flashed back to the day Gorlois had first encouraged him to be a soldier. The knight's words echoed in his mind, warm and reassuring. "You've got fire in your eyes, Dullahan. I like that."

And then, there was nothing.

—-

Dullahan opened his eyes—or at least, he thought he did. His vision was strange, distorted, as if he were seeing through a haze. He tried to move, to speak, but his body felt… different. Wrong.

Panic surged through him as he realized he couldn't feel his limbs, couldn't feel anything at all. "Commander!" he tried to shout, but his voice was hollow, echoing unnaturally. "What are you still doing here? You've got to retreat!"

Gorlois' voice cut through the fog, calm and steady. "Relax, Dullahan."

Dullahan turned. The battlefield was empty now, the sounds of war replaced by an eerie silence. The ground was still littered with bodies. But they were all bodies of the Outlanders. His comrades, however, were nowhere to be found.

"What… what happened?" Dullahan asked, his voice trembling. "I… I died. I felt it. I felt the blade—"

"You did," Gorlois interrupted, his tone matter-of-fact. "But death is not the end. Not for you."

"I… but…Rellan and the others," Dullahan said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gorlois stepped closer, his golden armor gleaming even in the dim light. "I can only choose one. And I chose you, Dullahan. But are you still willing to serve me?"

Dullahan's panic began to subside, replaced by a strange sense of calm. He had always trusted Gorlois, always followed him without question. And now, even in death, that trust remained.

"Of course, Commander," Dullahan said, his voice steady. "You know I'd stay faithful to you until the end."

Gorlois smiled, a faint, almost imperceptible curve of his lips. "Good. Then we show Wonderland what having a true king means."

The words sent a shiver through Dullahan—or what was left of him. He didn't fully understand what Gorlois meant, but it didn't matter. He had sworn his loyalty, and he would see it through, no matter the cost.