I can't believe my luck. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, they throw me in a cell with a naked, silver-haired lunatic who keeps muttering to himself in some strange language.
I tried talking to him, but he just stares off into space, ignoring me completely. I can't even tell if he understands what I'm saying.
After a few hours of silence, the man suddenly turned to me and asked, "Excuse me, where am I? What year is it?"
I looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious? You don't know where you are?"
He shook his head. "I remember waking up in a gorge, but everything after that is a blur."
I hesitated for a moment, then decided to humor him. "Well, you're in the town of Millfield, in the kingdom of Arathia. As for the year, it's 527 by the Arathian calendar."
Peter Dansleif looked stunned. "527? That's impossible. It should be at least a thousand years later."
I raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"
He hesitated for a moment, then said, "I come from a different time. A past time."
I stared at him, not sure if he was crazy or just messing with me. But there was something in his eyes that made me believe he was telling the truth.
As the hours passed, Peter Dansleif began to open up to me, telling me about his life and his adventures in different mythological realms. He talked about battling creatures from different mythologies, and how he had been chosen to save humanity from its own foolishness.
At first, I thought he was just a delusional madman, but the more he spoke, the more I began to believe him. There was a sincerity in his voice that was hard to ignore.
He told me of a time long ago, when the world was still young and the gods walked among mortals. He spoke of his travels through different realms, and the creatures he had fought and defeated.
He talked of a great war that had been waged against humanity by the gods themselves, a war that threatened to destroy everything he held dear. He spoke of the sacrifices he had made, the battles he had fought, and the friends he had lost along the way.
Despite the gravity of his words, there was a sense of levity and humor to his stories. He recounted the time he had stolen Thor's hammer, and the time he had tricked Anubis into granting him eternal life.
As he spoke, I found myself drawn into his world, fascinated by the tales of gods and monsters, heroes and villains. For a moment, I forgot that we were both prisoners, trapped in a jail cell with no hope of escape.
But as the hours passed, the guards came to take Peter Dansleif away, and I watched as they dragged him down the corridor, still ranting about saving humanity.
As I sat alone in the cell once again, I couldn't help but wonder if Peter Dansleif was truly the chosen one, sent to save us from ourselves. Or if he was just another madman, doomed to rot in a jail cell for the rest of his days.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. I had given up hope of ever seeing Peter Dansleif again, when one day, to my surprise, the guards brought him back to our cell.
He was different this time, subdued and quiet. When I asked him what had happened, he just shook his head and refused to speak.
For days, he sat in silence, staring at the walls with a faraway look in his eyes. But one night, as I was