It begins with a wash of darkness.
The vision crashes over you like a wave, drowning you in colors and foreign sensations. Like a rip current, it tears you from your own body, and your consciousness drifts into a place of shadows and light. Images resolve themselves, first as blurred shadows, like a watercolor not yet finished. Over what seems like an eternity, they come into sharp focus.
**
The girl's eyes flutter.
She lies in a coffin of crystal. Cracks have spiderwebbed through it, and the panes are stained, as if with soot, except soot does not twitch and shiver of its own volition. Despite this, the girl sleeps. Her sleep is restless, the sleep of one who is on the verge of waking.
A young man stands over the coffin, singing a quiet lullaby. His voice is raspy and dry, as if he has been singing for hours. He looks as if he can barely stand.
The room in which they stand has the look of a place of worship. Draperies of silver spidersilk and black velvet drip from the walls, swaying in a sensuous dance with the barest breath of air. Hundreds of votive candles are scattered about the polished ebony floor, but most have long since burnt out. Incongruous are the two sets of polished armor heaped in one corner, the remains of half-eaten meals, the crumpled bedding. Odder still is one of the walls, which appears to be a shadow made solid.
"Llumen," a dark-skinned woman whispers.
She is not human. She has the seeming of an elf, the thin-tipped and pointed ears, the slender physique, but it is as if someone has lent features to the silhouette of an elf. Her skin is black as shadows, and her eyes little more than pools of silver. When she speaks, her voice is cool and musical, but heavy-laden with concern. "She stirs."
The man named Llumen ceases to sing. "I have eyes, Chaeye."
His tone is as sharp as the angles of his face. Were he human, he might seem little more than a score of years old, but the bones of that face are too finely drawn, the weary eyes in it far too blue. They are set deeply in their sockets. His ears have points as well.
"Yet you do not see," says Chaeye. Her tone is careful, the words so quiet that they might not be meant for the man at all.
The girl's eyes flutter again. When they open, the irises are bright blue, and the pupils are fathomless. An entire world might exist beyond those eyes. The temple shivers, the ground shakes. But then the eyes shut, and she returns to her restless sleep.
"She is near to waking," says another voice.
The two lift their heads, exhaustion in their eyes sharpening into suspicion. As one, their gazes travel to a point on the wall of shadow, which has begun to glow a lurid green. The emerald light roils like a flame, but it is unable to throw back the darkness.
"Tseleth," Llumen says, his voice cold.
"There was a time you would have called me brother."
"There was a time when you had honor. When you had faith. When you were human. What do you have now?"
"The power to end this," Tseleth's voice responds. "Give her to me, and I shall take her to a place where she can never wake. Surrender her, and Indhis will never ride forth."
The creature that oozes forth from the wall is barely humanoid. Its body is made of fleshless bones that are burnt and brittle. Two skeletal wings protrude from its back, and it is taller than either of the two elves.
In the space between seconds, Chaeye suddenly stands, armed and armored. One of the suits of armor has vanished from the corner. She positions herself between the creature and Llumen, and her eyes flash with silver light.
"You will move no further," she says.
Llumen shakes his head. "Has this place become so defiled that a child of the Serpent can walk freely here?" He leans more heavily on the coffin.
"As Lord Commander, you should know that the Order's strength lies in its illusions," Tseleth's voice says. The skeletal monstrosity flickers like a candleflame. "One might say that Ronan's power is just a play of shadows on the wall. But now the wall is cracked. You cannot keep me out entirely, and you cannot keep him in, either. This must end tonight."
Llumen shakes his head. "No. No, I cannot let you have her. I will not let her burn for this world's sakes." There is little strength in his protestations.
The creature stretches forward, passing through Chaeye and reforming on the other side. She shivers, lowers her blade, and steps aside, then turns to watch as Tseleth's illusion brushes one of its claws against the crystalline coffin.
"She was beautiful once," Tseleth says. "If I could feel, I might weep for her. But do you truly think that the Maw is less of a torture than that which you force her to endure?"
Rage boils in Llumen's eyes. He rounds on Tseleth's illusion, and silver light sprays forth from his hands. The phantasmal bones melt away, and, with a shriek, the illusory form vanishes.
"He thinks he can come in here, in my lord's Temple, and--" Llumen's tirade dies at the sound coming from behind him.
A soft murmur emanates from the coffin. Within, the girl's eyes are open. Chaeye and Llumen's expressions slide from shock to horror as the crystal surrounding her begins to crack. Pieces from the casing drop to the ground with an almost musical sound, and crimson-edged shadows begin to spread outward from her prone form. At first, they seep like ink, but soon they spread like the waters of a flowing river, drenching the floor and wall in roiling blackness.
It is as if a door has been opened to another world. Beyond the shadows of the opposing wall lies an endless, tormented plain bordered by mountains spewing plumes of golden magma into the air. The chaotic sky is home to monstrosities with too many eyes, great leathery wings, and fangs. There is a red glow in the west, brighter than any of the shining incarnadine stars overhead.
The sound of hoofbeats approaches, ringing through the chamber as if from a great distance. As the shadows spread, the sound grows more acute, more present, and the red glow draws nearer.
"I will face him," Llumen says, his voice quavering. "He is only human."
"Do not be foolish," Chaeye snaps. "He was the better swordsman when he was a man. Now, he is a creature of dreams, twisted for centuries by the Shroud. We cannot defeat him by strength of arms. You must fall back, Llumen. Perhaps I can seal him here for a little longer."
The glow has drawn near enough that its source is evident. It is a rider on a pale horse, swathed in burgundy cloth from head to toe. His shadow dances like the smoke of of a snuffed candle, and it holds a sullen red radiance about the edges.
The rider halts his pale steed, and his laughter, mad and furious, peals across the plains. He dismounts and draws forth a sword that flickers like flame. Though still distant, the force of his gaze is almost a physical thing, boring into the small chamber.
"I should have known you would be waiting here, Llumen. Is that Chaeye with you? Oh, I have been awaiting this moment for a long time." His voice is everywhere, all at once. It does not echo.
"Flee, Llumen. You must lead them against him. I'll hold him for as long as I can," Chaeye says. "Ronan grant me strength. Gods guide my blade."
"Who needs gods?" Indhis's voice crackles through the air. "They have made us dance on their strings for too long. In this world, there was but one god, and look what I have wrought. Have you met my children?"
The creatures screeching through the riotous skies scream their fury, as if on command. The fountains of magma spray higher. Shadows begin to creep along the plain, taking on humanoid forms that crawl toward the pair. Beneath the swathes of cloth, Indhis's mouth twitches.
"Llumen, go," Chaeye hisses through gritted teeth.
"I will not leave you," Llumen says. He ignores the pile of armor on the floor as he reaches for his blade, silver-edged and wrought of ebon steel. "Perhaps he can still be stopped."
"And if not, who will guide them?" Chaeye asks. "Llumen, you must go."
Llumen pauses for a moment. "You're coming with me, then."
Chaeye shakes her head. "But he will escape."
"We'll find a way to defeat him," Llumen says. "I cannot do it without you. None of the others are left, Chaeye. None of them. Come with me. We'll fall back. We'll rally the people of this town to our cause. We can find a way."
Chaeye's hand shakes. She glances over her shoulder at the approaching rider. Suddenly, she nods.
"Let us go," she says. Her voice breaks.
As one, the two turn and rush toward the opposite wall. The shadows part for them, and they dart down the hallway as the first of the shadowed creatures begin to pour through, screeching their hatred to the world. Chaeye and Llumen rush through the arched doors leading out of the temple and, as they reach the gates, they slow their pace.
"Put up wards on the gates, and on the temple itself," Llumen says. "I'll hold back the tide."
Creatures of shadow begin to spill from the doors of the temple, and Llumen races toward them. His blade is like part of his body as he hews through one creature after another. The creatures that avoid the weapon are torn apart by bursts of silver light from his hands. All the while, Chaeye chants softly, silver-edged shadows spilling from around her.
At last, the flow of monstrosities grows to be too great, and Llumen begins his retreat. Still hacking and slashing, he backs up toward the gates. Without turning to Chaeye, he speaks.
"You should go."
"I will not leave you," she says.
He chuckles. "You already have." His form flickers and dances on the wind. "As the Lord Commander, I do have a talent for illusions. I will keep him busy for a while longer, but you must help them find a way to get my sister back to sleep. The world is not ready to face the Dreamer quite yet. Now, I suggest you go. I will all of my strength for what I must do next."
Chaeye looks into the apparition's face. A single quicksilver tear drips from one of her eyes.
"Good," Llumen's illusion says. "I will dream of you, my friend, in the dreams beyond life."
With that, he vanishes.
Chaeye's eyes scan the courtyard of the Temple. The creatures have begun to ransack the beautiful grounds, letting loose their master's fury on the world. She shuts her eyes. The tear falls to the ground. She becomes one with the shadows of the night.
**
Back in the coffin room, the red-swathed man steps to the threshold of the shadows. The glittering shroud he wears stretches toward the chamber, toward freedom. He looks down at the woman entombed there, her eyes open but unseeing. In his own eyes, there is nothing of tenderness. They are crimson, and ablaze with fury.
He steps forward just as a man-shape detaches itself from the shadows. Llumen wears a calm smile. It only widens at Indhis's snarl of rage.
"I am Llumen," the elf says, holding his silver-edged sword before him. "I am the Lord Commander of the Order of Dreamwalkers." Starlit shadows begin to spill from his form, nearly touching the crimson-edged ones spilling from the coffin. "I do solemnly swear to hold the night in the name of my lord, and the Lords of Liabo."
The shadows consume the edges of his form. "I will battle the enemies of Ronan in all their forms. I will light the darkness with my faith. I will stand my ground. Blessed be the Lord of Dreams, in all his majesty."
Indhis steps forward, and his fiery blade leaps to his hand. "You can't fight me."
"I can hold you here, at least for a while. Gods send it is long enough."
As the shadows touch, blinding light and deafening sound erupts from the point of contact, consuming the two men, the coffin room, and the waking woman.
**
Outside, on the streets of Solhaven, the last of the Dreamwalkers stands alone. In her hands, she clutches a single silver tear. She whispers a chant over it, and casts it to the winds.
"All will know of your sacrifice, Llumen. I swear it. They will see it for themselves."
**
And with that, the vision fades.
Auchand
It's funnier in Enochian.
