9 Summer 218
“Sky people.” The Aasimar.
The Beast of the Thousand Eyes.
Constellation of the Swan.
Kelwin.
Tyr Isendel.
The First Night…
Scenes blur past in Sylas’s dreams. Events that have passed or possibly yet to occur. War and death and power.
He stands among an army of beautiful soldiers, all adorned in similar armor, wielding weapons of stone and gold. Approaching from a distance is darkness made corporeal, formless beings that Sylas is unable to comprehend. His heart rate increases as he reaches for his weapons, but discovers that he has no body. His soul exists in a place long since destroyed, in a battle long since forgotten.
The beings of darkness, the enemy of these people, is nearly upon them when warriors begin to chant and yell as they ready their weapons. A thunderous crash of light halts the darkness momentarily before they meet the soldiers, who as if on queue with the thunder strike, dash forward to begin the battle in earnest.
As the battle begins, the images and shapes quickly scatter into mist, leaving Sylas floating in absolute darkness. Before he can attempt to discern the symbolism of the void, he quickly turns at the sound of sobbing. Behind him, floating amongst the inky blackness, a lone figure holds their face and cries. He motions to approach, when suddenly a brilliant flash a white burns his vision and the black void is lit with painfully bright starlight. Constellations. Just as quickly as they appear however, some begin to slowly fade, absorbed back into the vacuum of nothingness. He recognizes the constellation of The Hunter as the stars that make it up flicker and vanish before all surrounding light is instantly disappeared. In the absolute darkness, he hears children laughing and cheering. The same sobbing of the lone figure from before booms, drowning out the cries of joy of children, who all begun to weep themselves.
Sylas feels his eyesight blur and readjust to a new scene, a scarred battlefield littered with incalculable bodies; the sound of a fierce battle filtering in from the distance. He stands in the middle of the field, the ground a sickening motley of corpses and injured soldiers desperately clinging to life. He is barely able to take in the gruesome sight before a symphony of whispers begins to bombard him. The whispers slowly grow in volume, becoming a cacophony of screams and cries of agony that invade his mind. He doubles over, as he feels his mind collapsing on itself under the strain of the noise, frantically attempting to claw at the sides of his head with hands that don’t exist. The screams grow louder still, threatening to deafen him before it all abruptly ends and he awakens with a jolt.
He stifles a yell as he turns over on his side, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, his head pounding painfully with each pump if blood through his body. The echoes of the screams of dying men lingers in his mind, so he bites his lip hard to center his awareness on the immediate pain and taste of iron. As the memory of the visions begin to fade away, Sylas rubs his eyes in exhaustion and aggravation.
“This is the third time I’ve been woken up by these damned nightmares tonight,” he thinks to himself as he sits up. He wipes the sweat from his brow and drinks from his waterskin, taking a moment to calm himself and slow his breathing.
“These dreams have been increasing in frequency in recent nights,” he ponders. “It all began after I touched those fucking Aasimar ruins. But I can’t recall any of the imagery from the visions well enough to learn anything useful!”
Taking another swig of water, Sylas turns to look over the rest of his sleeping group as they all continue to rest soundly, undisturbed by his motions. “Well fortunately I’m not disturbing anyone else. I’d hate to wake up and bother them,” he thinks to himself with an annoyed sarcasm.
Sylas pours a bit of water into his hand and runs it over his face and neck before falling back into his bedroll. He stares up for several moments, his mind racing trying to recall the horrifying visions that perturb his unconsciousness. After a bit more time passes, Sylas can feel his exhaustion overpowering his will to continue pondering on his lost visions. “I gotta get some proper rest,” he reasons with himself aloud in a hushed whisper. “At the rate I’m going I’ll wind up more detrimental than helpful. I’ll continue thinking on this as we travel,” he says with a yawn. As his eyes slowly close, his conciousness drifting away, a final thought passes his lips, “I swear if I keep not getting a full night’s sleep I’ll kill someone…”
…
…
The Fade Beast.
The Raven Queen.
Bax Demir…
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