"The trail coils like a viper through these undulating hills," I observed, watching the bends extend without end before us. "Each pace carries us farther from Braxmond's clutches."
Deyric gave a nod, his rod tapping the crude stone of the Brax-Ceru Road. "And further away from your father I must admit," he responded, indicating the meadows of dancing hues that encircled us. "Tell me what strikes your eye, Nott."
"Autumn's canvas," I murmured, absorbing the brilliant weaving. "Scarlet, amber, and bronze beneath this crystalline vault. It resembles a monarch's hanging spread across the countryside."
"Excellent," Deyric said, his tone bearing endorsement. "The realm transforms around those who truly witness it."
I drew breath deeply, attempting to saturate my chest with something beyond mourning. Something pure and vital—and the atmosphere was fresh. Since birth, years of soot choking the city I left behind but not here. Here, the breeze conspired with fire-touched foliage to weave fresh stories, but with this new chapter came a pain I could not overcome.
Despite my best efforts to ignore all that had happened, darkness clung to my essence like dust. The distant reaches echoed both melancholy and death as the corruption growing from Braxmond was become equal to the lost realm of Erua'vem. Ethereal existence gnawed at me, intensifying the torment of Mother's absence. The recollection of her—stilled in metal and gore—remained as fresh and inflexible as the grief that wound through my soul.
Deyric's steps beat tempo alongside mine, securing me in the now as my mind threatened to scatter like ghostly grains. His company was a steadying cord, binding me to existence, reminding me that bereavement was not conclusion but threshold.
"Attempt moving with purpose, Nott," he urged, not for the first occasion. His tone did not linger on empathy, nor would it wane from concealed significance. "The realm of slumber yields to those prepared to brush its borders, to welcome rather than escape."
I faltered, the strange qualities of dreamwalking resisting against logic. But there burned an urgency in his gaze, a passionate challenge daring me to command my talent. A talent that had delivered nothing save disorder to my existence—yet here he stood, pressing me to explore its limits, to stride between worlds just as the routes we now crossed.
With a calming inhalation, I sealed my lids amid autumn's blessing that coaxed my consciousness towards the threshold. Mistic stardust swirled beneath my sight—a veil half-drawn to expose what lay beyond. Specks of gold intertwined with shadows that promised anguish if left unchallenged.
The Veil of Slumber exhaled a mournful melody woven from the bereavement that still sustained me as we departed everything I'd ever understood. Lose stones embedded in the passage beneath my feet trembled, each hollow and crest a reflection of my unsteady spirit. Darkness writhed across the earth as if echoing my inner chaos. With each attempt to keep my eyes shut, the burden of my fresh identity bore down upon me, and yet this suffering grew more crushing, relentless—Mother's murder built a void like an abyss that refused to heal.
Refusing to keep the exercise going, I remained with my eyes open to see the spiraling vapor drifting languidly over the slopes, its wisps curling around flawless branches as if hiding my mother's tender embrace. She survives, I assured myself, the notion frantic and clinging.
"She cannot be gone." The words trembled desperately into the gale, and I stopped, trapped in hope's cruel grasp—waiting, yearning, for her response. Reply to me. Please. But quiet greeted me, except for the distant forest's murmurs, the whisper of leaves their taunting answer.
With a shock, truth rushed forward, harsh and merciless. Don't consider it. Don't allow it to be true. But reality carved itself into my consciousness regardless—Mother had transformed into the mist itself, everywhere present but intangible, never again to soothe my torn soul with her caress. How can someone so essential simply... disappear? Vanished was her silent elegance that had steadied me; vanished was her faith in portents and tales that had spread the world before me like a tapestry of enigmas. She would have grasped this expedition. She would have comprehended what the visions signified.
It ached beyond what I could have conceived. The separation ran deeper than any blade could slice. My heart swelled with the urge to forget what was understood—to reject the torment as a mirage born from shadows and terrors. I hastened my stride, compelled to flee this tormented reflection, yet discovered each step heavy with unfulfilled expectation. The slopes were pitiless in their calm, their eternal murmurs mocking my vein escape with haunting melodies of the garden Deyric followed me wordlessly, permitting my sorrow to rise and fall like waves upon the strand, understanding that no utterances were required, not yet.
In the mountain mist, phantoms formed and vanished—fragments of her joy, fleeting wisps of radiance dissolving as I grasped for them. I'd sacrifice anything for one more instant, one moment to save her as she did not deserve to die like that. But those vows and longings belonged to another existence, an existence abandoned in a smoldering metropolis.
"The fog is accumulating thick around us," I said, stopping beneath the break of dawn just creeping into the valley this road cut through "Where are we exactly?" I asked then stopped all together to try and remember my geography lessons. "I would say that we are about fifty of so miles away from Braxmond by now?"
"It is about to rain Nott and I suggest we break from the road to find shelter near those three," Deyric declared, his voice carrying across our path that indicated a grouping of twisted trees visible through the shifting mist. His silver hair stirred with an unfelt jolt of energy, and I glimpsed the faintest glimmer of elemental force dancing along the borders of his weathered garments. "I haven't journeyed up this particular route in decades, you know—not since my early years with the Covenant, when I was still mastering how to channel the mystic powers."
"Professor, I must ask something," I said as I viewed the road in both directions to not find a soul out here. "Why have we not been followed by now or see anyone traveling on this road?"
He hesitated, his piercing blue-white gaze scanning the tree line with the careful attention of one who had learned to interpret nature's subtle moods. "These slopes hold recollections as dense as the mist itself. The trees there have endured countless storms, their roots extending deep enough to anchor against any elemental surge that might escape my grasp." A wistful smile touched his lips. "Years bring insight, but they also bring... complications. The elements respond more readily now, but they're also more eager to break their bonds when emotion runs high."
I chose not to keep asking as he clearly did not want to answer the question with a shift in topic. Even though my training with him has been brief, it was odd to me that he spoke as if this knowledge was common. I honestly had no idea what he was going on about since our escape but perhaps that was the point? Keep me rational and not emotionally charged think of my loss.
I allowed the spectral embrace to envelop me, whispering comforts I couldn't quite comprehend. "This domain between dusk and dawn... it's merciless, isn't it? A reminder that though I walk among the living, part of me has been cast into the abyss."
"Not at all my boy," he shrugged off my pessimistic decorum. "All part of natural law—night into day—dream into awake—life into death. It is truly elegant how magic shapes while corruption breaks."
"I implore you, make her presence known," I whispered to the phantoms hidden beyond the veil. "Her memory is my anchor." I clung to the silence she left behind, as if it were a flame battling the winds of sorrow. "Her teachings and devotion remain with me. This is my journey now, my adventure through this unearthly realm."
I didn't think Deyric could hear me but once we got to the groves of trees—his ears perked up slightly while he knocked three times on the oak. A flash of fire shot from his finger and the tree soaked in the flames as if it was thirsting for them. I was absolutely amazed as he when to each tree and did it again.
The flames crackled on the wood, casting dancing shadows across the rocky ledge where the grove rested. Deyric stopped at the last tree and then settled into meditation, his breathing deep and measured, leaving me alone with the weight of this endless day.
"Best you do the same," he instructed. "Walking all night is not health and we need to rest when we can."
"I can't sleep," I whispered to him. "My magic has been turned into nightmare after nightmare."
"Precisely why I have chosen to walk through the night and rest this morning," Deyric answered between low breaths. "Even in the drizzle of the rain—any amount of sunlight shields us from the corruption. It will be fine but just refrain from entering the dreamscape with any goal of controlling the space. Healing of the soul takes time. Dream of nothing Nott."
I closed my eyes and reached inward, seeking the familiar sensation of grains shifting behind my lids. The darkness responded immediately, eager and ravenous. Tendrils of shadow peeled away from the vision itself, coiling around my fingers like living smoke.
"Emerge," I breathed, focusing my will upon the writhing darkness. "Reveal what you are."
The shadows flickered, taking form with the reluctant obedience of dying embers. They stretched upward, humanoid but wrong—faces half-formed, limbs that bent at impossible angles. I tried to shape them into something comforting, something that might ease the ache in my chest.
Instead, they twisted into horror.
Mother's visage emerged from the darkness, her golden hair streaming like liquid flame, but her eyes were hollow pits that wept brass. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream as mechanical coils wrapped around her throat, tightening with each breath I took.
"No," I gasped, pushing against the vision. "That's not—"
But the shadows wouldn't obey. They multiplied, showing me Father's grief-twisted face, the accusation in his eyes as he raised his pistol. They showed me Oliver's mutilated corpse, his blood pooling beneath my feet. They showed me Braxmond burning while I fled like a coward into the night.
"Cease!" I demanded, but my voice cracked with desperation. "If you're real, then show me what I must become, not what I've lost!"
The shadows paused, considering. Then they began to move with deliberate purpose, weaving together into a single figure that stood before me in wasteland of endless shifting dunes. It wore my face, but older—weathered by years I hadn't lived, marked by choices I hadn't made. Its eyes held depths of knowledge that terrified me, and when it spoke, the voice was mine yet utterly foreign. As promised, neither of the divine figures that dwelled here was this man. Out of the golden shimmering, starlight grew another shape of pure beauty and I knew who had joined me.
"Denying your anguish will only nourish it, Rhylorin," Ayla's voice grew, and her presence wove through the darkness like silver thread through black silk. My aged self had returned to a familiar face I've seen countless times in a mirror. "There is the handsome man I've come to know from afar. Acceptance is always the first step to move forward."
Emboldened by her guidance, I reached deeper into the writhing darkness, no longer fighting against it but allowing the pain to flow through me like water through cupped hands. The shadows responded differently now—still wild, still dangerous, but somehow more... honest.
I conjured a memory from the depths of my childhood, weaving it into the gloom with trembling fingers. The darkness transformed, becoming a sun-drenched garden where Mother and I sat beneath cherry blossoms. She was teaching me to read the patterns in fallen petals, her laughter bright as crystal bells when I insisted they spelled my name in some ancient script.
"Observe how the wind carries them, my dear one," her voice echoed across the years. "Each falls where it's meant to, creating beauty we never expected."
The vision felt so real I could smell the sweet perfume of spring, could feel the soft grass beneath my small hands. Mother's golden hair caught the light as she turned to smile at me, her blue eyes sparkling with the joy that had always been her gift to our grey world.
Then, like glass struck by a hammer, the memory shattered.
Fragments of the vision embedded themselves in my chest—razor-sharp pieces of loss that cut deeper than my accident in the factory forge. I watched helplessly as the illusion dissolved into wisps of smoke, taking her warmth with it as I bled out on the cold floor with hope of escaping my heart. My father appeared in brass shaving but not to give me aid and just watch me die in front of his eyes. Hatred consumed him with an expression equal to the stranger who came into my life when all this misfortune began.
"I cannot lose her again," I sobbed, trying to unwedge the saw blade ripping at my gut. My hands clawed at the metal, desperately unable to piece together the scattered remnants of the vision before this one. "Please, I cannot—"
"You haven't lost her," Ayla's voice whispered, her presence growing stronger in the darkness. "She exists in every choice you make, every kindness you show. Embrace this brokenness, Rhylorin. It's part of your growth."
As midday touched all around us, I felt myself sinking deeper into the realm of dreams, guided by Ayla's encouragement. The lesson she led me toward felt dangerous, using my magic, the very thing Professor Deyric had warned against until I'm able to properly handle my grief. But desperation made me reckless, and love made me brave.
I recalled those final moments with Mother—not the horror of her death, but the quiet conversation in the library when she'd held the watch, when she'd spoken of dreams and change and choosing love over fear. The dreamscape unfurled around me like a tapestry woven from starlight and sorrow. Mists swirled in patterns that reminded me of her golden hair, and suddenly she was there—ethereal yet vivid, standing amidst the swirling vapors with that familiar grace that had always steadied my world.
"Mother..." I breathed, tears streaming down my cheeks.
"My brave boy," she said, stepping closer through the mist. "You've grown so much in so little time."
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I couldn't protect you. I failed—"
"Hush." Her hand reached toward me, and though it was made of dreams and memory, I felt its warmth. "You were never meant to protect me from destiny, my dear one. You were meant to learn from loss, to let it teach you compassion."
We stood together in that impossible space between life and death, exchanging words of love and grief and understanding. She spoke of the path ahead, of choices that would define not just my fate but the fate of kingdoms. She warned me of corruption that whispered in the darkness, and of the light that would always live within me if I chose to nurture it.
"Remember," she said as the dream began to fade, "love is the only magic that grows stronger when given away."
The vision dissolved into the rainy sky above me, but her words remained, carved into my heart with the permanence of sacred vows. The warmth of Mother's presence filled every corner of my being, chasing away the cold that had settled in my bones since that terrible night. Her voice carried the familiar cadence of bedtime stories and gentle corrections, wrapping around me like the quilts she used to tuck beneath my chin.
But even as we spoke of paths and choices, the grey washed clouds burned away as black sand fell upon me—uninvited, unwelcome, yet relentless. The dream began to shift, shadows bleeding through the edges of our sanctuary like ink through parchment. The peaceful mists turned acrid, tasting of brass and burning oil. I was still in a world of dreams and not yet awake with rushing fear filling my soul until it was overfilling with despair.
"No," I whispered, trying to shift back to our moment. "Please, not yet."
Blood into brass... brass into life...
Cracked the echo is chorus across the pitch dark and lifeless wasteland. Each word was the ringing of a bell with a tone so pure that my ears grew hot and blood poured from them as a ghostly silhouette of the golem turned to face me. The creature struck, and Mother fell. But this time, I saw more than the violence. I saw the light leave her eyes, watched as her essence—her very soul—was drawn into the brass matrix of the golem's chest. The machine didn't just kill her; it consumed her, feeding on her blood to fuel its unholy existence.
"The truth," I choked out, my voice breaking. "It wasn't just murder. It was... desecration."
Mother's hand found my cheek, solid and real despite being woven from dreams and memory. Her touch anchored me, pulling me back from the abyss of that terrible revelation.
"Listen to me, my brave boy," she said, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Death is not the end of love. What they took from my body, they could never touch—the part of me that lives in you, that guides you, that will always be yours."
The golem's triumphant laughter echoed around us, but it seemed distant now, robbed of its power to wound. Mother's presence burned brighter, her love a flame that no brass creature could extinguish.
"You must live, Rhylorin—no, Nott," she continued, using my chosen name with the acceptance that had always been her gift. "Carry my spirit, let it guide you through the darkness ahead. The path you walk will be treacherous, but you are not walking it alone."
Her words stirred something deep within me—not just grief, but purpose. The guilt that had weighed me down began to transform, becoming something else: resolve. If her death had meaning, then my life must have meaning too.
"How do I honor you?" I asked, my voice steadying. "How do I make this right?"
"By becoming who you were meant to be," she replied. "By choosing compassion over vengeance, protection over destruction. The power growing within you—it can heal or harm, create or consume. Let my love be your compass."
The vision began to fade, the edges growing soft and translucent. Panic seized me as I felt her slipping away again.
"Mother, wait—"
"I'm not leaving," she said, her smile radiant as sunrise. "I'm becoming part of you."
I grasped her hand tightly, feeling the warmth seep into my very bones. The moment crystallized in my heart—her love, her guidance, her unshakeable faith in who I could become. This wasn't goodbye; it was transformation.
As the dream dissolved, I felt Ayla's presence beside me, her voice a gentle whisper in the growing dawn.
"You see now," she said. "Loss isn't the end of love—it's love's greatest test."
All the dreamscape finally released me from its grasp. Professor Deyric stirred from his meditation, sensing the profound shift in the air around us. The very atmosphere seemed to hum with a different frequency, as if the world itself had taken notice of what had transpired. I opened my eyes to find golden sand dancing between my fingers, no longer the chaotic and destructive force that had once terrified me.
Deyric watched me with eyes that mirrored the skies—storms brewing into lighting storms as his hair seemed to be caught in a hurricane.
"I told you to not enter that state," he declared and glided to his feet with rage. "If you change… really change into what the Covenant fear then I will be the first to destroy you before awakening again. This is my oath to Martherion and I cannot break that oath or suffer a torment worse than death.
I rose from my place from the floor and found myself confused. "I overcame my pain Professor Deyric. Who is this Martherion you speak of?
"God of the Undying Flame, Nott," Deyric replied, gathering his energy with serene efficiency. His robes seemed to shift like a terrified sea, affected by the whims of the raw magic he was displaying. "I SHALL BE THE JUDGE OF THAT! This is not a game boy and if it comes to preventing the Calamity or your life then your life is forfeit."
The air shimmered ominously around Professor Deyric, the force of his magic truly limitless, each ripple a tremor in my soul. Fear lurked behind my ribs, threatening to overpower the peace I had fought to earn. His power loomed over me like a colossal wave about to crash.
"But I…" I struggled to find my voice, grasping for words to pierce through his fury. "I overcame my grief in a dream," I finally managed, though explanation did nothing to break the anger my mentor was about to unleash.
Deyric raised a hand, words foreign, ancient, slipping from his tongue. The world around me — grey, gloomy, rain-soaked — altered shape. The pitter-patter of raindrops ceased; the weight of the world lifted. In its place, a stark, bright training field emerged, the sun painting golden arcs across the sky, chasing away the rolling hills like mice scampering across a kitchen floor.
"You said you did what?" he inquired, his voice now stripped of its former wrath, replaced with curiosity and challenge. The soft earth beneath me felt more real than any illusion and filled with richness.
"I faced her," I continued, heart pounding yet steady. "Faced the part of me that mourned. Learned from it. I embraced the darkness," I confessed. Perhaps that was what Deyric had feared — that drifting too close to darkness felt hauntingly familiar.
Deyric's countenance softened as if my words soaked into him. A spark of them breathed life into his eyes. "So, you might be my student yet," he remarked, voice light, almost playful. "Yet there is something you do not fully realize, Nott."
Without warning, Deyric disrobed, revealing a wiry, muscular form honed with precision. His robes fell away, laying bare a body of constant motion, illuminated in the light like a sculpture undone by time. He turned, shedding weight not just in fabric but in authority. There was humor in his gaze; it danced around an edge of seriousness.
"Fine, then," he grinned, a wicked gleam. "Perhaps I'm the student here. Show me what you've got!"
"Alright," I replied, finding resolve without arrogance. As both student and teacher, my growth was both a burden and a gift. I focused inward, grounding myself as I had learned. The sand within me began to coalesce, first uncertain, then with purpose.
Starlight shimmered into existence, summoned not from sight or sound, but from the kernel of understanding that I had faced and forgiven my failings. Deyric's gaze followed with keen interest as the grains lifted and swirled—the desert wind I never thought dwelled deep inside me.
"I hope you don't just have an appetite for destruction," he quipped with amusement. "I rather like that field intact."
"Destruction?" I replied, allowing the sand to mold into gentle shapes, symbols of peace and reconciliation. "Knowledge, if we dare look beyond the surface."
The smile that crossed Deyric's face suggested admiration.
"Very well," he responded, dropping into a defensive stance; his eyes crinkling with mirth. "Then let's see what lesson we can both learn."
"Prepare to be amazed," I warned.
His laughter filled the air: the laughter of a man almost near insanity but it made the hairs on my neck lift with anxiety. And amidst that laughter, I dared to beat someone who obviously was of greater power than I but maybe I could win?