Daron led Valara up the
creaking stairs to his apartment above Minora's bar. The steps, old and
worn, groaned softly underfoot, and magical lanterns bathed the narrow
stairwell in a soft, warm light, casting playful shadows in the dim
corners. Each lantern flickered gently, creating an atmosphere of quiet
comfort amidst the worn wood and faint smell of aged stone. When they
reached the top, the heavy door of dark wood greeted them with a low,
familiar creak as it swung open. Daron gestured for Valara to step
inside, his movement both inviting and reassuring in the cozy, lived-in
space above the bustling bar below.
Valara
stepped into the room and looked around uncertainly. The apartment was
small, but it exuded a mixture of calm and a touch of melancholy, making
it clear that someone lived here who was trapped between old memories
and an endless search for truth. Plants stood in sturdy pots along the
walls, bringing a vibrant, fresh scent into the room. They seemed almost
like silent guardians, filling the space with a hint of life.
The
living area was simple but thoughtfully arranged. A worn armchair stood
near the small cast-iron fireplace, which gave off a soft, comforting
crackle. Above the fireplace hung an old painting of a rainy alley in
Old Elaris, a reminder to Daron of why he could never quite let go.
Floating light orbs, inscribed with magical glyphs, moved quietly
through the room, casting everything in a warm, golden light. Daron's
bookshelves were filled with old tomes, magical artifacts, and small
personal mementos that whispered of his experiences and struggles. A
small magical compass lay on the table, its needle occasionally spinning
aimlessly, as lost as the people who owned it.
"This
is Mirabella," Daron said as a small, tabby cat with gentle, curious
eyes peeked out from a corner. The cat padded silently towards Valara
and purred as it rubbed against her leg. Valara flinched slightly at
first, then hesitantly raised her hand and gently stroked the soft fur.
The cat pressed against her, purring, and Valara's lips curled into a
delicate, uncertain smile—the first hint of joy she had shown in a long
time. The touch of the cat seemed to calm something within her, a tiny
spark flickering through the deep shadows of her thoughts.
Daron
watched the moment and allowed Valara time to relax. "Make yourself at
home," he said gently, laying his coat over a chair. His gaze lingered
on an old photo hanging on the wall. It showed him alongside a woman
whose smile had once brought him comfort. He traced the image with his
fingers, feeling the memory of bygone days and the lost closeness that
now seemed so foreign. For a moment, his expression was heavy, but when
he looked back at Valara, who was sitting on the floor and softly
petting Mirabella, his face brightened. "Hmm, progress, right?" he
murmured quietly, smiling inwardly. He knew that even the slightest
change in Valara's expression was a glimmer of hope. It was a beginning,
a step out of the darkness that surrounded them both.
On
a small shelf in the corner stood a modern magical radio, crafted in
the workshops of Industria. It was made of shiny metal and glass,
combined with fine technomagical components that gave it an elegant yet
futuristic look. Instead of a conventional dial, a shimmering, rotating
crystal disk displayed the set magical frequency, changing color with
the sounds of the music. Magical glyphs glowed softly blue and pulsed to
the rhythm of the music, as if they could feel the melodies themselves.
The radio was a perfect blend of technology and magic—a small
masterpiece from Industria that symbolized the city's progress.
Soft,
soothing melodies emanated from the radio, filling the room and
creating a peaceful atmosphere. The gentle hum of magic blended with the
music and the occasional crackle of the fireplace, while the floating
light orbs began to shimmer in tune with the flowing sounds. It was as
if the radio merged with the room, spreading a familiar, cozy warmth
that calmed both of them.
After
a while, Daron cleared his throat and spoke softly: "Valara, I don't
think I've properly introduced myself. I'm Daron." His voice was calm
but hesitant, as if this simple statement carried more meaning than just
an introduction. "It might be hard, but I want you to know that you're
safe here. You're not alone." He looked at Valara; her eyes remained
fixed on the cat, but he felt she was listening. "I hope you know you
can trust me, yeah? I know words mean little, especially after
everything that's happened... but I promise you, I'll never do anything
to hurt you. I'm here to help."
Valara
didn't respond immediately, but she twitched slightly, as if absorbing
the words while her fingers continued to gently glide over Mirabella's
fur. Her eyes remained closed, as if trying to soak in the quiet,
soothing moments that had become so rare.
"You
can sleep in my bed," Daron said, his voice calm but firm, as if to
show her that this could truly be her safe place. "I'll take the sofa.
Don't worry; I just want you to feel comfortable. We have time; nothing
needs to be rushed. Take the rest you need." Valara glanced at him
briefly, her eyes appearing a little less empty for a moment. She
nodded, and her silence seemed less like withdrawal and more like
cautious acceptance.
Daron
saw her reaction, small as it was, as a step in the right direction. It
wasn't much, but it was something. He leaned back and listened to the
radio's tunes, which softly filled the room. "Good night, Valara," he
said quietly as he lay down on the sofa, and a hint of relief crept into
his voice. "Tomorrow's a new day. Maybe we can try something new, or
just sit here... whatever helps you." He knew the road was still long,
but these small moments gave him hope.
They
lay in the darkness, each lost in their thoughts. The silence was not
oppressive but almost comforting—a shared solitude they both experienced
in that moment. As the last notes of the music faded and the soft hum
of the magical lanterns filled the room, they found a little peace in a
city that rarely offered rest.
Night
settled heavily over Daron's apartment, as if the darkness itself was
more than just the absence of light. It seemed to have its own
substance, laced with the invisible threads of past decisions and lost
moments. The faint crackling of the fireplace and the muted hum of the
radio were the only sounds filling the room, but even they couldn't
break the oppressive silence that hung like an invisible veil over
everything.
Valara
lay on the bed, Mirabella close by her side, but the cat's proximity did
little to dispel the chill in her dreams. Her brow was furrowed in
worry, her hands clenched in the blanket, as if she needed to hold on to
something to keep from being swept away by the flickering images in her
mind. Her breaths came shallow and ragged as she wandered through the
mists of a dream woven from foreign memories and unspoken fears.
A
faint clink, like shattering glass, echoed through the indeterminate
expanse. Unknown voices whispered from the corners, unintelligible and
oppressive, as if murmuring secrets Valara couldn't grasp. The mist felt
cold and clammy, as if it swallowed any warmth that came near.
Suddenly,
she was sitting in a carriage that hovered through the streets of
Elaris. The velvet-covered seats beneath her were soft and inviting, but
the chill in the carriage was palpable, almost like an invisible hand
gently pushing her away. The windows of the carriage were framed by
delicate, glowing glyphs that constantly shifted as if reflecting the
pulsing energy of the dome. The light danced on the seats, casting
distorted shadows on Valara's face, as if it adapted to the darkness of
the city. A gentle jolt ran through the carriage as it followed the
invisible paths of the technomagical traffic network that crisscrossed
the city like a living web. The faint hum of magic flowed like a
fleeting river through the space, but instead of soothing, it amplified
the silence between the sounds, as if the carriage itself were
breathing.
Beside her
sat a man—calm, watchful, yet indistinct, his face hidden in
half-shadow. His presence was warm and stable, like a faint light
holding its ground against the flickering darkness. "Eat something," he
said in a gentle but firm voice that pierced the oppressive silence.
Before Valara appeared a small plate of warm semolina porridge, drizzled
with honey and garnished with delicate pieces of fruit that shimmered
in the dim light. A glass of milk stood beside it, surrounded by the
glowing patterns of the carriage. Valara reached for it, but her hands
trembled as if every movement bore an invisible weight. She took a small
bite of the porridge, which melted warm and sweet on her tongue,
leaving a fleeting sense of comfort that was immediately overshadowed by
the chill of the carriage.
As
she ate, the lights in the carriage seemed to flicker and grow
restless, and the windows revealed the dome shimmering in the distance.
She saw the streets of Elaris, the dazzling glow of magical barriers,
and the unceasing dance of lights. But suddenly, the view was
interrupted by a dull thud that made the carriage floor shudder—like the
beating heart of an invisible threat. Outside, a battle raged that
Valara couldn't see, but the feeling of the tremor made her
involuntarily flinch. She sensed the tense energy of a confrontation
beyond her control, as if the demons were just a breath away.
The
image tore apart as if the carriage were breaking, and Valara was
thrown into a series of disturbing impressions. A sharp flash of
light—the metallic glint of a blade that flares before sinking deep into
flesh; blood spreading like a foreign pattern on cold stone; a face
full of horror she couldn't place. The memories whirled around her like
fragments of shattered glass, alien yet somehow familiar.
Amidst
these scenes, the murderer appeared—a strange woman with striking
features, long, dark hair that fell like a curtain around her, and an
unsettlingly cold presence. Her eyes were like two black holes, dark and
empty, absorbing all light. She wore a long, deep red dress that clung
to her body like liquid silk with every movement, and her every gesture
was filled with an eerie grace, as though she were gliding through
water. Her lips were twisted into a thin, disdainful smile that was more
promise than threat. She moved through the memories as if they were
hers, and each time she raised the blade, the light flickered, casting
everything in a ghostly red.
The
murderer seemed to be the source of a terror Valara couldn't
comprehend—a figure that dominated the space without saying a word. Her
steps echoed quietly through the dream, as if walking on broken glass,
and every look she gave Valara was a silent accusation that cut deeper
than any weapon. Valara felt a disturbing connection to this woman, as
if her presence were part of a mystery she couldn't unravel. She tried
to turn away from the woman, but her eyes were glued to her, like a
compulsion she couldn't escape.
Then
the dream changed—Valara found herself in a room that felt familiar,
and another woman entered. This woman was different, with dark, sleek
hair and eyes so sharp they seemed to pierce through everything. Her
movements were fluid, almost dance-like, but every gesture carried a
cold control. The woman lifted her chin slightly as she looked at
Valara, a barely perceptible expression of superiority on her lips. She
didn't speak, but her presence was loud enough—a silent dominance that
filled any room she entered. Valara felt small in her presence, like a
toy being watched and judged.
Suddenly,
other images flickered before Valara's eyes—she saw an old book,
adorned with golden symbols and ancient writings that seemed unfamiliar
yet evoked a strange sense of familiarity. Hands flipped through the
pages, a faint crackling sound that Valara felt deep within. They were
not her hands but someone else's—elegant, pale, with long, slender
fingers. The book shimmered in the light of a magical flame, and Valara
felt that the knowledge hidden within was more powerful than she could
ever comprehend.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The
scene blurred, and Valara found herself in an expansive garden
illuminated by magical flowers whose petals glowed like tiny stars. She
could hear the faint whisper of the plants as if they were keeping
secrets known only to the initiated. The air was heavy and sweet, filled
with an intoxicating scent that went straight to Valara's head. A
shadow moved through the garden, and Valara felt an intense sense of
pride and power, as if this place belonged to her. But that feeling was
foreign—it wasn't hers.
Amid
the flickering scenes, Valara suddenly saw another figure—tall,
indistinct, and hidden in the shadows. It was more a presence than a
person, an unseen force that filled the space. The ground vibrated
slightly, as if each step the figure took infused the surroundings with
its power. Valara couldn't see it clearly, but the pressure it radiated
was palpable, as if it overlooked everything, as if every thought she
had was directed by this invisible force. A foreboding feeling draped
like a cold veil over the scene, and Valara felt inescapably watched by
the figure.
The
murderer stayed close, her smile unchanged, while the blade in her hand
continually caught the light. Valara saw the woman with light, almost
elegant movements glide through the memories—through the garden, the
throne room, the blood on the stones. The murderer paused briefly,
lifted her head, and turned to the tall figure as if reporting something
that Valara couldn't hear. A brief nod from the figure was the only
response before the murderer vanished again, leaving only the faint
clink behind.
The man
in the carriage remained Valara's anchor, but the distance between them
seemed to grow. His eyes were full of worry but also determination—a
promise unspoken but felt by Valara. "You're not alone," his look seemed
to say, but Valara couldn't hear the words. She saw his hand stretch
out again to reach her, but shadows drew between them, as if the dream
itself wanted to prevent that connection.
With
a final jolt, Valara woke up, her breath shallow and rapid. The images
of the dream still lingered in her mind—the murderer, the memories of
another, and the constant, threatening presence she couldn't decipher.
Daron,
too, lay restlessly on the sofa, the blanket only half covering him, as
if something prevented him from fully resting. The warmth of the room
felt distant, pushed away by the icy chill of his thoughts that
repeatedly pulled him back to the past. He felt the exhaustion in his
bones, but the sleep that overtook him was not one of rest. It was a
dark, heavy sleep where the boundaries between memory and nightmare
blurred.
The dream
began in familiar scenes from the past. Daron saw his girlfriend walking
towards him in the bustling streets of Elaris, with a smile that had
always given him strength. Her eyes were warm, and the sun shone
brighter than ever before. It was a vibrant, pulsating moment, almost
too perfect to be real. They spoke, their words filled with confidence
as they strolled through the city together, as if the world were still
in order.
But slowly,
the scenery began to change. The vibrant city around them faded, and
the colors lost their intensity, turning into a cold, foggy corridor
reminiscent of the gloomy halls of the palace. The ground beneath their
feet began to crumble as if reality itself was dissolving. His
girlfriend began to change—her eyes turned vacant and distant, and she
no longer spoke. Her movements were stiff, as though something unseen
controlled her. Daron tried to hold her, to pull her back, but her hand
slipped out of his like sand, and suddenly he stood alone in an endless,
cold room.
Then
Lyssara appeared, and the atmosphere of the dream tipped into the
threatening. Lyssara wore his girlfriend's familiar face, but her eyes
were hard and mocking, and a cold, amused smile played on her lips. She
looked at him as if he were an insect she could crush at will. "Daron,"
she said, her voice a blend of his girlfriend's and Lyssara's own icy
tone. "How pathetic you are, still believing you could change
something."
Lyssara
moved smoothly and confidently, her steps echoing through the endless
darkness as if the room responded to her commands. The surroundings felt
alive as if reacting to Lyssara's will—the shadows crept closer, the
walls seemed to lean in, and the air was heavy with magic and
oppression. She approached Daron, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
"You thought you could save her? So naive... so weak." She laughed
quietly, but the laughter was cutting, piercing the room and making
Daron shudder. It was not just mockery; it was the unbridled joy of
watching him suffer, reminding him that he could do nothing.
With
a slow, deliberate gesture, Lyssara pulled a massive golden mirror from
the floor. The mirror was richly decorated, with dark symbols and
engraved, cryptic signs that seemed almost alive. It was grand and
imposing, a monument of power and pride that reflected everything—but
what Daron saw was not his own reflection. Instead, he saw the image of
himself, but distorted and disfigured, as if he were just a shadow of
his former self.
Daron
couldn't look away from the mirror, even though the image it showed him
shook him to the core. The figure in the mirror was pale, its eyes
hollow and empty, and there was nothing heroic or proud about it. It was
as if Lyssara wanted to show him what he really was—or what she saw in
him: a broken tool, stripped of any meaning and dignity. Lyssara stepped
behind him, placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch cool and mocking.
"Do
you see it?" she asked, her fingers digging slightly into his shoulder.
"This is all that's left of you. A shadow, an empty shell that can do
nothing but bow to me." Daron tried to look away, but the mirror held
him captive. He watched as his reflection changed, the face becoming
more and more distorted, more and more alien, until it hardly looked
human. The eyes of the figure in the mirror were empty and submissive,
and the expression was a silent scream for deliverance that would never
come.
Lyssara stepped
before the mirror, raising her hand to touch the glass, and Daron's
reflection began to change. The distorted Daron in the mirror knelt, his
eyes closed as if he had lost all will. Lyssara watched, her face a mix
of amusement and contempt. She spoke quietly, almost whispering, but
her words carried the weight of commands: "You will do as I say. You
will bow whenever I demand it because you are nothing but a tool."
Daron
felt his knees give way, even though he didn't want them to, and his
reflection did the same—it knelt before Lyssara, just as he did. The
movement felt forced, as if the mirror controlled him, and Daron felt
his own identity breaking more and more. He was no hero, no warrior,
just a figure serving Lyssara's whims. He sank to the cold floor, his
gaze trapped in the mirror, where he saw nothing but his own defeat.
Lyssara
turned away from him, and the mirror dissolved into thin air, but the
cold remained. "Do you see it now, Daron?" she asked over her shoulder.
"You are just a tool, my tool, and you will always do what I say. You
belong to me." Her words echoed, a reverberation that lingered in
Daron's mind even as she left him.
The
dream ended as Lyssara disappeared, leaving Daron in the darkness, lost
in the distorted vision of himself the mirror had shown. He awoke,
drenched in sweat, with the nagging feeling that everything he had seen
was not just a dream but the bitter truth he could no longer ignore.
The
early morning draped a gray veil over the city, and the first light of
day tentatively seeped through Daron's apartment windows. A fine mist
hung over the rooftops, as if even the new day was reluctant to leave
the shadows of the night behind. Valara and Daron woke almost
simultaneously, ripped from their dreams that felt all too real. Both
sat up abruptly, the air still filled with the dark images of their
nightmares.
Daron
looked over at Valara, who sat with a frightened face, her eyes wide
open. Her breathing was ragged, and she clung to the blanket as if
seeking anchor in it. Her expression bore a silent despair that Daron
knew all too well.
"Hmm...
you look like you fought a few ghosts too," Daron said softly, trying
to keep his tone light, though concern laced his words. He saw how
Valara clung to the blanket, as if holding on to the last shreds of
safety. She said nothing, but her eyes spoke volumes—a jumbled mess of
fear and exhaustion.
Daron
sat next to her, his gaze soft but attentive. "Was it bad?" He waited,
saw Valara nod hesitantly, and then gently wrapped an arm around her
shoulders. "I know that feeling... Like sinking into a dark lake,
reaching upward, but there's only emptiness." He paused, feeling Valara
tremble slightly, and held her a little tighter. "But you're not alone
here. It was just a dream. It can't hurt you here."
Valara
leaned her head briefly against his shoulder, as if clinging to the
warmth radiating from him. Daron slowly released her and pointed to the
bathroom. "Go and wash the fright off, yeah? Sometimes it helps to shake
off the dirt of the night."
Valara
nodded silently and disappeared into the bathroom. The bathroom was
small but thoughtfully designed. A dark stone sink set in an antique,
brass-colored frame seemed like a relic from another time. An oval
mirror hung on the wall, its surface slightly foggy—not from steam, but
from the tiny glyphs moving across it, catching the light to form
gentle, soothing patterns. A small magical light hovered above the
mirror, bathing the room in warm, golden light that brightened the
corners and made the cold stone seem gentle.
A
narrow bathtub area was enclosed by a semi-transparent, glowing barrier
that conserved water and heat. Symbols were engraved underneath, not
just for decoration but to direct the energy flows in the room, keeping
the water at a comfortable temperature. Small, glowing plants lined the
walls, keeping the air fresh and emitting a gentle, herbal scent
reminiscent of rain and fresh moss.
Valara
stood before the sink, let the cool water run over her hands, and
looked into the mirror. The glyphs on it were calming, as if trying to
organize the chaotic thoughts in her head. She splashed water on her
face, and for a moment, she felt lighter, as though the remnants of the
dream were washed away with the droplets.
While
Valara freshened up, there was a knock at the apartment door, and Daron
opened it. Minora stood there, the barmaid who always seemed to appear
at the right time, with a smile that carried warmth and a hint of
mischief. "Morning, Daron," she said, as if her words alone could dispel
the night's darkness. "Thought the little one could use something
fresh." She held up a small selection of clothes—a soft tunic with
delicate, star-like embroidery, a light cloak in warm earth tones, and
comfortable pants that offered both freedom of movement and protection.
"Minora,
you always read my mind, huh?" Daron took the clothes, a grateful smile
on his lips. "You're a real gem, you know that?"
Minora
grinned wryly. "Oh, come on, spare me the flattery. I know you better
than to let your charm fool me." She gave him a piercing look that
allowed no argument. "But take care of the little one, yeah? She's got
eyes that have seen more than they should."
Daron
nodded, becoming serious again. "That's my plan." His voice sounded
firm, and for a moment, an unspoken understanding seemed to exist
between them. "Thanks, really."
Minora
placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it briefly, and then took her
leave with a slight nod. Daron closed the door, knocked gently on the
bathroom door, and set the clothes down. "Valara, Minora brought you
something nice. I'll leave it here. Take your time."
He
walked to the window and looked out at the waking city. The dome
stretched protectively over the rooftops, the light of the rising sun
dancing on the magical lines that crisscrossed the entire structure. A
masterpiece of technology and magic that kept the city alive, like a
giant heart that beat steadily. In the distance, the palace of the Lord
Elder loomed, imposing and threatening at once, a silent witness to the
power that ruled over Elaris.
Valara
emerged from the bathroom, took the clothes, and dressed behind it.
After a while, she stepped out in her new outfit, the tunic gently
hugging her body, and the cloak gave her an almost ethereal grace. She
looked like someone different, someone carefully unraveling the chains
of the previous night.
"Looks
good on you," Daron said, his eyes taking in her appearance with an
appreciative smile. "Minora's got a great eye." Valara nodded and smiled
shyly, a silent thank you that barely left her lips. She sat with
Mirabella, who immediately approached her and snuggled against her.
Valara began to stroke the cat, her movements calm and deliberate, as if
the touch restored the strength the night had taken from her.
Daron
retreated to the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and let it run
over his face. He looked at his reflection—tired eyes, shadows from too
long a struggle against inner demons. The glyphs on the mirror began to
form soothing patterns as if trying to calm the restless thoughts that
wouldn't let him rest.
While
Daron freshened up, Valara stepped to the window and gazed at the dome.
The city seemed quiet and peaceful, but as her gaze fell on a nearby
rooftop, she spotted a slender figure, draped in a long, hooded cloak.
The person stood motionless, almost like a statue, but Valara could feel
she was being watched. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she sensed
the piercing, invisible gaze of the figure.
The
figure didn't move, remaining a dark speck on the rooftop, a silent
witness in a city that held more secrets than could be seen. Valara
stepped back, her eyes lowered as if to shut out the looming presence.
But she knew the night didn't simply pass—its shadows remained.
