#lissela

Hey y'all sorry for the radio silence. But! I've made a Patreon which y'all can check out over here. So here's my first patreon reward, a headshot of @captainmeowvel 's character Liss! Thank you again so much for the support!

The inn was filled with the sounds of chattering patrons and clinking glasses, as was so often the case. Soren had a habit of distancing himself from the noise and flipping through books or toying with his spells off in his room, alone. Like many of the mages, though, Soren was not a loner. He longed for the community that came with being at the Star Tower, the heated conversations over dinner, or tricking the mages-in-training to believe that there was such a thing as a breastplate stretcher. Here there was none of that.

But then again, there was a piece of home just a few doors down, likely staying away from the peasants’ chatter just as Soren had chosen to do. But the thought of approaching her in this world, this place so far removed from the Tower...it seemed terribly odd and even a bit intimidating. All the same, Soren walked out into the hallway and knocked on the door outside the room reeking with magic.

“Lady de Sauveterre,” he called. “Soren Archeim. You must remember me.” He stared at the wood grain on the door in the dim torchlight of the hallway. She would know the name Archeim from his mother. The question was, did the older mage know of the Archmage’s son? She had to.

The present had shifted into a world that only knew pain, fire and darkness. Vaná could hear her slow, rugged breathing; so she wasn’t dead at least - well, not yet. She concentrated on her harsh, hot breaths to regulate her thoughts - in, out, in, out. Slowly, piece by piece, she recalled the fireworks scene and gritted her teeth in anger. The clouds had been the giveaway. She had seen those skies before. Her vision of the Rifting and the prophecy of the Netherworld was always a common dream in her sleep but she had become too relaxed, too lax in her duties, and had not been vigilant enough to notice the similarities on the night. She cursed the Netherworld. She cursed the Nevenii. But most of all, she cursed herself.

But Vaná was not a woman to cry, complain or sulk. There was a job that needed doing. 

With great determination, she pulled her broken body up and knelt on the dirtied ground. It looked like she had landed in a field - or what had been in a field. It was now scorched by frequent lightning strikes, random blazes of magic, and falling debris. The world in front of her was not an image she recognised. Miwor Town was utterly broken and divided by a huge chasm that roared out spewing, molten lava that was coloured green, black and blue. It boiled and spat at the rims. The howling of something hellish screamed on the horizon and Vaná shivered. Netherspawn. So, the invasion had begun.

As her senses gradually returned, she started to formulate a strategy. Hopefully the barrier she and Ashden had created was enough to save the Wardens from any fatal injuries. Her mind was suddenly overwhelmed by a huge surge of concern for her companions; their faces flashed before her eyes and a warm, choking feeling of regret seized her throat. 

The world would not wait for her to stop worrying over her companions. She had chosen the Wardens because they had the strength to survive and win. She had to have faith in them. Vaná winced as she accidentally moved too quickly and her chest stung as if it had been impaled. Several ribs were broken and her arms were scored with hot, deep gashes that bled heavily. With a dark, furrowed expression, she quickly healed the worst of the wounds with the Light and looked around her surroundings with quick, observant eyes. A familiar form was nearby and Vaná’s heart skipped a beat in surprise. Lisselá!