#poor garroth

Words were exchanged between the two of them, but Garroth couldn’t hear what they were over the ringing in his ears. The next thing he knows, there’s a blinding light, and the faint sound of someone screaming breaks through the fog.

An explosion, one that did not help with his hearing, with a giant crater left in its wake. That’s usually where Garroth woke up. Gasping for air while trying to take in the light of the morning and the comforting forms of sleeping friends, until reality set back in.

But that time… that time it was different. That time, it kept going. The light had faded, and Garroth was alone in the aftermath. A hole in the ground where a shrine used to be. Garroth scrambled through ash and soot to look for any signs of life. His ex-brother. His savior. But all that was left were two swords. One sword Garroth could not bring himself to look at. He refused to get Zane’s weapon from the flames. The other sword was much closer. Laid on the ground next to a red bandana that Garroth had once thought to be wary of. They were the only things left of the man who saved his life.

     Garroth was left alone then, wondering how and why. Aphmau had told him that they couldn’t find a way back, although they were trying. Had they figured it out? Why hadn’t anyone else come?

Maybe it was the pain, or maybe it was the fact that a stranger had sacrificed himself for Garroth’s sake, or because less than 20 minutes ago, Garroth had switched sides at the last second twice. Maybe it was because, as far as he knew at the time, Garroth’s last brother was dead. Regardless of the reason, he wanted nothing more than to double over and cry. But he had to move, to find someone, get help.

In the dream, he had turned around, and there was Aphmau, asking what Garroth was holding. He could only choke out a pathetic, “I’m so sorry,” before she let out a blood-curdling scream.

That is where Garroth had woken up this time around. He tucked his legs into his chest and rested his forehead on his knees. He was a guard. He was a Ro’Meave. Something like a nightmare wasn’t going to hurt him.

The nightmares had been nonstop ever since the event, and Garroth was convinced they would never go away. All he could do was rub his eyes and try to blink away the madness.

Garroth took several deep breaths and was greeted by the nostalgic smell of old wood. This was the house he and Vylad had come to as children; a special place to get away from it all. It was ironic that he was having these types of problems in a place like this. A once-haven. 

Garroth swung his legs around the side of his bed and got up, heading for the stairs. Five steps from the bottom, he heard Aphmau’s voice drifting from the main floor.