#rydanis

“That’s her?”  The child’s voice was hushed, as though even he could tell that here in the chorus of crickets his voice might disturb them.

They sat in the quiet dark of the night at their campsite, the young Sin’dorei pointing up through the gentle sway of trees above.  Through ancient branches shone the moon’s pale light, and it was a full moon over their camp tonight.  The other two children had already fallen asleep in the tent, but Rydanis and his son stayed up to stargaze.

“According to legend, yes.”  Ry’s thoughtful gaze was broken with a smile as a firefly flitted overhead.  The forest was alight with them.

Kasien, the little redhead beside him, lowered his hand and continued gazing upward as the dappled light shifted with the leaves that obscured it.  “Ann’da, is it really Elune?”

This was not an easy question for a Sin’dorei to answer.  It wasn’t his belief, and yet he couldn’t deny the depths of the connection the Kaldorei had with their mother moon.  He took a moment longer to look before his gaze turned down toward the boy, golden eyes meeting teal.  “She’s real, to them and to those who seek her out I believe.”

“Have you met her?”

Rydanis smiled.  “I have met her as much as you have.  Look, we might hold her in our hands.”  He held his out, palm upward, and showed the boy the light that he could fleetingly catch there from the moon above.

Kasien copied the motion, mouth agape in concentration.  The wonder at this moment they shared lasted mere seconds before one of the fireflies landed on the boy’s open hand, and he squealed with a jump.  “Da!  Ann’da there was Elune!”

“Maybe she was introducing herself, hm?”

The child jumped up to chase the firefly through their camp as it flew off, its lazy pace followed along by the scrambling boy trying to catch it.  Try as he might though, it flew too high for him to reach.  “Da where’s she going!”

Rydanis watched with amusement.  “Ah, I’m sure you’ll meet her again someday.  For now though, come have a rest.  It’s getting late for you little moon-chaser.”

The night was growing late and the sky, typically full of stars and moonlight through the thick canopy above, was black. It appeared a void this late, completely empty of all light. The clouds obscuring the usual midnight sky rumbled in the distance, promising a storm. Already the leaves and branches trembled in the wind.

And Rydanis was awake at this hour. He had projects to work on, enchantments to refine, and he’d said goodnight to the rest of the house hours ago. Upon his desk even the lantern was giving up on the day as oil ran low and the flame began dying, and it was the increasing difficulty of seeing his work that finally convinced him that it was time to sleep. It was little wonder he found mornings so objectionable when he was awake at such an hour.

Putting away his work, he stood, and set his folded glasses down upon a closed notebook. It was then that the room became… darker. Unusually dark. His vision swam, and in a moment of panic he reached out for the stone Aeianna enchanted for him, to keep himself awake. This was the first time he’d tried it when he knew something was off.

And it worked.

It worked in that he did not succumb to the strange sleep he’d grown accustomed to by now, but it was not a normal wakefulness that was there to greet him either. The enchanted stone flooded him with a feeling like adrenaline, and that was somewhat uncomfortable, but it was a muffled and distant feeling now as he looked around the room.

His lantern’s flame, while low, flickered in a fervor he’d never seen in a flame before. It was so fast he could barely see the changes and it all blended into a blur of motion that his eyes couldn’t follow. The dark of night was now occasionally lit by lightning through the windows, much too quickly by his estimation. Flash after flash, and the thunder came now as frequent as the beating of his own heart.

To an observer it would be difficult to call this consciousness, but Rydanis felt fully aware. Everything around him seemed like it was wrong, not him. To an observer, his movements were shaky, erratic, followed by stretches of stillness as dilated eyes struggled to make sense of it all. To him, he could move as normally as ever. So he walked to the door of the house, to see this storm better. A click of the lock, and he opened it and stepped outside.

Never had he seen a wind such as this. Surely it was a tempest like nothing before it. The trees themselves swayed in the wind as if they were creatures writhing, eerily fast, wrong. The rain that began was a blur as the lantern flame had been before, impossible to see, only a haze of movement between himself and the rest of the world.

A cold was beginning to settle in, and he did not understand where it was coming from until he looked at himself. Soaking wet. The rain he couldn’t even feel, it was more like being immersed in mist. Rydanis stepped back, but only to the door threshold where he could stand and watch.

Of all the remarkable things in this state the stone was keeping him in, it was not the fury of the storm or the strangeness of a flame, but the sky. The sky was full of lightning so frequent that it was pitch black and bright white and black and white and back and forth in what seemed like nothing more than a second. It was fascinating, and disturbing, and he watched the storm for a while.

A while was minutes to him but an hour had passed in truth, the stone Anna gave him clutched tightly in one hand. It worked. Now he knew it worked, as he knew this was one of the times he would have slipped into a dream otherwise. But it was not an elegant solution he thought, as this was not a normal way to be. Good enough to escape a fight in the field perhaps? Yes. It would suffice.

‘Where are you?’

There, finally, was a voice not his own. It came from the same place his own thoughts did, but it was just different enough to be able to tell it apart from himself. That was not him, it was another, and he exhaled as he looked down to the stone in his palm.

‘I can sense you, but I cannot see you. Are you here?’

Finally he closed the door on the storm, though that didn’t stop the thunder from reaching him near constantly. This wasn’t the place to have the stone. It was for missions, times when dreaming meant death. But here, this was home, and safe, and he could put it down.

Dreamless sleep is a promise that occasionally goes unfulfilled.  The potion will not always be there to save you, and a part of you realizes it as the Harbinger takes your hand.  She looks calm, and determined in a way that brings both curiosity and an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

Darkshore seems a distant memory, one you can see through the trees of Teldrassil playing out.  There you are in the distance, a tiny spec of an elf standing on the shore with others.  Who those others are you cannot recall, but something about that group inspires a quiet sorrow in your heart.  Of course it also feels strange to see yourself, as far off as you are.  It is almost as if you are not you at all.  An odd sensation.

The flames around you will burn Teldrassil to ashes.  You already know this.  But they are green, the brightest green you’ve ever seen in your life.  The Harbinger leads you to the edge where the branches have already crumbled away, and you look down to the roiling sea below.  “Go on.”

She wants you to jump.  You shake your head, you know this is wrong, and you turn to explain to her that this was how the Knight died.  The one who is always there, and always kind to you.  But she gives you a push closer to that crumbling edge toward ruin, and you fear.

“Die already.”

The emerald flames lick at your skin, bringing a pain that you know has no place in a dream, again somewhere in the back of your mind.  Yes, you know it is still a dream, but it feels real regardless.  She is becoming impatient, and after all this time you feel anger growing toward her.  She has tormented you long enough.  So you reach back, and you take the haft of the axe she’d thrust through your chest, and you tear it free.  With all your might you raise the weapon to strike her, but the flames did not spare you the time to act.

The burning tree falls away beneath you.

And with it, so do you.  The rush of air deafens you as you fall, and fall, and watch as the Harbinger escapes once more on wings of death.  There is nothing you can do.  The water below looks closer and you can only wait for its cold emptiness.  You close your eyes.

Stop.

Stop.

STOP.

You feel the jolt of your arms- no, your wing as they catch the air just before you hit, fighting in vain against your momentum.  You try.  You fear the dark as much as you accept it, but it’s far, far too late to save yourself…

And that was when he woke up, gasping for air that was mercifully available to him.  He was not about to die in that ocean.  Light.  He could still hear his heart racing, and he struggled against the potion’s lingering effects to sit up.  Oh, it still wanted to drag him back under, it had probably only been an hour or so since he’d taken it.  Ry’s teeth clenched as he shook his head; his vision was worse than usual tonight as that damned useless concoction kept him somewhat sedated.

The inn was calm, and there were distant sounds of wild creatures in the jungle outside, which is where he had every intention of going if only to get a little more of that air.  Maybe that would help, so he forced his feet to obey as he slipped out of bed.  There were no trolls nearby save for guards when he stepped outside.  A hand pressed to the cool stone wall to keep steady.  This was as far as he could go right now.

Dazar’alor was a wonder by day, but at night the fires burning in the dark city made him feel small indeed.  This place was full of shadows, and the eyes of creatures which had no name in his native tongue.  It did not put his mind at ease as much as he’d hoped it would, stepping out here.  His ears tipped back.

There was a glimmer, however, that caught his eye even in his weariness.  From below.  His shirt.  He’d gone to sleep wearing that rose he was given, and even as hazy as it was while he struggled to stay awake, he could make out the colors.  Black.  Half of those petals were black.  But the other half were orange like fire.  Orange, he was fairly certain, was anger.  But he’d never seen more than one color on that rose, and it had him blinking a few times as he tried to figure out what feeling black was meant to represent.  Was it fear?  That was the only thing he could say for certain that he felt in this very moment.

But he couldn’t figure out why those fire-colored petals were that way at all, given that he wasn’t angry in the slightest.

He didn’t realize how much he’d slumped against the wall, but at least someone else did.  Cold hands found his arms, and then gently pulled him upright.  Mirchea.  Ry smiled at his mate, finally at ease enough to close his eyes as the Knight guided him back inside to bed.  Mirch said something to him, and he recognized that worried tone, but he didn’t quite catch the words.  Nor would he remember the rest of how he ended up back in bed, but it would be where he found himself again when morning came around.

Perhaps he’d never stopped dreaming in the first place.