The Briar Patch: Ch. 13 - By the Firelight

This wasn't good.

But Zeal told himself it was just fun and games. A way of passing Time until his wounds healed.

Time came and went.

Flesh mended.

But still they hadn't left.

Certainly, it was for good reason.

Their ascent up the mountainous range had been poorly Timed, with the harsh Winter looming ever on the horizon and in the howling winds that grew ever colder as they nipped at their heels, chasing them and hurrying them along.

They were stranded--at least for the Winter.

This Lockes would not yield on, and with a firm hand, demanded that they overwinter in the Alpione Ring.

"Do not underestimate the cold indifference of Winter." The Shol had stated with a grim smile.

Life came in a chorus, Death in silence.

Tragedy Winter buried in a peaceful calm. A most deceptive sense of tranquility, for in its sweet insidious embrace, did Life pass unto death. Never to wake againeven by Spring's urging calls.

They had a reason to stay, Zeal told himself.

But he couldn't deny that the thought of the storm still to come felt farther and farther away by the day, though it but drew ever closer, looming

Nor the pleasure he took in the evenings spent by the fire, brushing Vye's foliage, and awaiting the much anticipated moment when Lockes would return from their rounds to share that day's collection of foraged goods, tell yet another tale, and present them with a new Enigma should they have finished the previous one.

Days passed in merriment as they read the various Lockboxes, unlocking them and adding their own signature to the collective.

Not with a flourish of script, but with a bit of their aether, just as many of the Alpione Ring, and to Zeal's surprise, many outside of it, had before them.

Vye with a signature seed and Zeal with a clip of hair.

He inspected the plethora of mixed aetherically dense seeds, some doubtlessly from the tropics, and others clearly succulents.

The way Lockes had explained it, though Shols usually didn't stray far from their borders, wanderlust was commonplace in their kind. A norm, really.

He had to scoff here, for Shol territories in themselves, stretched for acres around the Fairy Ring.

They're most acutely attuned to the Heart's Song. They were also known to visit other Fairy Rings using their own as a portal.

But it wasn't just for the purpose of entertainment.

To their delight certain boxes extended to them a "branch" or so Lockes called it.

The Alpione Ring was heavily warded.

Subtle and camouflaged, for it followed the residual and natural flow of aether that coursed through the land, but not imperceptible, Zeal realized.

Not many were able to sense it, let alone enter, such a place.

As it were, reading certain Enigmas it seemed, were the keys that granted them passage through such wards.

Through this they found their way into the Alpione equivalent of what Zeal believed to be a pantry, a Vye a treasure trove. From an abundance of hoarded nuts, and dried fruits, mushrooms, preserves, vegetables, fruit leather, flour, and grains, to cooking oils and some strange yet delightful sauces that Lockes claimed to have been aged for centuries.

Another, a medicinal cabinet and store full of odd vials. This Lockes did not permit them to wander in for long, despite the lifted wards.

One particularly challenging lockbox was in itself a map mirroring the Alpione hollow. This one lead them to a hidden den whose entrance was concealed.

This Lockes barred their entry altogether. Though Vye did describe it as the Sholian equivalent of a treasury where therein lay perhaps the only material good that a Shol would covet so.

Curiosity piqued, certainly, but Lockes had made of point of making it very clear that none were to enter and he thought it best not to provoke the Bluepine's ire.

The cellar though, was perhaps the fondest discovery, for not only was there a plethora of drinks to wet his lips--it was admittedly a penchant, and he had been craving for a good bottle, of which he had seen but a dry spell since this journey started--but few liqueurs were as fine as that aged by the Alpione Ring.

It also doubled as he would find, a common ground to truly melt the icy vindication that Lockes on their own, could not have so easily drowned out, and the two could talk for hours on end, much to Vye's dismay, on the different cups, and their unique qualities.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Nothing Unusual

It's nothing unusual.

A late night turned morning, the annoying fatigue and exhaustion, and the overwhelming urge of an itch of frustration that can't be scratched.

Sleep will not come easy tonight.

It never does when doubt prevails.

I wonder useless thoughts, think, question, and wonder some more.

But regardless of how high one piles them, the thoughts of a fool amount to nothing.

And that is what I am. A fool.

I welcome the comfort of lacking consciousness, for thoughts of the late hour evoke naught but the long baleful woes.

Memories of a friend who has better company to keep.

Of an underappreciated and enduring Mother who gave up so much for so little.

Of a bright little girl. Who should've been so much more.

Who they claim to be of a memorable smile, and to impart one in those whom she meets.

One who has grown but only bitter and jaded, yet harbors oh so childishly and foolishly, a meek candle of hope.

Neither strong enough to stoke the flames nor smother it.

Useless, indecisive, cowering, little thing.

A little girl now grown.

Who can do little more than cry.

For friends who were never her's.

And a Family she once had.

Blind to her blessings and fortunes.

Because she is, but a child.

And a fool.

The book closes with a soft, yet solid and firm thump of paper. And I lay the pen down.

It is exceedingly late and in the late hours the body protests too much for little. Odd that he hadn't yet spoken.

"Merely waiting, as any gent would. Done already?" His voice is silky with mock sophistication. Overly prim and snobbish.

A jeer at the values which I myself held dear.

"Neskyii." It's difficult not to sigh, and harder still not to bleed exasperation at his name. For a moment I'm at a loss for words. Not quite as unusual for one such as myself as others may be inclined to believe.

"I hope I didn't keep you long." Was the mild reply, copying his mock etiquette, and I make to stand. Only to find him mere inches away as I turned.

It's startling, unnerving, and I stumble.

Backing away, I could see those mirthful golden eyes as they regarded such wariness with glee.

It ever delighted this shade of mine to engage in such awful games, harmless though they may have been thus far. They are unpleasant at best and wholly onesided in their entertainment.

He relishes in his petty triumph a moment longer, his grin baring the slight peek of a sinister arrangement of teeth, before casually returning, "Not at all." A pause. "It's a good night to die."

Prickles sting at my back, tickling up the spine. "Is that so." It comes out as more of a statement.

He doesn't answer, staring flippantly at the bound journal resting atop the polished wooden surface of the desk.

He's curious. He hadn't read the most recent passage and I'd no mood to let him skim the pages.

"Then I welcome it. Quick and painless, if you can."

This catches his attention, as I knew it would.

Not often was I content to sit back and permit his transgressions without struggle or retort. Less so to beggar mercy of all things.

"I'm tired." Is the only explanation I would supply for his silent yet buzzing curiosity. Rest assured, it was a necessary reprieve.

Surprised, but quick to recover any shock, he grins, "The candle you would snuff?"

"To burn, but longer and brighter the next day."

His face falls and twists into an ugly snarl, jagged teeth bared.

"Let me rest where I can Neskyii, I'm not strong like you."

And that little compliment is enough to make him leave the room in a rasp of sand. To grant me the recuperation I so desired, and to permit myself the hurts, that they may take their due now and not when the heat burns fierce.

When I next open my eyes it will be to an equally dark world, but one where my dysfunctional eyes were of perfect clarity. Where the skies were simultaneously dusk with last light, and blue with midday languor.

And he would be waiting, flashing steel in hand.

To deliver me unto the hands of sleep with a mercy I'd not known he had.

No mockery, no games. A flash of steel and--

--I awoke with no sense of the passage of Time, only that it were Time to rise.

Yet it was not of Neskyii's doing that I awoke, but that for however long it was, was blissfully unaware in the throes of sleep. For once, sound.

Wordlessly I thank him, and he nods but once, and retreats deep into the recesses of mine mind.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Distrust

When they first met, he had been such a desperate little thing. Searching for someone, anyone, who would accompany him on his merry chase, journeying into an unchartered, restricted, and if that wasn't enough, quarantine zone. And even after, journey with him still.

A companion.

A friend.

A brethren.

He was none of those things and he made a point of showing his pursuer the same.

But still the little thing insisted on tailing him so adamantly, undeterred by the cold shoulder that they were met with at every turn.

Why him?

Was it his reputation as the best Seeker? His impossible record of success in every Hunt? Or perhaps the absurdity of some of the tasks he had been put up to by some client or another?

After all, so long as the contracts were full and of worthwhile exchange, he was indiscriminate of the assignment or the issuer.

Certainly, he seemed the perfect candidate for the task. Yet despite the fool's errands he put up with, Zeal was no such individual himself.

And there was too much about this dubious case that had him turning away.

A desperate client.

Alone.

Willingly to offer a king's ransom with no apparent source.

Unwilling to divulge any background, be it of themselves or the circumstances.

The sparse and reluctant details divulged regarding both the quest and their own background.

The quest itself being of only vague directions with no solid objective.

Even after an hour of interrogation, the conversation yielded not more than seemingly aimless wandering of thereabout directions of travel with no real destination noted. A long journey of undetermined length with no understanding of where, what, or why, nor a solid objective.

Everything about the case gave him pause.

And so he declined. With a firm finality.

That was currently being made not so final.

He flew on his feet, losing his small pursuer in the hustle and bustle of the bazaar. This was becoming a real nuisance.

A day or two he could understand. Not an entire month of pursuit, so strong, or perhaps desperation born, was their resolve.

But it made no difference to him, he would evade the little one as he always did.

But just as he'd lost his tail, what started as a territorial dispute between stalls had blown into a full fledged scuffle, vendors and market-goers alike were gtting caught up in its wake.

And he would be too if he lingered.

The mercenary tsked, glaring at the commotion. There had been rumors of the precious substance being circulated in these parts. But such delicate inquiries over topics mandating appropriate discretion could not be made with all the fuss.

Another wasted attempt.

He leaped onto the roofing, taking note with passing interest that the mob seemed to be fighting for something.

Zeal lighted down in an alley and had been ready to hightail it out of there when he heard it.

From where he was, the voices came loud and clear even in the rush.

It couldn't be.

Staring at the fray, he gave a sigh and readied himself to take back to the rooftops to scour.

He couldn't miss this opportunity.

But there was a harsh tug on his shirt and he stopped in his tracks.

Not again.

"Contract." Angry tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, his face tense with frustration yet pleading with him just the same, "Help!"

He scowled, "No."

"I--" they struggled to speak, small hands clenched at his shirt, as if to keep him there by force, "I can give you--"

What a laugh.

"Nothing I don't already have." With that the seeker none too gently, shook off the small hands clinging to him, "Shoo."

"I--I have it! What you're after!" they cried out, voice growing hysterical.

How.

Zeal turned, glaring down at the small creature. If the little one would play him for a fool, he would regret it, "Certain are you? Then name it. What is it I so desire."

Shaking hands reached into the folds of the cloak and pulled out a thin, corked vial.

The reaction was nigh instantaneous.

"That's..." Pupils blown wide, so much so that his iris appeared almost entirely black.

Zeal took in a slow shuddering breath as a light floral scent permeated the area even through the porous stopper.

He needn't see the scintillating fluid within to know what it was.

"How...?"

Had he managed to procure the very item that had eluded him?

But there wasn't any Time.

The commotion in the bazaar was moving, footsteps were hurtling towards them.

It seemed today was one full of disruption.

Zeal grit his teeth and snatched the offered vial, turning he grabbed the small one in his other arm, tucking him under as he ran.

Never stopping as they turned alley after alley in the maze of the city, and with a quick backwards glance to check for tails, he transported them to his current dwelling.

Certain they were alone, he dropped the poor thing unceremoniously on the floor, much to its discontent, which was made clear with a sharp cry.

Zeal stared at the vial.

He couldn't believe it.

Pure, undiluted, liguid gold. Free of impurities.

This was impossible. Shols went extinct over a century ago, for there to still exist such a priceless substance untainted...

Zeal turned towards the little one and his breath caught.

As all his questions were answered.

Pushing himself up on the floor, the small creature shook his head, the movement following down its child-like body as it ruffled its downy plumes. The hood that had come loose in the struggle had fallen, revealing the unmistakable tender green foliage that had been hidden beneath.

"You're... A shol."

The small Shol stared up at him, frightened, but determined.

"Make a contract with me." They uttered in their broken imitation of speech.

Zeal stared at the vial of golden nectar.

What a surprising bit of moxie.

"Fine."

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Different

Zeal wasn't one easily drunk under the table, and had an unusually high tolerance for hitting the bottle.

While most found the trait of unmatched alcohol tolerance to be enviable and coveted it greatly, Zeal felt nothing for it.

Though it proved useful when collecting information--for he could easily drink away the night with mind intact while loosening the tongue and memories of fellow patrons--it made matters difficult to dispose of when he desired nothing more than the comfort found in the bottom of a glass, for the sheer quantity and necessary for him to feel the utterly delightful pull of drunken disregard was all but inconvenient. Inconvenient and expensive, for he had a penchant for only the choice glass, and preferred a drink of quality rather than quantity.

Which was why it came as a pleasant surprise when the familiar warmth washed over him after throwing back a mere shot. One of many that he would partake of that night.

The Bluepine had, warned him with a click of their tongue, "Ah-ah, not too much, Reaper. This is a potent brew."

To which Zeal brushed off after taking a tentative sip. He'd heard the same boasts of many a spirit, and thus far the strength of Sholian concoctions didn't prove an anomaly, nor did they seem to fall beyond the normal range. This drink too, didn't seem particularly strong, and the sweetness like mead made it go down easily.

Yet Shols seemed full of surprises as they were wont to do.

Another few glasses and the intoxication had him firmly in its sweet grasp, a feeling he all but surrendered to, for there was a distinctive sense of complacency and contentment in doing what he did best--not giving a damn.

It was unusual for him to become involved and for so long. Having a hefty personal investment in Vye's merry chase had been more than wearisome, and for the first Time in far too long, he slept well. 

Unusual, for his occupation scarce afforded such luxuries.

"... Frankly, it's impressive that he wasn't downed after two. This is our most potent brew and Fleshlings, despite their larger size, rarely tolerate such spirits as well as a Shol. That he can hold his cup so well..." the Bluepine chuckled, "Your guardian is full of surprises."

Vye nodded dumbly as he watched the gentle rise and fall of Zeal's chest as he snored softly against the Bluepine's lap. The severed Shol had taken it upon themselves to take care of his intoxicated guardian and the inevitable hangover that would follow the next morning.

For now though, lending their lap would be enough. The Bluepine smiled, cradling Zeal's head on their folded legs. An idle hand daintily coiled a lock of hair before stray fingers found their way into the tangled mess of hair, working at the knots.

There was a Time when they had similarly done the same for another. But that Time had passed.

"Lockes?"

The Shol glanced up at their name, humming an acknowledgement nonchalantly.

"How did you... Get away from the Reapers?" Maybe... Maybe he could learn. And--Lockes was so talented and proficient in the arts. Arts he never knew could be honed so.

Vye stared at the hearth where the fire burned merrily. Things he didn't know his kind could do.

There was much he didn't know. Thought he'd known.

Truth be told, until they ran into the Bluepine, he'd thought himself, at the very least, competent. Certainly, in the company of his Ring his abilities had been sufficient, for they did little more than nourish the Earth, partake of the Verdance's bounty, and bask in the light of the Solar Warden, reveling in it's warmth. There was little need to do otherwise, and lesser still the incentive. The Bræmbel Ring had provided but a simple Life, where they went through the walks of life but at their own pace. 

But in the wake of the fight, it was doubtless that what he'd known was but a pond.

Lockes was right, in the face of the Bluepine's mastery, he was but a seedling who knew nothing of his own kind. Who had yet to realize that the lush green that adorned him was but the seed leaves and believed the grass around him a forest. Having seen the ocean in the horizon of the puddle he knew, there was but a long and difficult road ahead. And the only path forward.

With a start, he realized Lockes hadn't answered and he raised his head only to see a similar pair studying him closely.

The scrutiny was unbearably uncomfortable, and the young Shol averted his gaze. Unseen was the smile and quiet scoff as the other huffed,

Vye was still far too young, so easily unnerved.

Yet here he was, embarking on a journey that could only be arduous as only Life could be.

Lockes chuckled. There were many who were better equipped and suited for such--and yet.

They gave the Coty a sidelong glance, "It's a long story. Too long to be spun before Lun descends and Sol follows, ever 'n pursuit." The smile the severed Shol gives him, though unchanging in their warmth, held no invitation for further conversation.

They sat in silence, Lockes still smiling and combing Zeal's hair. Vye took the break in conversation with a lot less grace, fidgeting with his sleeve and fretting over nothing.

Despite the serene smile that betrayed nothing, Vye had an inkling that not all was well.

But he could think of nothing to say, and it left him with too many needless thoughts. Lockes was an amazing storyteller, but though they spun much in their performance, few pertained to the severed Shol themselves. Though they asked many a question and story of their own misadventures, the Bluepine supplied none of the same.

Vye wanted to know more about the Circles. About his kith and kin. About Lockes.

But just as he'd reconsidered his approach and dredged up the courage to ask again, he heard his own name.

Not from the Bluepine, but from his guardian.

Zeal stirred, blinking blearily up at him, "Could ask the same of you."

He was taken back, "Ask what?"

"How come you survived? How did you get away, and stay hidden, for so many years after the Harvest Moon, when everyone was hunting for... your kind." a frown crossed the mercenary's face and he grumbled tiredly under his breath, eyes slipping shut and brow furrowed in his perplexity. And perhaps speaking from personal experience now, "There were so many others... Adversaries who were far stronger... who were far more worthy game... and made better sport. It doesn't make sense."

It was the alcohol talking. This Vye knew, but it did little to blunt the hurt.  

Zeal muttered and rolled onto his other side, "How are you alive? There's nothing special about you that would've made a difference. If anything... Your very nature makes you... more susceptible."

Nothing special.

His condition had certainly afforded him no advantage.

The Heartseed within twisted painfully and almost instinctively, Vye drew his knees to his chest. Unintentional though the insult may have been, it was one nonetheless.

At the crestfallen expression, Lockes decided now was a good a Time as any.

There was a subtle shift in the severed Shol's posture. They were themselves curious as to the circumstances pertaining to the seedling's survival and in want of answers--but not with the Reaper listening.

"Close your eyes Zeal. Sleep now." they whispered as soft motes wafted from their needles, a sight that stole the breath from the young Shol. The Reaper grunted and did as the dark Shol bade. Within moments sleep had overtaken them, for his eyes did slip shut and his breath even.

"It's fine to breath now." Lockes smiled, musing aloud as they turned to Vye, "Did you know what those were? Or have you perchance seen them before? Not many Shols can produce this miasma, after all."

Slit eyes turned their curious gaze to him. The Bluepine's voice changed. Still with the melodic lilt, but it was much more serious now, "But--"

It was Time to see if the Coty himself was familiar with the tale, and whether they understood the extent of the sacrifices made on his behalf.

They heard Vye's breath hitch, tensing in apprehension and anticipation for the coming questiin.

"I second that. How did you evade the Reapers?"

And yet more importantly, for Lockes had a fair understanding of the circumstantial "how"s, did little Vye know why he survived? Truly, it wasn't a question of how that was important, for the Bluepine could paint a fair picture of understanding, but the question of why that was most crucial in Vye's quest.

From the brief, but inexplicable and unadulterated terror that flashed across his face, yes he did know.

The Crescent moon rose silently in the night sky.

Perhaps it was too soon to dredge up the nightmares, but isolated though they were, too far caught up in this false sense of peace, there would be nothing but hardship on the road Vye would tread.

Truthfully Lockes had their hesitations as it was. 

The Harvest Moon which was once their most cherished of festivals was now far removed. Too deeply stained in blood for the silver crescent ramekin of Luna to be anything more than the cold indifference of a Reaper's scythe.

A weight nudged at his back and he shied away, staring at the vine. It pushed him beside Lockes and the other brought an arm around him in a loose hug.

A gesture he returned, albeit apprehensively.

"It's not a memory one would desire, and I loath to make you relive it. But I need to know how much you understand of the circumstances by which you were spared." Lockes bumped their nose against his, and a tendril slid out from somewhere beneath their foliage.

Vye hesitated, and for a moment realized just how small he was when confronted with what he was up against.

A diminutive creature struggling to survive, alive only by the good graces of those he'd met.

Once they left the hollows of the Alpione Circle, he would be plunged back into the cold indifference of the apathetic reality of his situation.

A thin vine extended to twine with that of the severed Shol's, and when they next opened his eyes, it was to smoke and fire.

Lockes didn't need to see much, and the vision was broken. They shuddered, the lingering touch of the memory they had briefly lived just as daunting as it had been then. Daunting not to themselves as Lockes, but to Vye.

The vision was more than just a theatrical, as one would perhaps choose to entertain by, nor was it a story to be told.

It was a life lived, not as oneself, but as another. To feel their fears, their faults, their hopes, and their pain. To the depth of the individual not your own. Privy to their every thought not as a bystander, but as the one thinking them.

"So you're aware."

Vye nodded solemnly, legs curling up to his chest and he huddled in the nest, "They told me."

Not that they needed to. Life did not come evenly to all creatures, and though Shols were all equals in partaking of the Verdance's gift, not all were bestowed with the same blessings. 

Lockes themselves for instance could not bloom as many Shols did when sharing nectar. Such a process was much more elaborate for the dark Shol.

Meanwhile Vye's condition came as both a blessing and a curse. The floral menagerie--or lack thereof--and nigh universal compatibility.

"And it is of your desire alone to continue in this quest?"

A nod.

"Then you know what must be done."

Another nod.

Lockes sighed, a smile that didn't quite reach their eyes lingering, "Coty, our lives are freely pledged to the Verdance before our very conception, we follow the first Yggdrasill and walk in their footsteps--not by obligation, but because we desire it. And yet, if that is not what you desire, none would fault you. You are no lesser for it."

"It's--it's not that. I--" the Coty buried his head into his knees, "I don't hate the Verdance, and I really do want to do this! It's just--" Vye struggled to find the words to convey the contrasting desires that were his alone to contest.

So caught up was Vye, they noticed not that the Bluepine had sidled beside them, never rushing, never hurrying. 

For the seeds of conflict had been sown deep, and Lockes would wait however long it may be until Vye was ready.

Frustrated tears blurred his vision as unbidden memorues surfaced. Memories of tender warmth yet whose existence but brought him endless torment and suffering.

At last the young Shol broke off into a wail, "I don't want to be alone!"

Bereft of his Bræmbel kin, Vye cried, the loss cutting deeper than ever. And the Bluepine let him.

They moved only to embrace him, brushing the foliage soothingly and tucking their face into the crook of their neck.

"There is nothing wrong with wishing to stay. None would fault you for it."

It was cruel of them, this the Bluepine knew.

Vye's mind was made, he would continue on this merry chase down a path that would be nothing but full of suffering. And to walk this arduous path, such conviction was but necessary.

Dangling this haven before them, where things so closely resembled his own Circle was a hurt that cut deeper than perhaps even the loss itself, for it was the warmth of home the young Shol's Heart desired above all else, and yet staying meant abandoning all that was sacrificed for him to be here now. Already the guilt of surviving tormented him. Yet by staying it would be a constant reminder, to consume his Heart more than it already had.

And yet Lockes would not have it any other way. Doubtlessly Vye desired an escape from his torment, and the Bluepine would be the one to offer it, to ensure that he had the choice, that the young Shol wouldn't be trapped by the weight that had been shackled to him.

It had to be Vye's choice to trudge on.

Reliving the memory Vye had entrusted them with, they knew that it was the selfsame desire of their valley borne brethren. The Shols of the Bræmbel Ring did not wish to shackle Vye with the obligation, but above all else it was their desire that he survive, for only he could do what they could not. 

What happened after would be of Vye's own choice, but at the very least they wanted to ensure there to be hope. Hope that the dawn may yet rise on their darkest hour.

But this the Coty knew as well. And yet he would walk this path still.

Lockes sighed. Everything would have been made simple had Vye given up this impossible undertaking. 

A pursuit with no end in sight.

Not that the severed Shol desired an endless night, but to raise the light of dawn was near impossible, and for one in such tender years to have chosen so adamantly to walk the troubled path.

Vye cried until there were no tears left to shed. Exhausted he lay snug against the Bluepine, worn by the weight he carried. The wails died down, and eventually the stifled hiccups and sniffles would too.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Regression

Somehow, Vye had grown weaker.

Not in the sense that his health had taken a turn for the worse, but rather his psychiatric state seemed to have drastically regressed.

His speech had developed a certain brevity, and he spoke little and less as.

As the days passed the young Shol seemed to forget his independence. In place of the fierce determination was a meek puppy that followed every step of Lockes's heel at their every beck and call, constantly seeking the severed Shol's approval.

The only change and likewise explanation for this behavioral change, would be their prolonged stay at the den. 

Snippets and Stories: (BP) A Small Comfort

Vye was elsewhere with the Bluepine, yet again.

It couldn't be helped. Similar to how an umbilical cord in placental mammals would siphon nutrients to the growing young, so too did the vines nourish Vye.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Seer's Fog

They awoke not to the solar light and warmth, but to a cold darkness that pierced deep into their body.

The visions they had seen in slumber lurked in the corner of their mind. So hauntingly vivid and far too real.

It nagged at them. Just as one knew there was something of importance to remember, yet could not recall.

But whatever grasp they had, was already fading.