??? POV
Inside a dream, the world was a hue and cry of destruction. A deafening blast tore through the air, sending shockwaves that reverberated like a battle drum. The side of a towering mountain crumbled in a slow, dramatic fashion, its rocky visage collapsing into a cascade of debris. Below, an abandoned town stood no chance against the onslaught, the once-sturdy buildings reduced to fragile dominos falling to ruin.
Among the chaos, a young man stood, like a lone star in a stormy sky, he shone with inner peace. Silvered hair, a raven's wing, danced around his face, spectacles catching the dying light of the world. A cape of sapphire, frayed at the edges, billowed like a storm cloud. He leaned on a staff, ancient and gnarled, its golden tip a beacon in the encroaching gloom.
"Magister!" a soldier called out as he rushed forward on a steed, his blue armor dented and dusted with ash.
The mage didn't respond immediately, his attention fixed on the wave of destruction hurtling toward the frightened townsfolk. Children cried out, clutching at their mothers. An elderly man stumbled, dragging his wife behind him.
Then, with a sharp motion, the young mage raised his staff high. The golden light at its tip expanded, radiating outward until it formed a dome of shimmering energy. The barrier engulfed the civilians just as the mountain's remains came crashing down. Massive boulders slammed against the shield, sliding and tumbling harmlessly to the sides. Dust clouds erupted in every direction, but within the barrier, there was only safety.
"Thank you!" an elderly woman's voice broke through the stillness, filled with relief and gratitude.
The mage lowered his staff, the golden shield fading into a faint shimmer before disappearing altogether. His breath came in short bursts, but he wasted no time. Adjusting his glasses with two fingers, he moved toward the civilians, his voice rising above the murmurs of disbelief and the distant rumble of the crumbled mountain.
"Alright, move it! Clear the area now! Head for the town exit!" His tone tolerated no argument.
A soldier, mounted on a dusty but stalwart horse, dismounted and approached. His blue armor gleamed faintly despite the dirt and grime. He saluted sharply.
"Captain Aldrich," the mage addressed him without missing a beat. "Lead them out. They'll be safer near the boundary. You should regroup with the rest of your company on the way there."
The captain nodded, "Understood, Magister."
Turning to the frightened crowd, Aldrich raised his voice. "Follow me, please! We'll guide you to safety!" He motioned sharply to his lieutenants. "Beaufort! Stains! With me!"
The soldiers quickly formed a protective column around the townsfolk. The civilians, spurred on by their desperation, began to flee toward the safer outskirts of the town.
The mage lingered for a moment, his staff gripped tightly in one hand. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, now marred by the destruction left in the mountain's wake. A frown creased his face as he muttered to himself.
"This was no natural disaster... Someone wanted this place destroyed."
The young mage, now named Magister Ashcroft, turned on his heel, his cape swirling slightly in the wind, as his sharp eyes landed on a figure behind him. A younger mage with jet-black hair, looking barely out of his teenage years, stood trembling. His staff shook in his grip, and his face was pale, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.
"Benefold," Ashcroft called him out. He approached with conscious steps, his right hand glowing with a soft, golden light. A circular rune, intricate with weaving patterns of ancient symbols, appeared mid-air as he raised his hand. It hummed faintly, scanning the young mage from head to toe. "Are you alright?"
Benefold swallowed hard, his breath hitching. "Just... a little drained, Magister Ashcroft. I think I overdid it with that last barrier."
The rune flickered briefly before fading as Ashcroft dropped his hand. He frowned. "You're barely clinging to a fraction of your mana," he scolded. "How many times have I told you? Don't overextend yourself. You're no good to anyone if you collapse before the battle's done."
Benefold lowered his gaze, visibly guilty. "I'm sorry..." he mumbled, his grip tightening on his staff.
Ashcroft let out a small sigh but softened his tone. "Don't dwell on it too much. What matters now is that you learn from it. Take care of yourself, or you'll never be able to claim you can stand on your own."
"Yes, Magister," Benefold replied, his tone more resolute now.
Ashcroft nodded, satisfied, before looking out toward the smoky horizon. The sky above the broken town was a mix of ash and ominous clouds, glowing faintly with the reflected fire of destruction. In the distance, the faint cries of scattered civilians echoed, underlined by the sound of crumbling stone.
"We still need to secure the other evacuees," Ashcroft said, strolling forward as he spoke. "With the main bridge destroyed, they'll be forced to take the long route. That's a problem."
Benefold followed quickly, his steps faltering for only a moment as he processed this. "The long route will slow them down," he muttered. "And with the surrounding terrain, they'll be perfect targets for any ambush. Even a small unit of enemy troops could cut them off completely." His voice quivered slightly.
"Exactly," Ashcroft affirmed, "The bottleneck on that route makes it ideal for an attack. It's where I'd strike if I were their commander." He cast a quick glance at Benefold. "That's why we'll have to get there first."
The younger mage blinked, his determination flickering back to life. "Understood. But... what if we're too late?"
Ashcroft's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though his gaze remained sharp. "If we're too late, then we improvise. Remember this, Benefold—an unprepared mage is just a walking corpse waiting to fall over."
Benefold chuckled nervously, gripping his staff tighter. "Right, Magister."
Without another word, the two broke into a run, navigating the treacherous terrain of shattered buildings and smoldering debris. Around them, the last stragglers of the evacuation stumbled through the rubble-strewn streets. Ashcroft occasionally paused to direct a group of fleeing civilians or help a limping elder find their footing.
Benefold, though visibly tired, kept pace, his earlier hesitation replaced with a grim determination. As they weaved through the remnants of the broken town, the distant sound of rushing water from the collapsed bridge loomed like a chilling reminder of the stakes ahead.
Ashcroft called back over his shoulder, "Keep your focus, Benefold! We'll need to move fast. If we don't get there first, this town's only escape route might turn into its grave."
"Yes, Magister!" Benefold called, his tone stronger now.
As they sprinted through the debris-strewn streets, Benefold's curiosity got the better of him. He noticed the precision in every turn the Magister took, how every stride seemed purposeful, each movement fluid and unhesitating. It was as if Ashcroft had walked these streets a thousand times before. Benefold's breath came in gasps, but he managed to blurt out, "Sir... I don't mean to pry, but—how do you know exactly where to go?"
Without breaking stride, Ashcroft extended a hand, sending a pulse of earth magic forward. The ground beneath a collapsed wooden beam shifted, the obstruction lifting just enough for them to pass. "I grew up in these streets," Ashcroft replied, his voice calm despite their pace. "I know every alley, every hidden pathway, every shortcut. This town is etched into my bones."
Benefold's eyebrows rose as he ducked under the still-hovering beam. "You lived here? Really? I mean, it doesn't seem like—well, you know..." Benefold trailed off, unsure how to phrase it politely.
Ashcroft glanced back at him briefly, a shadow flickering over his face as they turned a sharp corner. "It was a different time. These streets were alive with the hustle of trade, the chatter of families, the hum of everyday life. The people were resilient, resourceful. They worked hard, unnoticed by the world beyond. But this..." He gestured to the ruined town around them, his tone darkening. "This isn't natural. The scale, the precision of it—it's a warning, a calling card. Someone is trying to draw me out."
"Draw you out?" Benefold asked, his voice tinged with nervousness. "Why? Because of the... prophecy?"
Ashcroft leaped over a pile of rubble, his blue cape swirling as he landed nimbly on the other side. He paused briefly to help Benefold across, his gaze distant. "No," he replied after a moment. "This is more personal. Whoever orchestrated this wants me to see it. To understand. This isn't about destiny—it's a message, one that only I'm meant to read." His tone made Benefold shiver.
Before Benefold could ask further, Ashcroft turned sharply, heading toward the remnants of a crumbling staircase. "Come on, we're going up," he called. He sprinted up the remaining steps and vaulted onto the rooftops with practiced ease. Benefold hesitated for only a moment before following, scrambling up behind him.
The view from above offered a gloomy panorama of the town below: smoldering ruins, distant columns of black smoke, and the faint shimmer of fleeing civilians making their way toward the outskirts. From here, the chaos felt even more oppressive. Ashcroft stood at the edge of the rooftop, scanning the horizon. "Benefold, you picking up anything with that sharp ear of yours?" he asked, his tone brisk.
Benefold pressed a hand to his ear, concentrating. After a few seconds, his eyes widened. "Yes! There's fighting up ahead—clashes of swords, explosions, shouting. It's close!"
Ashcroft grinned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Then we're not too late. Good. Time to punch it and catch them by surprise."
With that, the Magister took off across the rooftops, leaping from one structure to the next like a shadow in motion. Benefold followed, his earlier exhaustion forgotten in the adrenaline-fueled urgency of the moment.
As the objective came into view—a cluster of defenders surrounded by fleeing civilians and a horde of shadowy adversaries—Ashcroft acted. Without a word, he BLINKED, his form vanishing in an instant, only to reappear high in the sky. From his new vantage, his silhouette was backlit by the glow of the setting sun and burning town, a harbinger descending from on high. He began to chant;
"Shadows rise, from depths unknown,
Bind my foes, flesh, and bone.
A price I pay, a darkness sown,
Power I claim, no longer alone."
As the incantation reached its crescendo, eight ethereal runic circles flared to life around his floating form, rotating in intricate, mesmerizing patterns. From these circles, tendrils of purplish-blue shadow magic erupted, racing downward like hunting serpents. The tendrils lashed out, coiling around the limbs of enemy voidlings, binding them in chains forged of pure darkness. The creatures snarled and wriggled, trapped, but Ashcroft winced slightly as dark roots of corruption spread along his forearms, creeping up toward his elbows. The cost of this magic was steep—roots that would fester unless cleansed.
Meanwhile, Benefold was no idle observer. From the rooftop, he raised his staff high, his voice ringing out in a rhythm that seemed to weave light itself into his spell:
"Golden light, celestial sight,
Descend from heavens, pure and bright.
A gentle rain, a golden shower,
Guided by magic, hour by hour!"
The air above the battlefield shimmered, and a radiant golden rain began to fall, each droplet crystallizing into an arrow of pure light. These arrows streaked downward, accurately striking the enemy forces with pinpoint precision, reducing many of the shadowy creatures to nothing more than dissipating wisps of darkness. Benefold's face shone with determination as he directed the rain with sweeping gestures of his staff.
The defenders on the ground rallied at the sudden aid. A blond man in battered armor His face streaked with dirt and blood, raised his sword high and roared, "Finish them off!" Soldiers surged forward.
Behind the soldiers, a woman moved among the civilians, her tiara catching the dim light. "Keep moving! Don't stop now!" she urged, guiding a group of children and elderly toward safety.
One of the children looked up at her with wide, tearful eyes. "Thank you, Princess Alicia!"
"You're all safe now," Eliza replied with a soft but firm tone, brushing the child's hair away from their face. She moved with intention, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of the sword at her side.
Ashcroft descended gracefully, his boots touching the ground just as the last of the voidlings were dispatched by the soldiers' blades. The golden arrows and chains of shadow had done their work, and the battle was all but won. The soldiers turned to face him, their battered figures straightening into salutes.
"Magister!" they said in unison, their voices filled with respect and relief. Though their salutes were informal and tinged with exhaustion, their loyalty was clear.
Ashcroft waved them off with an easy gesture. "At ease, boys. Looks like we made it just in time." His tone was calm.
From behind, Benefold slid down from the rooftops with far less grace, landing in a cloud of dust. He immediately began moving among the soldiers, his hands glowing with a soft green light as he tended to their wounds. "Anyone hurt? I've got healing spells for days—don't be shy!" he said, already patching up a soldier whose arm hung at an awkward angle.
One of the soldiers grinned weakly at Benefold as the glow mended a gash across his chest. "You're a sight for sore eyes, kid. Thanks."
As Benefold worked, Princess Alicia approached Ashcroft. "Your timing couldn't have been better. We were barely holding out."
Ashcroft nodded, glancing toward the civilians making their way out. "The bridge is out. You'll need to keep them moving on the longer route. We'll keep the bastards away for longer. How many more do you have left to evacuate?"
Eliza frowned. "More than we planned. The town's layout is making it harder to sweep through efficiently. And..." Her voice faltered as she looked toward the bodies of those who hadn't made it.
Ashcroft placed a steady hand on her shoulder. "You've done well. Focus on those who can still be saved. We'll handle the rest."
With a nod, Eliza turned back to her duties, rallying the remaining defenders. Ashcroft surveyed the battlefield one last time, the corruption on his arms faintly pulsing as if in defiance of the victory.
"Let's move quickly," Ashcroft murmured, his voice barely audible. Behind him, Benefold straightened after healing the last wounded soldier, his green magic dimming as he prepared to follow.
"Wait!" The man in battered armor, Sir Kaelan, called out sharply, jogging up to the Magister. His tone carried an urgency that instantly drew attention.
Ashcroft turned to face him, brow furrowed. "What is it, Sir Kaelan?"
The older knight hesitated, glancing briefly at Benefold before stepping closer to Ashcroft. "I've received scouting reports... all descriptions fit hers."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, and for a moment, time itself seemed to falter. Ashcroft froze. His fingers clenched tightly around the smooth shaft of his staff, the knuckles whitening under the strain. His jaw set in a way that betrayed far more than simple frustration.
"She's here," Kaelan added quietly.
Ashcroft's face hardened, his usual calm replaced by emotional upheaval. A slow exhale escaped his lips as if he were tempering a fire threatening to engulf him.
"Change of plans," Ashcroft said, his voice clipped. He turned to Benefold, who blinked in confusion. "You're staying with the evacuation. Get these people out of here safely."
"But sir, the plan—" Benefold began, only to be cut off by a sharp gesture from Ashcroft.
"I'm sorry, Benefold," Ashcroft said, his tone firm yet hued with regret. "This is personal." He turned back to Kaelan, his expression unreadable. "Keep an eye on him. He's got promise for someone so green."
Before either could protest further, Ashcroft BLINKED out of sight, leaving behind a trail of shimmering golden sparks that slowly drifted to the ground like embers from an otherworldly fire.
Kaelan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched the fading light. "Come on, kid. We've got civilians to move," he said, motioning for Benefold to follow.
Benefold hesitated, glancing at the empty space where Ashcroft had stood moments before. "What about the Magister? Is he going to be okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
Kaelan chuckled softly, "You really don't know much about your senior, do you?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood. "He'll be fine. That knucklehead's tougher than any knight I've ever trained."
"I see..." Benefold murmured, though the worry in his eyes remained. He allowed Kaelan to lead him back toward the defensive lines and the clusters of evacuees.
As they reached the central group of soldiers and civilians, Princess Alicia appeared, as she strode up to Kaelan, her expression cold and resolute. "Where is he?" she asked sharply, her eyes scanning the area for Ashcroft.
Kaelan met her gaze, his face stoic. He shook his head slowly. "Gone after her."
Alicia's eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm going," she declared, her tone leaving no room for debate. She started forward, but Kaelan stepped into her path, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Don't," he said quietly but firmly. "Just... don't."
Alicia's glare could have frozen fire, but Kaelan didn't flinch. "He needs to handle this on his own," Kaelan added. "You know how he is."
Alicia's posture stiffened, and for a moment, it seemed as if she might push past him anyway. But then she let out a long, reluctant sigh and stepped back. "Fine," she said curtly. "However if he doesn't come back in one piece, I'm holding you responsible."
Kaelan smirked faintly, though his eyes betrayed his own worry. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Your Highness." Behind them, Benefold looked between the two, his unease growing.
- - -
The dream shifts abruptly, plunging into a harrowing scene. The once-thriving town lies in utter ruin, reduced to jagged rubble and lifeless debris. At its center yawns a massive crater, its edges glowing ominously with purple and blue-black fire, licking hungrily at the shattered remains of the town. Yet, the most horrifying sight rests at the crater's heart—a violent eruption of Green Flames, blazing chaotically with an unnatural fury. The air ripples around it, charged with an oppressive energy that feels both alive and malevolent.
Among the destruction, Ashcroft is seen crawling. behind him. His left hand, now darkened and visibly corrupted, trembles as he drags himself forward. His glasses are cracked, one lens entirely missing, and behind them, his eyes blaze with a determined but desperate light.
"Come on!" Ashcroft roars, forcing himself to move closer to the infernal green flames, each step an agonizing ordeal. The shock waves emanating from the flames send relentless tremors through the crater, shattering already fragile structures and forcing Ashcroft to brace against the ground as the earthquakes beneath him.
A voice emerges from the flames—a distorted amalgamation, eerily oscillating between a silken female tone and something guttural, otherworldly, and alien. It seems to crawl into the ears rather than simply being heard.
"You are only hindering the inevitable," the voice mocks. "Why struggle, Magister? Surrender... and let your destiny be realized."
Ashcroft grits his teeth, his legs faltering as he tries to rise, leaning heavily on his staff. Each time he stumbles, he forces himself up again, step by agonizing step, his will unbroken despite the torment. His protective spells shimmer faintly around him, layered upon layers, yet visibly straining against the overwhelming aura of the Green Flames.
"I'm not giving up on her!" Ashcroft growls, his voice breaking with raw emotion. His tone shifts to a sharp, commanding demand. "Let her go!"
The flames pulse violently, sending another devastating shockwave outward. Buildings far beyond the crater shatter into dust, and the ground cracks further. Ashcroft is nearly thrown back but braces himself with his staff. His movements slow but deliberate, he continues chanting spells—protection, resilience, reinforcement—every incantation he can muster, yet the energy from the flames eats away at his defenses like acid on steel.
From within the flames comes a chilling, low chuckle.
"You dare to save her? The person who betrayed her very essence? Who traded her soul for a phantom crown, a fleeting echo of power? How... pleasing... The One Who Was Foretold." the voice sneers. The flames grow brighter, their eerie hue searing against the darkened sky.
"Shut up!" Ashcroft roars, and something changes. A golden cosmic light begins to swirl around him, interspersed with hues of every conceivable color, forming an ethereal, multi-faceted glow. The radiance encases him, pushing back the suffocating waves of heat and corruption from the flames. His corrupted left hand glows faintly, as though being suppressed or healed by this celestial light.
"One last time..." Ashcroft's voice drops to a low, cold tone. He plants his staff firmly into the ground, his posture steady and resolute. His eyes, hardened with unwavering determination, lock on the heart of the inferno.
"Let. Her. Go."
The flame's laughter dies abruptly, replaced by an almost feral snarl.
"You will try," it hisses.
Then, all hell is unleashed. The Green Flames surge outward, twisting and coiling into forms both serpentine and monstrous. They lash out like tendrils of pure destruction, each strike capable of obliterating stone and steel alike.
Ashcroft lunges forward, countering the onslaught with a flurry of spells. His voice booms with incantations, the air crackling with raw magical energy. Golden chains of binding magic erupt from the ground, snaking toward the flames, but the inferno burns through them with ease. A shadowy whip lashes out from the green fire, aiming for Ashcroft's chest. He raises his staff, conjuring a barrier of shimmering light that absorbs the impact but sends him skidding backward, his feet carving trenches into the earth.
Spell after spell, the battle rages like a tempest. Ashcroft summons blades of crystalline ice to strike at the core of the flames, but they melt before reaching their target. A quick gesture sends a wave of fire and light-converging into a blazing phoenix, which collides with the infernal energy in an explosion that lights up the crater like a second sun.
The flame retaliates, forming a massive, grotesque claw of energy that swipes at Ashcroft. He narrowly dodges, the razor-sharp energy leaving deep gouges in the earth where he had stood moments before. He retaliates with a spell that summons a massive spiral of wind and lightning, which crashes into the flame with deafening force, scattering the green energy momentarily.
The voice from the flames grows louder, angrier, yet tinged with a hint of unease.
"You defy inevitability, Mage. You dare to stand against my master's will?"
Ashcroft doesn't respond. He focuses every fiber of his being on the fight, his movements faster, and sharper, his incantations blending into one another as though driven by instinct. His staff glows brighter, and the golden light around him begins to pulsate rhythmically, growing stronger with each passing moment.
The fight is titanic, a clash of elemental forces. The crater becomes a maelstrom of raw power, the air thick with energy so potent it crackles and hisses like a storm at its peak. The two forces, Ashcroft's radiant defiance, and the Green Flames' chaotic malevolence, seem evenly matched, each gaining and losing ground in turn.
The fierce battle reached its crescendo. Ashcroft, battered and bruised, was not without a final move—his trump card, a spell so potent it strained even his considerable mastery of magic.
He planted his staff firmly into the cracked, quaking ground, the orb atop it glowing an intense gold-green hue, radiating energy that seemed to push back the oppressive darkness emanating from the flames. His voice rang out, each word a resounding declaration that echoed through the devastated crater.
"Binding lights, weave and coil,
From stars to soil, an anchor royal.
Hold the wicked, break their flight,
Chain the darkness to eternal night!"
Eight runic circles, etched with ancient and intricate symbols, surged to life, floating around Ashcroft like a celestial constellation. From each circle, chains of dark and misty light-green energy shot out, racing toward the writhing inferno. The flames lashed out in retaliation, their heat melting steel and crumbling stone, but the chains moved faster. They pierced through the fire, wrapping tightly around the chaotic force within and pinning it to the ground with a resounding crash.
Ashcroft held his trembling hand aloft, his palm glowing as if cradling the very essence of the spell. The chains converged, their ends anchored into the ground, each link pulsing faintly as though alive, locking the being in place. The air became still, heavy with magic, the once-raging flames reduced to smoldering wisps. Ashcroft knelt before the restrained entity, his body shaking from exhaustion, the corrupted veins on his left arm glowing faintly.
From within the green flames emerged a face, flickering like a mirage. It was hauntingly familiar, yet marred by anguish and a hint of malevolent corruption. A voice, layered with pain and struggle, rose from the bound being.
"Thaddeus..." the voice whispered, fragmented, as though fighting against an invisible tide. The face fully formed—a woman's, framed by locks of hair that shifted like living embers, her eyes flickering between clarity and something far darker. "I... can't hold it for long..."
"[REDACTED]" Ashcroft choked out, his voice breaking with raw emotion. "No... you're still there. I can feel it. I can save you!"
The being's eyes locked on his, and for a moment, a tear fell from her ethereal face, hissing as it evaporated in the lingering heat. Her voice wavered, fighting back the vile force trying to consume her.
"You don't understand, Thaddeus. This... this thing inside me... it's beyond both of us. It will consume you too if you try."
"No," he shouted, clutching the glowing nexus of chains tighter, as though his sheer will alone could undo the corruption. "I've come too far! I won't leave you like this. There has to be another way!"
The ground beneath them cracked further, and the chains began to strain, groaning under the pressure of the entity's dark energy. The glow around Ashcroft's hand began to flicker, dimming slightly. Sweat poured down his face, and his breaths came out ragged. The spell was taking everything he had, and even that was barely enough.
Her voice turned urgent, desperate. "Listen to me. He's watching. He knows what you're doing. If you don't stop now... if you don't end this..." She paused, her face twisting in anguish. "Then he'll use me. He'll use you. Kill me, Thaddeus. Please. It's the only way to stop this."
Ashcroft shook his head violently, "No! Don't ask me to do that! You're the only family I have left!" His grip on the spell faltered briefly, and the chains buckled, one nearly snapping before he poured more energy into reinforcing them.
The being cried out as the corruption within her surged again, her voice mixing with the distorted, sinister echo of the malevolent entity sharing her form.
"You're wasting time!" the corrupted voice taunted, laughing cruelly. "You can't save her. You can't even save yourself."
"Shut up!" Ashcroft bellowed, pouring all of his fury into the chains, causing them to tighten. The malevolent laughter ceased as the entity felt the force of his magic closing in. For a moment, the woman's face returned, her expression softened with grief.
"I'm sorry, Thaddeus," she whispered, tears flowing freely now. "I wanted more for you than this. But you have to choose."
Ashcroft clenched his jaw, his entire body trembling under the weight of the decision. The light around him flickered—he was running out of time, and he knew it. His eyes searched hers, desperate for another way, another solution, but her gaze remained stubborn.
"I can't do it," he whispered, his voice breaking.
"You must," she said, her voice firm yet heartbreakingly tender. "You're stronger than this. Stronger than me. Please... free me."
The green flames surged again, and the ground shook violently. The chains cracked, one snapping entirely. Ashcroft closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face as he gripped the staff tighter, whispering one final spell under his breath.
"To light return, through pain and strife,
Sever the dark, to free a life."
The green flames erupted in a final, blinding burst, and then... silence. Ashcroft remained kneeling, his hand outstretched, the faint glow of his spell dissipating into nothingness. The crater was quiet now, the oppressive energy gone, replaced by a suffocating emptiness.
He opened his eyes. The chains lay shattered around him. The green flames were gone, and so was she. The corrupted veins on his arm began to fade, but the pain in his chest remained, deeper than any wound.
"Forgive me..."
- - -
The dream dissolved abruptly, the fiery crater fading into darkness. Thaddeus felt a sudden jolt as if the weight of the world had shifted beneath him. The vivid imagery of chains, flames, and loss evaporated, replaced by a persistent shaking at his shoulder. A voice cut through the haze, sharp and insistent.
"Hey! Wake up!" Annabeth's voice called out, tinged with concern, her hand gripping his shoulder. She shook him again, this time harder.
Thaddeus groaned, his head leaning against the bus window as he stirred, the remnants of the dream clinging to him like morning mist. His voice was groggy, muffled by exhaustion. "Five more minutes, Darren..."
Grover leaned in with a loud and exaggerated "Bah!!"
Thaddeus snapped upright, startled, his eyes wide as the fog of sleep cleared. "Wha—??" he blurted, looking around in confusion.
"We're here. C'mon," Percy said from the aisle, his backpack slung over one shoulder as he started off the bus.
Still disoriented, Thaddeus rubbed his face, trying to shake the lingering feeling of unease. Grover gave him a sidelong glance, "You okay, T?" he asked, his tone softer now.
"Just... a weird dream, that's all," Thaddeus replied, his voice quieter than usual.
Annabeth, however, had noticed something he hadn't. She tilted her head, scrutinizing him, then reached out and brushed a finger across his cheek. Her hand came away damp. "Are those tears?" she asked,
Thaddeus blinked, touching his own cheek and finding it wet. He frowned slightly, "I don't know," he admitted.
Annabeth didn't press further, though she lingered a moment longer before turning to follow Percy off the bus. Grover gave Thaddeus a small pat on the back, motioning for him to get moving.
Shaking off the remnants of sleep and the dream's heavy shadow, Thaddeus rose and adjusted his bag, stepping off the bus and into the first phase of their quest.