You are so certain this is the true reality.
What if it is in your dreams that you really see the truth..?
The night was cold, the air so sharp it hurt. The moon had not yet appeared, but a pale glow at the horizon told her it wouldn't be long until the silvery light would light up the city. She looked forward to it. The darkness was like a living creature, its mighty presence making her shudder from more than the cold. Dry frost made the stone she sat on rough and glittery, and she shivered as the last warmth of day left the city. She didn't know how much time had passed since she first came to the dome, but sitting still in the winter night made her body ache and she longed for the warmth of a fire. She had seen the remains of broken beams and shattered furniture in the ruins of the city on her way to the black Temple; it wouldn't take long to gather some firewood. The huddled shape on the ground still hadn't moved. The shredded, stained remains of his cloak flowed out around him like a pool of dark blood.
She made up her mind and stood, quickly making her way towards a large crack in the north side of the dome. All the while she felt as if she was being watched, as if she'd get attacked from behind for being fool enough to turn her back on an enemy. She reached the black walls, and still nothing happened. Once through she took a deep breath, the night didn't seem quite as dark outside. She entered the collapsed buildings closest to the black dome, and soon found the firewood she had been looking for. Once perhaps part of someone's home, it was now reduced to skeletal splinters of bleached wood. She collected some as she walked through the empty ruins. She felt like a thief.
She returned to the center of the dome, a small ball of yellow light bobbing in font of her to light the way. There was still no life sign from the unconscious man, and she couldn't help wondering if he was even still alive. Dumping the wood in a small heap by her rock, she approached him warily. She stopped, hesitating, then slipped off her warm glove. Reaching out with trembling fingers she touched his hand. His skin was cold. Suddenly his hand moved. Not much, barely a twitch, but it made her jump and gasp, clasping her hands to her mouth not to scream. Her little light spell flickered and died, leaving her in utter darkness. Nothing more happened, but she was still badly shaken and quickly returned to her stone slab to put some distance between her and the undead creature. A few minutes passed, and still nothing else happened. Finally the cold and darkness of the night became too overwhelming, and she picked out a few pieces of wood to build a small fire. Grateful for the foresight to bring water and herbs, she made herself some tea. Its warmth was wonderful, and she felt refreshed.
The moon finally climbed over the horizon spreading ghostly light over the city, and the shadows ran to hide in the darkest corners.
She didn't know if it was because of the warmth of the fire, or the moonlight, but after a while the figure on the ground slowly stirred, moving ever so slightly. She swallowed hard, grasped the Bless Blade tightly, and stood.
Cold.
That was his first thought as the world slowly moved into focus once more.
Unmercifully cold, the air sharp and cutting as knives. He shivered, the torn remains of his robes not nearly enough to keep him warm. He slowly opened his eyes, there was moonlit darkness around him. Time must have passed since he was last awake. How long?
It was easier to think now, his mind getting clearer by the minute. Something was screaming to get his attention, but his still dazed senses couldn't quite grasp it. There was too much to ponder, too many questions to answer, simply too much of everything.
His head ached.
What had really happened? Why? He needed time to think it all through.
Time he hadn't got. He finally realized what his senses had tried to tell him all along; the sound, smell and heat of a fire, the presence of another person behind him.
Panicky reflexes took over. Crouching like a hunting predator he swirled around, and froze.
A girl stood there, one he had met before. The same blue-haired girl who had cast the spell on Flagoon and so killed him. And in her hands the sword, the very same sword that had taken his life.
Fear, such as he'd never known back then, shot through him, physical and searing like pain. He reacted instinctively, his hands moved on their own accord and he hurled the most powerful and destructive spell he could think of at her.
Sylphiel jumped as the creature suddenly turned to face her. When he flung up his hands to attack her, she responded automatically, casting a strong defense barrier. At the same time the now familiar words of the Dragon Slave tumbled from her lips, forming a large ball of flickering red light in her free hand. Ready to launch the attack she waited for the impact of his spell against her shield.
And nothing happened.
Nothing happened, nothing whatsoever.
No rush of power, no blinding light. Nothing. He stared at his hands in shock, tried to call upon the power, but it just wasn't there. The blue-haired girl responded to his attack with one of her own, the ominous red light of a Dragon Slave flickered through the cracked done, making shadows dance like mad demons through the night. Desperate now, he tried to cast a simple defense spell, and still nothing happened. The magic was gone.
He was perfectly helpless, could only sit there, kneeling on the frozen ground and wait for her to release the spell.
When nothing happened, she hesitated. Why didn't he carry out his attack? Her heart hammered against her ribs, so hard it hurt. The wild rush of adrenaline made her hands shake and left a bitter taste in her mouth. Why didn't he attack? Slowly comprehension dawned. It seemed in his weakened state he couldn't use magic. An unexpected turn of events. With the sword and her power, she suddenly had the upper hand, and they both knew it. She could see it in his eyes; open wide, wary, following her every move. Like the eyes of a cornered animal, seeking a way to escape.
He was breathing hard, cold sweat making him shiver in the chilly air. Her eyes were hard, there was no mercy there. Still she held on to the deadly spell, ready to release it. And that sword... Just looking at it made him feel dizzy, sick. He could still remember the explosion of pain as it had pierced him, grating against bone and severing muscles...
So, this is terror. He had never known true fear back then. How could a creature not born have any concept of death? Well, he did now, and he knew with all his heart it was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. Yet here he was, helpless before this magic wielding blue-haired girl. She held his life in her hands, being the one to decide whether he would live or die. Just like with Eris, he thought bitterly.
Like statues frozen in time, they stared at each other, both waiting for the other to attack. The tension hung in the air like a deafening silence, the calm before the storm. None of them moved or spoke for what seemed to be an eternity. Then Sylphiel made up her mind and cancelled her spell. The following darkness was blinding after the sharp light.
He relaxed somewhat as the ominous light died away. Apparently she wasn't about to kill him on sight. Always a good sign. Then again, there are many other unpleasant things someone with power can put you through. Another lesson learned from Eris.
Slitted pupils, the eyes of a nocturnal creature, adjusted quickly to the dark. His eyes never left the girl as she shifted the heavy sword and stepped closer. Not much closer; she was careful to keep a good few yards of distance between them.
The story idea is mine, obviously, since I doubt anyone else has a weird enough mind to consider something like this. It was all based on a dream I had, actually. Amazing, now you know that too.
The quotes are from Oshiro-sama's Letters to a Red Priest (in other words, I made 'em up) and can't be used without my permission. If you ask nicely and give me credit you'll most likely get my permission, but anyways...
Many heartfelt thanks to Jen for actually encouraging me to write this, to Syrena for beta reading it and telling me it's good (don't hit her), and to Wendy for not smacking me too hard with that fish of hers...
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