As they sat, bathing themselves in the firelight, Alyxandra remembered Alceren’s previous words, and as she thought on them, a question left her lips.
“Of whom have I reminded you?” Alceren sighed, closing his eyes as he heard her words, as though he had previously been glad to avoid the subject. But now, as a new honesty and openness of heart became apparent in his face, glimmering in his eyes, as he lowered his voice.
“I swear to you that I shall tell you soon, but it is too late in the evening for such talk. I must try and find Telthar’rion.”
“I understand.” Alyxandra rose, taking her goblet and handing it to Rupert, before finding her room and closing the door behind her. Alceren drained the last of his wine and, leaving the goblet on the table, left the tavern, soon enveloped in darkness as he searched for his friend and comrade.
Lying by the River Aumere, Telthar’rion’s eyes had turned that same jet colour, looking into the sky but seeing no stars, and unaware of even the moon’s existence.
On the surface of his eyes, filling his mind, flickered images, blurred and at times impossible to decipher. As he lay, in a strange spasm, on the forest floor, the images began to depict faces that he recognised.
All at once, the series of images began, images that came from times unknown, from days yet to dawn.
Before his eyes, he saw an elf with dulling eyes and a gasping mouth fall to the floor, another, his eyes red with tears, untying a mask, another bleeding, face soaked with tears. He saw two arrows pierce skin, one screaming, crying, in great pain. The images begin to blur as the silhouette of a figure, wielding two blades dripping with blood, filled his mind’s eye. Then the images faded, a voice bringing him from the void.
“Telthar’rion, you’d better come with me.” He followed the voice, sitting up as his eyes returned to normal, and Alceren appeared before him, offering him his hand.