Into The Rift

Foreign Insights (53)

-0426 Military hours
-Euralian Hearthland, East of Yerune

A cold waft billows through a window, parting the curtains with its gentle touch. The sun has yet to shed its light. All the candles have long since been extinguished, leaving only darkness to comfort me as I awoke. It was peaceful—if a little lonely.

For once, Oswin did not shatter the silence with his insolent snores. Him, and the others lay deep in slumber. As the curtains fluttered, and with sleep eluding me still, no one but the guards on shift would be privy to my roams across the villa. Even then, I suspect most would feint their vigil.

The gallery remains lit with the barest of flames, casting gentle flickers that danced along the weathered stone floor. While their homely diligence past duskfall would often be lacking, the guards at least tended the sconces—even then it barely redeemed them in my eyes.

I tread lightly, braving the stark emptiness and journey down to the communal lobby—being cautious to not wake the others up. As the stairs come into view, the last remnants of light fades. Beneath the steps, lay only a veil of darkness. Quiet footsteps trampled below, pattering with a slight echo. In tandem with the ominous chill, the air resonated with an foreboding tone.

Grabbing the rails, and sinking into the murk, a faint light shimmers at the stair's end. The walls fan out, and usher me forward into the expanse ahead. Candles flickered on both sides of the lobby, adorned on black holdings that were fashioned in the honour of an outside faith—a crescent. A homage to the culture who forged them.

I admired its immaculate carvings—or perhaps those were inscriptions?  Either way, they were most certainly engraved with utmost care. The room lay in their light, a soft golden yellow like the waning flames of a stove, instilling a familial warmth that reminded me of home. With closed eyes, I could even imagine this place as such. Mother's gentle aura would fill the room, and I would always find comfort in her smile and violet eyes. I have not seen her face, nor heard her voice for well over ten moon cycles now.

Absence makes the heart yearn stronger, and that thread goes both ways. How is she? And how has she fared with only the company of father? These questions begged to be answered, foolish as they are to even exist. I soon forsake the muse and resume my slow amble, but keep them close to heart—as I always will.

Empty bottles of Elysian delights lay on the couches and three long tables. As expected, no one is around. The midnight air billows outside the windows, raising the little hairs on my bare arms. The cold sensation is rather pleasing against this thin gown. I thread past the entrance, basking in this peaceful ambience. Ahead, lay the unkempt clearing and old-growth woods at the borders. A few drakewings slept the night away, their forms huddled against one another.

Several torches burned in the distance. A few guards gathered around the flames, motionless, but awake. Within their ilk stood an odd member, whose bright green swiftly make the last vestiges of sleep depart. What has spurred Meagan to forsake a night's rest? And she is among a cadre of guards, whom the human soldiers' still openly hated.

The question spurs me to act, but more than that, she is under my charge. As is the rest of her imprisoned ilk. It has been so since the old sage has all but given up on the humans. His patience is as thin as his wrists Oswin would say, and I would certainly agree. Although it was said as jest, none could deny it as false.

Trudging to the small gathering, my steps weaved through the blades of grass, garnering attention from the group. Soon, all eyes fall upon me. The cautious stares are akin to cold daggers, but they relent as I wade into their midst, basking in the fires' soft glow and warmth, my concerns demanding answers to the scene before me.