CRYSTALLUM LOST DREAMS | Fantasy Novel |

Chapter 10

Camiel took advantage of the boys' rest to get comfortable: those intense days had taken a toll on his spirit. The wounds from the battle with Lieutenant Iznar Tun had soaked through the bandage, so he undid the old dressing and made a new one.

He tied the clean bandage, tested its validity, and leaned back against the tree. His tired eyes went to the green stone on the sword, hidden among the metallic twigs. "It's not good," he whispered to it.

The Seorite charge would have been ideal to replace the weapon's core. The still-immature Voices of the Soul were easier to tame and he usually managed to control their power in a few hours.

That stone, however, had suffered from the violence of the kharzanian extraction systems, forced to lend its energy to someone who did not show it due respect.

But he had no other Seorite available, and it was not the time to worry. He stood up, it was time to find a good path for the next day. Moreover, with the boys to take care of, he would have to make sure there were no imminent dangers. He spotted a pair of wolves near a cave, but it was too far from the makeshift camp to worry about.

Those hours were his only true moment of rest in the last few days. He hadn't put anything between his teeth since Lud and the just-concluded meal was not enough to truly invigorate his spirit. There was not much he could do to remedy it, so he limited himself to reflecting, remembering, and planning. The warning given by the dark figure with the white eyes and the encounter with the boys didn't seem like a coincidence. But he still did not understand how Aran Allet, his father, and the load of stones could fit in with the aggressiveness of the kharzanian attack. And the story of the Seorite regenerated at the Great Jalme did not hold up, it was almost impossible.

Moreover, Edel had never behaved in such a brutal and frenzied way: the Republic of Lamia was an allied nation and not a rebel camp lost in the Zalesia desert.

After returning from the patrol, he sat down at the foot of the boys' tree and closed his eyes. He was able to distinguish the sound of the forest, the rustling of leaves, and the movement of small animals. He let the sense of peace envelop him like a mother with a child and focused on the most immediate problems.

However, while he was thinking about how to dissuade the new companions from returning to Lud, he suddenly lost his breath: he felt his muscles tense and a powerful cascade enveloped him. A force that prevented any movement.

"But wha--" It wasn't water, it wasn't anything tangible. If he hadn't put up a strong resistance, he would have collapsed to the ground.

Camiel was able to feel the intensity of it, but not distinguish its essence.

He was stuck for a few endless moments, and as soon as he was free, he jumped away from the tree like a spring. He caught his breath and turned to check on his charges.

Nothing.

They were there: each one in their place among the branches. They slept peacefully as if the suffocation had been only a figment of his imagination. But he was sure of what he had felt, he couldn't have imagined it. He brought the sword in front of him. Whatever had attacked him, he would be ready. But his attention went to the hilt.

"Is it charged?" he said aloud. The green stone was at its maximum splendor, smooth and shiny as if it had just been extracted from the rock, the core was saturated, and now it moved, dense and pasty.

What had happened? He touched the surface of the crystal several times: everything seemed normal. He called forth the Voice of the Soul, and the ring responded with a flow of orange light that instantly connected with the green Seorite.

The voices were different, the stone was calm, and the whispers, though incomprehensible, were slower, more harmonious. The Seorite had returned to its original state.

Camiel was more than confused, he was shaken.

He spent the night without sleep, brooding over the suppositions until morning came. He had seen incredible events in his life, but those days were a span above the most improbable experiences. He knew there was only one way to regenerate the stones, but it was not that.

In the morning, the boys were waking up, so Camiel put aside his thoughts. They resumed their journey accompanied by the scent of lavender and wet grass. The warrior studied each member of the group one by one, looking for clues in their gestures, in their words. No one showed any changes.

"Do you already know which way we should take?" Aran suddenly asked.

Camiel snapped out of his thoughts. "Yes, we will go to Amanastre: we will cross the Sado River and cross the border of Badur to coast the Crown, until we reach the swamps of Tyr."

"Amnastre? What are we supposed to do in that place?" asked Cora.

"I know someone who can help us," he replied. He stopped for a moment and smiled. "What happened to all the hostility from yesterday?"

"I've reconsidered your position," Aran replied. "A warrior who knows how to use a sword is always useful."

Cora, on the other hand, seemed upset and didn't say anything for the next few hours.

The long walk, Camiel had feared, put a strain on the kids. In particular, Marmorel, with her delicate legs red from the sun, kept stumbling and falling behind. At the umpteenth boulder to climb, Camiel prepared to assist her, but only a moment later realized that Aran was already by her side.

A little further on, they found a clearing, and the kids finally picked up speed. It was the opportunity Camiel had been waiting for. He called Cora over, so the others couldn't hear. He whispered in his ear. "I need to ask you something. But I want it to stay between us, at least for now." She looked him in the eyes. "Can you do that?"

Cora looked at his friends, a few steps ahead, but he grunted and returned to the warrior. "What do you want?"

"What were the exact events that followed your fall near the Great Jalme?"

"That's my business!"

"Did you notice anything strange?" he insisted. "A light, a particular sound, something from those moments?"

Cora turned again, ready to walk away. However, he stopped, made a sound of pain, and scratched his back.

"Let me see," Camiel said.

"It's just a scratch. Yesterday, I hit a tree."

Camiel moved his collar just a bit.

His blood ran cold. He straightened his shirt, checked that it was well fastened, and motioned to continue.

"Hey, is everything okay?" asked Cora. With a furrowed brow, he was worried. The warrior couldn't find a valid explanation for what he had just witnessed. "Nothing serious," he lied. "It's just a small burn."

On that back, he had just seen the design of a sun disappear. The symbol of the Emperor of Hozma, identical in shape, with only one difference: instead of the dancing rays, it had symbols in the Lost Language that marked its profile.

"Now go, we have a long journey ahead of us," he concluded.

Cora gave him a skeptical look and joined Fez.

"The imperial emblem of Aletar," Camiel whispered, as he followed him with his eyes. He raised his hand and studied the silver ring. He rubbed it between his fingers where the symbol "Gratitude" was, then returned to the group. "Truth, peace, harmony, balance, strength, fire, and who knows what else," he continued into the wind.

He was sure it was Cora who had regenerated the Seorite. Camiel didn't know how he had done it, and neither did the boy. Or at least that's what he had said and he seemed sincere.

It was impossible, as far as he knew, only the children of Dormin had the ability to regenerate the stones. And the ritual was kept secret from the rest of humanity. But now that power was contained in the body of a young boy from a city on the other side of the continent.

In Camiel's mind, questions raced and inconsistencies increased.

"None of this makes sense," he said.