The IRE of Winter

[ 34.2 ]

...

Thick gray mist floated high above the Great Spire, bright red light flickered at its heart. Safirah sharpened her eyes as the dragon dove near the jagged stone. Up close, the mountain's peak resembled an enormous stage with four rise, steep stairs extends nearly fifty meters from one flat surface to the next. The old man was right, she thought, it's impossible to seek entry by the fortress' gates.

Seeing no sign of enemies on the flattened surface, she urged the dragon towards the Great Spire.

Miraak's landing brought  tremble to the rocks, the dragon thudded loudly on the flattened surface. Panting, Safirah dislodged with her right knee touching the rough ground. She stood pulling her sword from the scabbard and though her heart pounded in distress, fear did not keep her from going.

"Wait here my friend," she whispered to the dragon while rubbing his ebony snout with bare hand. Miraak sniffed hot smoke that almost burned the edges of her sleeve. Safirah quickly pulled back. At first, she was tempted to look down the cliff, and she leaned forward holding her breath. To her surprise, hundreds of orcs were marching towards the gates. They must have seen her landing, she concluded. Safirah stepped backward realizing danger. Soon, orcs will swarm the spire and the chance of finding the dark wizard would be slim.

Miraak suddenly growled, flapping its massive wings, the dragon lunged to the sky. Startled, instinct brought the half-elf crouching with one hand raising her iron sword. Something felt wrong, her heart drummed faster than the beat of faint footsteps heard from below.

She waited and waited, thinking about when Gandalf would arrive. The sole of her feet tingled, her hands trembled.

Then, a dark shadow emerged before the burning giant cauldron, slowly shaping into a familiar face.

Safirah stood still, witnessing the shadow move away from the flames. Her hands trembled, she clenched her teeth to hold her tears. This wasn't a dream nor it is an illusion, she thought, for she could see her face clearly under the light of the stars. Her raven black hair danced like fire, her lavender eyes glowed in the dark. Pale was her skin and she wore the same white dress in her dream, except it was black like the night.

The shadow finally took form as a woman, her bare feet were an inch above the ground. Tears escaped her eyes like crystals falling from her chin.

'Sah...fih...rah,' her voice was soft like wind. 'Come, my child.'

'No!' Safirah yelled. 'My mother is dead. This is a trap. You can't fool me wizard! Show yourself at once.' She made a defensive stance as she held the sword with both hands.

The woman swayed left, her body floating smoothly in the air. She was without flesh, just a shadow flowing freely with the wind. The half-elf watched the shadow moved as it circled her. At times it vanished from her sight only to reappear behind her.

Safirah gasped, waiting.

'You disappoint me child. I had so much faith in you but you defended our enemies. Come...join me. It is never too late.' The woman spoke like she was whispering to her ears.

'You are not my mother witch! She will never be a servant of the dark.'

Evil laugh echoed in her head, Safirah shifted back and front following the source of the noise. The shadow appeared in front of her and she was quick to thrust her sword, pointed the tip against the woman neck. "Do not test me wizard. My temper is running short."

'Go on,' she said with pleading eyes. 'Kill your mother and forgive those who denied you your rightful life. Freedom, family, justice! The elves took everything from you. How can you be so blind?'