The Beast

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ylvir woke from his dream, back to the reality as cold and hard as the stone he lay on. It was the usual dream--the same one he had dreamt every night since arriving at the castle for seasons on end. It wasn't even a proper dream--just a memory. One he had initially treasured, but now only served to torture him.

Now a part of the conscious world again, he sat himself up, reviewing the memory-dream as though to punish himself further.

He could easily conjure up the vision of those green eyes, staring into his, as vibrant as when he first saw them. Her lively scent was easily remembered as well, the aroma still clinging to his nose with the return of every spring. And how could he ever forget those arms, encircling his neck, embracing him as only his parents had ever dared to do. Right before they pulled away, taking his mother's necklace with them.

He growled at the thought, roughly standing himself up. He could still remember that first night the dream came to him. He had briefly imagined it was perhaps a sort of gift--an unwanted one, but a gift all the same. A last bit of happiness. And it was, until the end as the girl he saved returned the favor by stealing from him.

He had been such a fool. He should have known not to trust he would find happiness in the dream, or in anything else for that matter. He should have known not to trust the girl that night. They had accused her of thievery, had they not? That should have warned him. Maybe the dream was a gift after all. A sick, twisted gift that resolved his distrust further and let him know exactly what happened to his mother's pendant. He hadn't lost it after all. It was taken from him.

Ylvir lumbered out of his small room, taking to the castle's stony halls he had grown to know well, not that he had bothered memorizing them as they had a tendency to change on him. More than once they had led him back to a small door that opened to a cave of sorts, inside of which grew the rose that continued to taunt him as much as the dream did. It angered him enough into one of his rages, openly threatening to destroy the castle that seemed to possess a consciousness of its own as he tore a wall down in example. It hadn't led him there since.

His ears flicked as the faint sounds of familiar voices drifted through the halls as easily as himself.

"Should we tell 'im?"

"No. It's best to leave 'im."

"He'll find out sooner or later."

"All the more reason to let 'im rest, and leave it be."

"Leave what be?"

The cursed men whipped around at the sound of the familiar cold voice that never failed to send chills down their spines, gulping as his large, shadowed form slowly stepped forward. His stride alone spoke of a predator's gait, his musclebound bulk shifting oddly with deathly grace. Even as he left the shadows, they never quite left him, his fur, feathers, scales, and spines being black as the darkest night and sharp as a razor's edge. Only his piercing red eyes really stood out, studying the men with what they knew to be very limited patience.

"Well?"

Erdim stepped forward cautiously, bowing his head as he avoided Ylvir's gaze.

"Branneg went out to the port again. Says there's rumors of another attack."

Branneg was known to traverse to the port on occasion in a reconnaissance effort, gathering what news and information he could from various sources on all sorts of subjects, but most often on growing schemes to invade the castle as it pertained to themselves directly. More often than not, it proved to be advantageous, such as it did now, and helped them to better prepare themselves and plan ahead.

Ylvir's eyes swiveled to Branneg, who cowered from meeting them with his own. The other cursed men around him stepped back, letting him be the center of Ylvir's attention.