A Spark in the Wind

Chapter 30: Lights at the End

Over hill and under tree the jolly winter sun shone, welcoming the bite of morning as he opened his eyes, half-puzzled and half-irritated. Birds chirped in a distance, huddling and nesting in hazel thickets, dousing the air in might and melody.

As he spanned his hand about, he touched the moist soil upon which he rested: an inch of water between him and the ground. The light of the sun blinded him, almost lulling him back to sleep even if he was in water.

But he was not alone, someone else walked around, he could hear footsteps. From the corner of his eye he could see a tall figure draped in black approach him, extending his hand out.

"Rise and shine, Legate Vilyánur," the aged voice called to him, "rise and shine."

Vil struggled to open his eyes, yet he could make out the figure's hair: long curls of platinum blond draped over a fair yet aged face – a face he well recognized from illustrations and statues, laced with a gallant smile, grandeur unmatched, welcoming yet daunting, blinding like a solar eclipse. Vil was caught off guard.

"Lord Darrian!" he sprung up, a fearful chill running down his spine. "Is that really you? This is but a dream, is it not?"

"Life is but a dream, is it not?" he whispered. "What difference does it even make anyway? Aren't all pleasures and pains temporary: shadows on the wall? What use is struggle anyway?"

"I do know, Lord," Vil lowered his head, "I do not boast to know the answers."

"Then you are as wiser than half your comrades," Lord Darrian replied. "It takes far greater wisdom to not know than to know. You are a brave hero, Lord Vilyánur, do not undermine your own strength. By the way, congratulations, your actions have saved the world of Alledoria."

Vil tried his best to crack a smile, ignoring the irritating his wet clothes had on him.

"Come with me, we need to get you some new clothes and warmth. It would be a shame for a fabled hero like yourself to die of hypothermia."

Vil nodded, following Darrian into the forest.

From what he gathered, he had been lying in the swamp for who knows how long, in the middle of a forest no different from one you'd find on Alledoria, yet there was something innately bizarre about it. Was he dead? If yes, do dead people feel cold? Because Vil did, the water dripping from his clothes only boosted the wrath of winter's skeletal fingers.

"Welcome to my humble home," said Darrian, as the two neared the cottage: a little hut of wood and stone, sitting idly between a road and river, and nothing more.

Vil drew a sigh of relief, mingled with awe at the levels of humility of a hero of legend. Following Lord Darrian inside, he huddled beside the fireplace in the centre, allowing the warmth of it to rout the cold and bring in the heat of day.

"Keep those garments on and you'll surely get cold," Lord Darrian replied, tossing a heavy blanket upon Vil.

Vil nodded, taking off his beige shirt and brown trousers, carefully wrapping himself in the blankets to not let the cold air bite his nimble skin as he changed clothes, where he got the beige and brown from though, he could not say.

...

"Excuse me, Lord. Where am I? Is this heaven?"

"If this is heaven, then not very luxurious, I'd say, if you are in the realm where pain is non-existent, and still you have to huddle by the fire to not die of cold."

Vil looked down, "maybe it is not meant to be luxurious, for luxury cannot exist without labour. Maybe that is what life is."

Lord Darrian watched, listening to him ever so silently.