Awakening
Page 40
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Cold… it’s so cold…
For the first time, I miss the void… Anything, even an infinite darkness, would be better than this. I float in an endless sea of white light, with only the unimaginable cold as company. Slowly, details emerge from my uniform surroundings, as elements from the real world bleed into the dream. Gradually, the light is replaced by a sea of white clouds, a shift so subtle it is almost imperceptible.
Next, colour is added in the form of a long, winding chain of mountains, their blues and greys breathing much needed variety into this monochrome vision. The dream blurs as I float towards the distant, yet strangely familiar ground. Soon, only one peak remains, a solitary spire of defiance, ringed by a black halo. Even as I drift closer, the storm grows, the inky darkness consuming everything in its path.
“He’s gone too far, interfering like this.” The voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. It reminds me of the time my father brought me to the sea, and we spent an hour just listening to the crashing waves.
“I agree. We are lucky he has not simply materialised before them. He is still playing by the rules, but he is bending them to breaking point.” The companion voice, reminiscent of the volcanic eruption audio log that they played for us in school…
“Using the storm was one thing, but directing the lightning strikes is taking it too far. If they had been early by just one second, everything would have been lost.”
There! Floating a hundred feet above the storm, are two people. Even at this distance, I can feel their power… their presence. At first glance, they look like two children, one with short, neat blond hair, and the other with long, flowing black tresses. They are wearing long, flowing cloaks that show no skin and hide their proportions perfectly.
As I glide closer, the duo turns to face me. How could I have been so wrong? The figures floating before me look like they just stepped out of a modelling catalogue. The blond-haired man has chiselled features that look like they were cut with a laser, while his dark-haired companion is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The man’s eyes are a set of perfectly polished emeralds, while the woman has a matching set of sapphires. Both are filled with wisdom and depth, and whisper of the things they have seen… things no human should ever see.
Below us, the storm continues to gain intensity, with sporadic rainfall coating the mountainside and hail sending icy bullets towards the three indistinct figures making their way towards the peak. They seem so small… so frail… is this what we are? Is this how the gods see us?
“He’s not ready yet,” whispers the man, whose features have somehow aged and hardened. Before, I would have placed his age near mine, but now he bears a strange resemblance to my father. Is age a choice for them, or is it the fault of the dream? The woman has likewise aged, and… if I had not taken my mother’s life, I’m sure she would also feel familiar.
“I know, but I wanted to see him with my own eyes.” Again, her age has changed, now closer to Kingston’s, but her beauty has not faded. Her eyes still hold the same intensity, and regard me with an expression I have never seen before. Guilt? Shame? I don’t have the time to confirm. She has already started to fade, her dark blue eyes and black locks blending seamlessly with the now raging storm. The man has already vanished, all trace of him erased from the dream.
There are so many things I want to ask, so many things I want to say. But, somehow I know this won’t be the last time we meet. Whoever they are, whatever their goal, we are connected, and I will see them again…
“Be strong, Son of None, for your trials are only beginning…” The woman’s voice is barely a whisper, but the words come across clearly. Before I can ask her what she meant, she too is gone, leaving me alone with the storm.
No, not alone.
There’s something in the storm… a figure standing at its apex, partially obscured by the roiling thunderclouds. Even here, a hundred feet away, I can feel his power coursing through the storm. For a brief instant, our eyes meet, and I feel my blood run cold. I was wrong. I was so wrong…
He isn’t controlling the storm…
He is the storm.