The Dread of Vision

  “Some magics are unruly. The mind’s eye is a fickle and unwieldy thing. It is not a branch the elder blood was ever meant to bear, I think. More often than not, when portents and prophecy plague our dreams, we are crushed beneath their weight. I am fortunate to possess but a sliver of that gift — any more, and I am certain I would no longer be.”

  — Calvandrel, “The Inked Seer,” from Faune’s Fateful Children: The Collected Letters from The Gathering

  Aehyl awoke with a sharp cry, her heart pounding. She had shouted something into the evening, but the words were already lost to the fog of sleep.

  Grimus sat beside her, drawn by the noise. She had needed to rest after the tournament. Her healing of the ex-convict had tired her more than she let on. He’d pulled a chair close from across the room and was gently dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth, worry etched across his brow.

  The dreams had returned. Visions of fire and ruin had haunted her since her communion with the Great Oak—and today was no different.

  “You saw them again, my child?” he asked softly, one eyebrow lifted with concern.

  Grimus had sensed her destiny from the day she entered his care. Aehyl did not learn as other druids did. Her bond with nature was unusual, not even particularly deep. And yet, within her burned one of the brightest magical flames he had ever seen.

  Still, he could not help but wonder what that fire might cost her.

  She was everything the elves hoped to embody—curious, kind, courageous. Overzealous at times, yes, but always driven by a need to help. And since the death of her father, Grimus had filled more than just the role of mentor. Though she never called him so, he was the closest thing she had to a father.

  “I did,” Aehyl said, voice tight. “I saw them again.”

  She sat up, brushing tears from her eyes as she began to recount the dream.

  “We were walking through the forest...and then I saw them. They were lying on a bed of broken, scarred trees. I ran to them—but the trees caught fire. Like a pyre. The flames spread too fast. I—I couldn’t save them.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  She paused to steady her voice.

  “I understand some of it. The fire rose quickly, consuming Vectra completely. I think... she represents our people. The trees—the Crystal-Mist.”

  She frowned. “But then something strange happened. The fire leapt upward and was swallowed by Shali. It burned her as she consumed it—but she wasn’t destroyed. She laughed. She laughed and began to dance.”

  Aehyl turned to him, pleading now. “What does it mean, Grimus?”

  Grimus stood beside the chest at the foot of her bed, one arm folded across his waist, the other resting at his chin in thought.

  “I do not know, child. Dreams are powerful portents—but they rarely offer clarity to the dreamer. Still… as for Shali, I have a suspicion.”

  His expression darkened.

  “We have long believed there is a rogue faction within the Crystal-Mist. A splinter group that seeks to defy the Council. They think the banishment of Mendathou was a grievous sin, one that divided us beyond repair. They are deluded—but dangerous.”

  His voice lowered.

  “I wonder if it is time to stop searching for Shali among the dead... and begin searching for her among the living.”

  “You think she did this?” Aehyl whispered. “That Shali destroyed the Mother Tree?”

  “You said she swallowed the flame,” Grimus replied gently. “Whether willingly or under compulsion, that is the question. But I do not believe your gift would lie to you.”

  He stepped closer, his face pale but his eyes fierce. “And if she stands with these dark forces, we must act—before they destroy the Crystal-Mist, and all of our people with it.”

  “There’s more,” Aehyl said suddenly.

  Her breath quickened. “Before I woke... something happened. My mind reached out—not by my will, but as if drawn. I saw Lake Silverfinn. I was standing on the water, watching the flames devour the trees. Our home… burning.”

  Her eyes flared with light. The sigil on her chest erupted in a golden blaze. Grimus stumbled back, a force flinging him like a leaf in the wind.

  “Something inside me broke,” Aehyl went on, unaware of the magical outburst. “I can’t explain it. I needed justice. I needed to do something. And then... I vanished.”

  She swallowed hard.

  “A rain began to fall. Gentle, cool. It quenched the fires. It fell on our people, and they stood again. And the rain… it sapped the strength of our enemies.”

  She stared down at her trembling hands.

  “Grimus… am I meant to die so our people can live?”

  A solid knock at the door broke the silence.

  Aehyl exhaled shakily, then forced a smile as she reached for her robes.

  Grimus opened the door a crack.

  Portean stood outside, smiling mischievously, and beside him, framed in flickering torchlight, stood Prince Talose.

  “Apologies, Grimus,” the elf said, barely restraining laughter. “We hate to interrupt, but... there’s been a slight problem with Draefus.”

  From the matching glint in their eyes, Grimus suspected the situation was neither small nor accidental.