Chapter 78

Kindled Dreams

Snow had been falling relentlessly for two months now. Staring out, Sylas couldn't help but be awed—he saw a legitimate, ten-foot-tall wall of snow stretching out around the castle. Save for the immediate courtyard that was shoveled thrice a day, it was physically impossible to actually leave the castle. He'd never seen anything quite as awful as this, the kind of weather that would grind the entire city into an early apocalypse.

Some of the cold managed to even find its way into the castle, as the winding corridors were impossible to traverse without heavy leather to warm up a body. Winters truly were different, and though he knew this wasn’t exactly the norm, the fact that everybody seemed completely accustomed to it… was terrifying.

Shaking his head, he looked back down onto the table where twenty or so parchments of talismans lay scattered. They were his failed attempts at actualizing himself as a ‘Talisman-weaver’. In order to be recognized as someone capable of drawing up talismans, he had to first be able to draft up at least a tier-0 talisman—the true kind, not the childish ones he had been drawing up until now.

Although he’d managed to do it, actually, several times before, it was all with Ryne’s continuous assistance throughout—and that wasn’t accepted. Nonetheless, he hadn’t given up. He was getting closer, after all. Within thousands and thousands of lines that he was required to draw, he was failing fewer and fewer times.

The doors to the room suddenly opened and through came a thick-layered Prince. Valen religiously spent most of the day traversing the castle, having meetings, or jotting down things—in addition to dragging along Iun that Sylas managed to stuff him with.

“Oh? Where’s your beloved child?” Sylas quizzed when he realized that Valen returned alone. The Prince grunted and glared at him for a moment before slowly taking off the large and overbearing coat of fur, sitting down and pouring himself some still-hot stew Sylas made.

“With Ryne,” he replied. “And thank the Gods for that. The kid’s… beyond creepy.”

“Preaching to the choir.”

“What are you doing?” Valen asked.

“Trying to draw up a tier-0 talisman,” Sylas replied. “And failing. Majestically.”

“Wow. You really are trying to become a master of many things,” Valen said. “What? Are you uncertain that your prophetic dreams will continue so you’re trying to make yourself useful in different ways?”

“A man’s always got to have means,” Sylas cracked a faint smile. “Are you worried that losing my dreams will mean you losing your throne before even getting to fight for it?”

“… it wasn’t your dreams that inspired me to chase the crown,” Valen said after a momentary silence. “It was your faith in me. Nobody’s ever treated me so. I only felt it fair to respond to your faith in a proper manner.”

“Faith’s the fuel of the soul, after all,” Sylas mumbled.

“… I’ve had dreams too, recently,” Valen said. “Though, less of prophetic nature and more akin to nightmares.”

“I occasionally have nightmares too. This one time, I dreamed that I had the most beautiful woman in the world strip naked in front of me… but I couldn’t get it up.”

“Pfft…”

“Oi, don’t laugh. When I woke up and realized I had a stiffy, I cried. Cried with joy. Dreams really can screw with a man.”

“Ha ha ha… well, I’m afraid my nightmares are nowhere near as… emotional and personal as yours,” the Prince said after calming down. “I dreamed… of five statues coming down from the sky like thunder in the middle of a sunny day. They bored unto blooming flowers, stout trees, and ancient rocks, and snuffed the alighted gem shining the day into the night.”

“… unique,” Sylas commented.

“I’ve had that dream several times now,” he said. “Each time I play gongi with Cyrs or Tenner, actually. They traumatize me, I think.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you don’t look a man who dreams himself a loser when he could be a King.”

“… and you don’t look a man who can draw up a proper talisman alone even in a million tries,” Valen fired back with a smile.

“And a pup becomes a wolf.”

“I’ve talked some more with Iun, about the dead,” Valen continued, changing the topic. “I… I never knew. Anything, really. He said that the dead had a broker—the Merchant, they call him. A ghastly apparition in the red fog, a strained, husky voice in the pipes. Apparently, the Merchant’s the one brokering deals between the living and the dead.”

“…”

“I still can’t fathom how can anyone among the living fall so much as to invite the dead among their kin.”

“… it’s something called ‘justified rage’,” Sylas said. “Or, more likely, power-hunger and greed. Humans are flawed things, like unearthed gems. And we are envious and malcontent and jealous and petty. Most of us, though, find our peace eventually, through one way or another. Some, though, never do. We stay the ugly little things that live to hate, to despise, to take from others what they could not have. Even if it means inviting the dead among the living—they would gladly do so if it meant their validation is afoot.“

“What… a sad existence,” Valen sighed. “To hate and despise until your life is consumed by it.”

“Eh, don’t spit it until you try it,” Sylas shrugged, thinking back to his life. “Anger is a powerful motivator. And when you’ve lost something, or when you can’t find things to love and to latch onto… anger saves you. Instead of looking for things to love, you seek things to hate.”

“Were you ever like that?” Valen asked. The Prince had learned, quite a long ago, that this Prophet of his… was not perfect. In fact, he was as human as everyone else. Though, in all fairness, the Prophet himself had repeated that several times over.

“Hm,” Sylas nodded. “Justified rage… is difficult to escape. But it’s possible. What is almost impossible is escaping the net of greed and hunger for more. There was a saying back home, ‘those who reign the best are the ones who wish to reign the least’. A perennial irony of your societies. Nonetheless, I have faith in you. Faith that, once your ass is on that throne… you’ll endure the temptations and build a Kingdom worthy of its name.”

“Only as long as you remain by my side to advise me,” Valen chuckled. “And beat me back to my senses should I ever slip.”

“Eh, I’ve a feeling it will be the other way around—especially if they send a woman after me.”

“… I must ask—what is it with you and women? Most men of faith, as I recall, deem such things as evil,” Valen quizzed out of curiosity.

“It’s been a while,” Sylas mumbled more so to himself than Valen before replying to the Prince. “Alas, I am an enlightened man of faith. Or something along those lines, I suppose.”

“… ‘soon as the Spring comes,” Valen said. “I’ll send out for some women to warm your bed.”

“… and I’ll graciously accept them,” Sylas cracked a smile as Valen stood up, fixing his clothes. “Where off to now?”

“A meeting,” the Prince sighed. “Though you don’t meddle in mortal matters, as it turns out, planning on usurping my Father for the Throne is hardly something that can be planned out in a day. It will be… difficult, to say the least.”

“You just keep being yourself,” Sylas said. “And I’ll get you that crown. I promise.”

“… you’ll have some privacy for a while,” Valen said, walking toward the doors. “Clear your head. Please.”

Sylas chuckled as Valen closed the doors behind him, leaving him alone in the room once more. Reaching into his pocket, Sylas took out a tiny rock—Shard of Ascindium. Staring at it intently for a moment, he did yet another test—trying to store the entire table in it. The test… was successful. With a simple, soundless movement, the desk vanished, in its place a gaping hole.

Exhaling in excitement, Sylas began slowly coalescing his energy toward the palm of his hand and the Shard—just as Derrek taught him so long ago, he followed the instructions again and pulled the desk out from the Shard. It appeared in front of him, admittedly slightly worse for wear as it toppled to the side, causing his smile to stretch.

“Three days of passive recharging,” Sylas mumbled, confirming his earlier findings. “Only inanimate objects. Derrek… Derrek… why is he an exception?” he mumbled further.

He'd tried using the Shard on many people—Ryne, Valen, maids and butlers, Tenner, even Iun, and, perhaps most insane of all, himself. It, however, didn’t work—it didn’t work on anybody… except for Derrek. From his recollections of the conversations he had with Dyn and Derrek, it didn’t sound as though either one of them was aware of this, actually—both seemed to be under the impression that any living would be imprisoned there. And yet, that wasn’t the case.

As for why… Sylas was clueless, for the time being. It likely had something to do with the Mantra they studied. At the very least, that was his suspicion.

“Since the Shard predates the Kingdoms,” he spoke softly, tapping his finger against the wooden desk. “Does it mean their Mantra either does too or has links to something? But… Iun also predates the Kingdoms. Shouldn’t it have trapped him? So, it’s likely not that. Hmm… probing Derrek too much probably won’t yield a lot, but it’s a good place to start. God, this winter is fucking everything up…”

Putting the shard away and cleaning everything up, he was just about to settle in for a nice, midday nap when his eyebrows began to twitch at the sight of something he didn’t want to see: the system’s window.

Mist approaches.

New Quest: Charted Dreams

Content: defend the castle from the attack.

Reward: Archery Mantra—Soulseeker—

Punishment for failure: ???

Start of the attack: Soon