Half of the world's light vanished as he felt a cold line run down over his left eye. He shut his eyes, and braced for a pain that never came.

  “You can open your eyes.” A hint of amusement filled Circe’s voice. “I thought you remembered how I took the pain away, not gave you more of it back then-“

  A sudden pull at his consciousness prompted him to open his eyes. He saw the world for a split second before his mind was ripped from his body, and he found himself facing the all-seeing eye of the Old One. Fear paralysed him. A lump settled in his throat as his breathing turned shallow, and his heart raced as if it was trying to leap out of his chest.

  He wanted to shout – to beg to be left alone – but no voice left his lips.

  Something moved in the darkness behind the multi-coloured eye. It was too large to comprehend, and too far to see anything more than just a moving shadow in an even darker space.

  Blind.

  The word poured into his mind, accompanied by images of complete darkness that filled his thoughts. It was suffocating, though short lived as the stream of consciousness ended within a heartbeat.

  “What?” His voice was but a whisper as he tried to recollect his thoughts that had been scattered by the Old God. “What do you want from me?!” He shouted through his coarse throat.

  An image filled his mind – a field covered in a thick layer of ash. Weapons were struck to the ground, their owners nowhere to be found. The skies were crimson, and the sun almost looked like an eye, watching him as he stood there. Across the ash covered field, a vortex hung mid-air. In front of it stood a familiar figure with long, white hair, and crimson eyes that looked at him with maniacal glee.

  The image shifted, he now saw a foreign city bordering a desert on one side, and a swamp on the other. Vague silhouettes of people rushed towards the swamp without hesitation. Those who tripped and fell were ruthlessly trampled on, and those who were slower left behind. The desert was aflame, and so was the edge of the city bordering it. A part of the thick, seemingly sturdy city wall crumbled apart as he watched, reduced to nothing but gold-coloured sands.

  The image vanished, and he felt as if he was falling down. His eyes shot wide open to a cloudy sky, and the face of a rather worried Circe. She seemed just as confused he was. “What do you see?” She immediately asked.

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  With a grunt, he sat upright and glanced around. “Nothing I shouldn’t be seeing.” There were no souls of the dead roaming the ashen valley, no nightmare spawn that struck him with fear. “It worked,” he answered her unasked question as he rubbed the back of his head. He must have fallen down when the Old God yanked his consciousness away.

  “I’m not so sure, it shouldn’t have hurt you so much that you fell unconscious.” Circe pursed her lips and furrowed her brows with worry.

  He shook his head. “It didn’t. It worked.” He dusted the ash off of his hair. “Circe, did the desert spread to a city somewhere?”

  The witch’s eyes widened. “No.” Her voice was cold. “Why do you ask?” She straightened her back and folded her arms. Her usually calm demeanour had suddenly become rather defensive and strained.

  “Well…” Retelling what the Old God showed him didn’t take long, but answering the dozens upon dozens of questions Circe asked took until sundown. The sun set, and a cold wind began to blow down the mountains, raising clouds of ash into the air. “No, I didn’t see a second eye.” He repeated with a sigh. “It’s just this one gigantic eye. I don’t get to look around much anyway. We’ve been here for hours, can we go back?”

  The Crimson Witch thought about it for a moment before finally nodding. “Very well.”

  Her spell was just as disorienting now as it was the first time he experienced it. The world slipped away from underneath his feet, and then he found himself in the room in the Vermillion Keep. The chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling was lit, the door was closed, and the windows shut to keep the cold out.

  His gaze immediately snapped to the only other person in the room. Arwen was sitting on the sofa, her knees pulled towards her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her shallow breathing was the only thing breaking the silence. The next thing he noticed was the staff on the ground, broken in half, and its crystal shattered into many pieces.

  “It seems Celyn was cruel today.” Circe muttered as she stepped over the broken staff and sat next to Arwen. Her voice startled the young woman, and her touch prompted her to look up. “Did she do this?” the Witch asked, gesturing towards the staff.

  Arwen’s gaze snapped to the staff, then as she noticed Midhir, she looked up to him. “Your eye!” She breathed out. “It’s still-“ tears welled up in her eyes.

  “I don’t see beyond the Veil anymore.” He cut her off.

  “But its colour!” She exclaimed, quickly turning to Circe. “Why is it not back to normal?”

  “It was merely hidden before. I can’t hide it again, not while the Old God watches over him.” Circe stood back up. “Did the empress break your staff?”

  Arwen flinched. “No.” She muttered, blood rushed to her cheeks as she averted her gaze. “She wanted me to follow you, take her to you after you disappeared.” Her voice trembled. “I tried. I couldn’t replicate the spell.”

  Circe shook her head and clicked her tongue in disappointment. “My dear apprentice,” her lips curled up ever so slightly. “That staff can control merely a fraction of the power you need for that. Did you get hurt?”

  Arwen shook her head. “No, but the empress was… unhappy.”

  “I imagine she was.” Circe raised her chin. “Very well then, let us go and visit her.”