Tears flowed down her face. Her legs visibly trembled as she drew sharp, shallow breaths. “She can’t wake him up.” Willow muttered with a catch in her voice. She stumbled closer, reaching for Midhir’s shoulders with her trembling hands. Her fingers clutched around the cloth of his cloak.

  Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her body shook, and muffled weeping sounded as she dug her head into his chest.

  He quietly wrapped his arms around her. His gaze met with Alistair’s. The young noble’s grim expression matched his own. Softly rubbing Willow’s back, he gritted his teeth and tightened his jaw. It should have never come to this. That idiot of a man should have never been able to push Lord Aulorn.

  “I’m sorry.” Willow whispered, pulling herself away after a while.

  “We’ll find a way to wake him up.” The certainty in his own voice surprised him. “Your father is one of the strongest, most resilient people I have met. He’ll wake up.”

  Willow forced a smile through her tears. “Yeah. Dad is strong.” Her voice was but a whisper. She wiped her eyes, then softly bowed. “I’ll go back there. I want to sit by him a little longer.” Her steps were rushed as she left the room, and her running footsteps soon echoed through the mostly silent halls.

  “What happened to Lord Aulorn?” Alistair’s words remined him that the young Orlein had lost about as much time as the Lord Enforcer. He knew nothing of the events since then. “And what happened to you? What was that year you spoke of?”

  With a sigh, Midhir pulled the stool by the back wall of the room closer and sat down. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  * * *

  Sleep came quickly once he laid down on his bed, but as his consciousness faded, he felt a familiar, disturbing pull. His eyes shot wide open to the view of a gigantic, colourful eye.

  Once again he was in the realm of the Old One. The endless darkness around them was vast, though this time he spotted glimmers of light in the distance. It was impossible to say how far away those lights were – they were so small and weak, and it seemed as if the smallest breeze could snuff them out like a candle.

  His gaze returned to the gigantic eye. His mind refused to fully comprehend what he was looking at. He knew it – he could feel it. Things slipped away from his attention despite his best efforts. The human mind wasn’t meant to understand them.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “What do you want from me?” He shouted, not expecting an answer.

  As he expected, no answer came. Instead, an image appeared in his mind.

  He stood on sand – golden sands that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was dark, too dark to be natural. The sky was black, and the stars had been snuffed out. The only light came from the circle of crimson fire surrounding him. Trapping him.

  Pain struck, blood dripped from his eyes, his skin broke on his arms, his nails grew longer and sharper.

  The sky fell, the sands burned, and his humanity slipped away from him.

  * * *

  He woke up, drenched in sweat and taking deep, fast breaths. The first rays of sunlight shone through the window into his room.

  Sitting up, he tried to calm his racing heart. He ran his fingers along his arms. He was fine. There was no broken skin, no wounds or scars. It was a dream.

  It was a vision. One of many the Old God had shown him.

  A cold shiver ran down his spine as he hopped out of bed and hurried into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. His bloodshot eyes made him look a lot more tired than he really was, but aside from that he looked normal. There was no blood running from his left eye. He was fine.

  For now.

  He needed to talk to his mother, and to the Crimson Witch. Unlike any other visions the Old God had shown him, this one hurt. The lingering pain of his breaking skin and growing nails remained, and every time he recalled it, his hands clenched involuntarily.

  A quick bath and some clean clothes allowed him to feel some semblance of normalcy as he left his room. His fast paced steps carried him to the throne room. “Is my mother here?” He asked to the saluting guards.

  “Her majesty hasn’t arrived yet, your highness!”

  Midhir scowled. It was quite early in the morning, so this was hardly a surprise, but it was annoying, nonetheless. “What about her guest, the woman dressed in red?”

  The guard paused for a split second. “She passed through here, your highness. She was headed towards the medical wing.”

  “Thank you.” Was she still trying to heal Lord Aulorn? He hoped she was – for everyone’s sake. His steps carried him towards the Lord Enforcer’s chamber as his thoughts raced to drown out the part of his mind that wanted to think about everything that happened yesterday. He shook his head, forcing that part into silence.

  “You’re in a hurry.”

  A voice rang, startling him was he was about to enter Lord Aulorn’s chamber. He whirled around, only to see Circe leaning against the rails on the balcony across the hallway.

  “For good reason, I believe.” He stepped out onto the balcony.

  The frigid morning breeze pulled at his hair and tugged at his clothes. His breath turned into mist, and the cold air the made him shiver momentarily, though the mild numbness it brought along was quite welcome. “I was looking for you.”

  The Crimson Witch’s eyebrows raised as her lips curled up into a smile. “Whatever could I do for you, prince?”

  He tightened his jaw. It almost felt like she was mocking him. “The Old God showed me another vision.”

  Her smile shattered, and her gaze turned sharp as she stepped away from the railing. “When?” Her voice was a low growl.

  “In my sleep. Circe, what will happen a year from now?” He asked, stepping closer and meeting her gaze. “I’m not just talking about how seeing both worlds at once will break me. I know what. I want to know what happens after that.”

  Her lips formed a thin line. “What did you see?”