Broken Glass - Taekook

DREAM #6

My eyes flicker open to a familiar scene: the Great Hall of the Shimmerstone Library. I'm standing right in the centre, staring out at the decorations, facing the tapestry that depicts the Queen of the faeries, facing off against an abstract red figure that could be the king, could be a representation of many different figures, could be a portrayal of evil itself. 

I'm closer this time, so close that I can make out each detail of the image. It's clear now that it definitely is Arlayna, that same face furrowed in a furious shout, that same fire in the eyes, the usual gentle smile nowhere to be seen. The image seems to swim, wave in a breeze I can't feel, and then I'm stepping forward towards it without quite meaning to, my body dragging me forward without my instructions. 

My hand reaches out, instinctively, towards the shifting fabrics, as if to touch the threads and feel the silk, test the quality or something. The next thing I know, I'm sucked forward, my perspective pulled through the image into somewhere entirely different.

The first thing that strikes me is the smell: an iron-like metallic tang that burns my nose, hurts with its connotations of death and decay. The earth I'm standing on is much softer than anything I could imagine: though when I look down I realise it's wet with blood. My own hands, my own body, is partially transparent, though they're becoming more and more opaque the longer I stare. 

Muted sound slowly but surely clarifies into the rough clanging of sword against sword, the guttural dialect and the flowing language of Karulian and Eithyrian, respectively. Someone is screaming in agony: several shouts of pain go out, and then a yell of anger is heard from close by.

From somewhere, a terrifying laugh begins to echo, a low chuckle that reverberates through the ground around me, and makes the entire scene stop entirely. A figure, dressed in a blood red cloak, steps forward through the frozen battlefield, in my direction. It wears dark metal gloves, the hands clenched in violent fists, the entire form trembling with an effort that could be anger, could be pain, but looks a lot more like madness. The gaze goes through me and past me, to somewhere else. Someone else. 

On an instinct, I turn, to see a familiar individual in bright green stepping carefully through the carnage, head held high. Instead of the dress that adorns her in the tapestry, this is a more battle-suited outfit. Insect-like armour covers her body, emerald in shade, and her long black hair is tied back underneath a helmet that covers most of her face. Her wings are less translucent than I remember, instead an iridescent display of gold that spreads out far further than I've ever seen them do so before. The shape is similar, if a little wider, and a golden sceptre is held in her right hand, which is covered by a leather-like glove. 

The two face each other, and then they too stop moving. 

From somewhere beyond, a sourceless voice begins to sing, one I half-recognise as that of the golden sphinx that inhabits this area. There's a certain purity to it, but the voice also seems to rasp slightly on the lower notes, as if it's been dragged through gravel and forced into creating sound once more. Every time that quality enters it, I wince a little, uncomfortable, and my entire body  goes numb for a moment before I can function again. 

And then the scene fades, and I find myself back in the Great Hall of the library, staring directly at the tapestry. I step away, half-afraid to touch it for fear I'll be dragged back into that action, back into the violence, back into a world I couldn't hope to understand. I glance around, disorientated, and see that the golems are watching me, faceless as usual, the runes glowing right in the centre where the nose would be. Hollyhock is nowhere to be seen, though I can almost imagine the mysterious knowing smile they always seem to have whenever I see them. 

I back away further, until the image gets smaller, and I feel like I'm far enough away to be safe. I don't want to see that battlefield again. There was something about it, something about the horror of that space that makes the details clarify only once I'm back in the library. 

The vivid image of wounds, of blood running from corpses that have been thrown to the side and abandoned, the various creatures screaming out in agony and fury as they watch the forest they love go up in flames, be taken over by an army of tyrants. The ground was almost black underfoot, it was so drenched in blood and ichor, and there was something grotesque about the way each Karulian Knight was wielding their weapon, as the symbol of their organisation floated so obviously on their cloaks. 

That scent of decay, of burning, of blood, it clogs up my nose again, and my stomach jumps a little within my torso. I have to swallow to maintain my composure, control my nerves. There's nothing beautiful about this fight. No glory to be gained in tragedy. And yet in that moment, all I could see was a losing side, trapped in an eternal hell with demons themselves, who planned to torture them until they begged for release. It was disgusting. It was horrifying. 

There's nothing fucking glorious about it.

Something, a deep rage, rises within me, like fire or energy burning within my chest. A sharp pain sparks behind my ribcage, a moment of shocked hatred and horror that seems to shatter my very understanding of what's happening. The world seems to spin for a moment, and then the agony pulls away, becomes a dull ache in the corner of my very consciousness. 

I step back, and something material brushes my arm. Then my vision swims once more, and transforms into somewhere new. Somewhere darker. 

The air is clearer here, the smell of earth more natural and less forbidding, though there's something slightly stale and close about it. I'm immediately aware of a faint purple glow above me, which slowly materialises into many wriggling glow-worms, shedding light into the chamber I'm in. 

The sound of gently flowing water, along with the repetitive crashing of a small waterfall, is the next thing I notice, as my hearing begins to come back. The echoes are almost melodic, and repeat over and over until it becomes a chant, a ritual that makes me dizzy in its complexity. Directly by my feet is a bright blue river, a spring that glimmers slightly with a hidden energy. 

The peace here is so odd, so different, that my brain takes a moment to understand the details. The gentle cold of the air. The quiet footsteps of a creature I can't see, trotting through its home. It doesn't feel wrong, or dangerous here. It feels almost spiritual, in reality. A place of safety. Another haven, somewhere, that seems to exist on the very edge of the kingdom, outside of the reach of the king. 

Again, a pure voice takes over, slightly different from that of the sphinx. This one is lower in pitch, and has a strange crystalline quality that I can't quite place. From somewhere, the trotting sound grows louder, closer.

And then my vision fades once more.