Broken Glass - Taekook

DREAM #7

(tw: some dark imagery, proceed w caution)

It begins with the screams. Uncontrolled, terrifying screams that come from all directions. A thousand voices lifted in a cacophony of pain that never ends. There's a hoarse, low sobbing that seems to have been going on forever. There's a child's voice there somewhere, pleading for the pain to stop. There's a million different animal species and Eithyrians in this horrific mix of sounds, crying out in anguish and terror.

I open my eyes, but there are no soldiers, no prisoners, no monsters shambling from one victim to the next. There are no rivers of blood running over the dusty ground beneath my feet, no carrion crows flying overhead. There's not even a hint of the scents of blood, sweat and tears that usually hang in the air around places of misery.

I kneel down, place a hand against the earth. At a closer proximity, something doesn't look quite right. I pick up a handful of the soil, let it fall through my fingers. Amongst the usual brown, yellow and black grains, there's traces of blood red that stick to my palm until I brush them off with a shudder.

I stand up, brushing the remnants of the soil off of my legs. My face feels hot, and my left hand instinctively lifts to touch my cheek. It's damp, and there's a slight salty taste in my mouth now.

Tears. I didn't even realise I was crying.

I wipe them away with the palm of my hand, blinking as a blurry shape slowly comes to focus in front of me. Reddish stone, windows that look like empty eyes, the lower edge of a circular stone wall. There, outlined in the light of a late afternoon sun, are the ruins of Shylrennor.

The imposing silhouette of the Cursed Tower has all but disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a shattered shadow of what once was. The stone bricks are a little more weathered than when the tower was standing, but no plant life has dared to cover the grave of this dead giant. This is still a tortured place, though the symbol of pain has toppled.

Against my better judgement, I try to open my mind to the golden river, try to connect to the flow of energy beneath Eithyr. The screaming only gets more intense, and that's when I realise: that's all that is left of the golden river. These sounds are the only remnants of those who were killed, the final corruption of this once-sacred site. I recoil, shutting out that part of my mind altogether, and am rewarded with sweet silence that's almost as loud as the confusing discord that came before it.

The ruins of Shylrennor begin to fade into shadow, as something new takes over my vision: a bright blue sky, dotted with tiny clouds. I look down, and see that I'm passing quickly over a canopy of lush trees. The shadow of a tiny figure with translucent dragonfly-like wings appears below me, flying below me, as if created by my presence.

There's a humming sound, a voice I vaguely recognise. As I stare down at the shadow, the humming grows louder, until it becomes instantly familiar: the gentle timbre of Arlayna, Queen of Faeries. The melody isn't one I recognise, but as she flies over this unknown forest, the words slowly spring to mind, unbidden.

What was once lost will soon be found,
No matter the cost, we follow sight and sound,
My heart weeps for those who've gone astray,
But they will return, I pray.

All my children, come to me,
Where the water flows 'neath the flowering trees,

In the places where dusk and dawn intertwine
In the places where they dance, leaving fears behind,
In the places where safety reigns,
We celebrate breaking these chains,

There, my children, come to me,
Where the water flows 'neath the flowering trees.

Those in pain and those with strife,
Those who've lost almost every part of life,
Those still fearful, those still starved,
Those who still hide their scars

All my children, come back to me
Where the water flows 'neath the flowering trees

In shaded groves where hope now blossoms anew,
In cities of sanctuary where Eithyr protects you,
In rivers that have run red with blood,

Where the outcasts live, though they're all loved

I call my children away, back to me,
To where the water flows 'neath the flowering trees,

There, they will gather, in their hordes,

Old friends or enemies, peasants or lords,
That which distanced them will mean nothing,
When they come to help kill the king.

So I call my children back to me,

Where the water flows, 'neath the flowering trees.