The Chronicles of Nir

22 | Gifts From the Past

Aeslin dreamed.

Poisonous black blood oozed from the once verdant land of Springwood. The ground—now cracked, dry, and dead—screamed in anguish as tremors tore the land asunder.

An anti-luminescent spiral of energy split the heavens, blotting out the stars in the sky.

Tendrils of sentient smoke with malevolent intent rotated like a storm, spreading like mist blown across the bay on a freezing night.

In the eye of the storm at the center of the column rose a figure: naked, deformed, and terrifying, with leathery, bone-spiked wings four times the span of his body. Soulless voids gazed upon the land, starving to devour all life.

The elven prison, visible only to those with the Sight, shimmered with gold and white light. Green elemental magic encased the holy barrier—the Aboreons' life-aether lovingly sacrificed to contain the eldritch god.

Most notably, a bioluminescent thread of green and purple magic wove through the barrier, reinforcing the underlying spell.

Following the thread, Aeslin noted it wasn't confined to the barrier, but spread across the land in a complex pattern. As she watched, the magic sank into the land, purifying everything it touched.

Water ran clear; seeds sprouted and became grass, fronds, and great trees. A fresh wind blew in from the west, carrying away the clouds, and for the first time in recent memory, the sun shone through, bright and clear.

Aeslin's heart lifted with the gloom. In the northern distance, the snow-capped peaks stood proud against a blue sky, while hawks wheeled high above a green plain.

Life had returned to Springwood.

Then, from the west, a chill wind replaced the fresh breeze, carrying the scent of death. Aeslin shivered and turned her dream-gaze on the source, struck by a spear of dread.

A vast dark presence, slow but unstoppable, slouched towards her across the plain.

Death spewed from its maw like poisoned blood, killing everything in its path. The greenery withered to dust; the birds fell from the sky, and the gloom returned with redoubled intensity.

In the fading light, Aeslin glimpsed two figures upon the cliff above the sea, one holding the other in its arms as both sank to their knees.

She couldn't recognize them at such a distance, but fear twisted her gut. She moved forward, slowed by an invisible force, as if trying to run through waist-high water. Just as she recognized the pair and cried out to them, full darkness descended like a crushing cloud of ash.

Aeslin bolted upright in bed, heart pounding. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead and shoulders. Goosebumps dotted her flesh.

A shift in weight followed a soft groan, as Maisie sat up as well. Scooting behind the queen, she swept Aeslin's hair off her shoulder and kissed her neck. "Are ye well, my dear?"

Aeslin turned, lacing their fingers together, and kissed the maid's supple mouth.

"Yes," she whispered, shutting her eyes and resting her heated brow against Maisie's cool skin. "Yes, I am well. 'Twas only a dream."

Maisie returned the queen's soft kisses and trailed her hands over the elf-woman's smooth skin.

"Would you like to talk about it? Or would you rather I distract you another way?"