The Eye of His Dark Majesty

Price of Love

Visitors drifted in and out of my room as the afternoon stretched on, each new face both a comfort and a reminder of just how fragile everything had become. Ereclion arrived first, his expression stern but his eyes betraying worry he'd never put into words. Isildur came next, his easy presence and quiet jokes easing some of the tension knotting my chest. Even the Queen herself appeared briefly, her composed face softened by concern. But Halbrand... Halbrand never returned.

As the hours passed, my strength returned, and with it came an insistent urge to move. The wound at my side was stitched tight, bound with a clean, firm bandage that held my body's pieces together. The pain had dulled to a manageable throb, and my head felt clearer than it had all day. With the room empty at last, I slid to the edge of the bed, feeling the cool stone floor steady me as I balanced, half-dressed and determined.

I was fastening my tunic, my fingers fumbling over the knot, when I heard it—a deep, low rumble that vibrated from the floor up into my bones. I stopped, uncertain if it was real or if the haze of exhaustion was playing tricks on my mind. But the rumbling grew, rolling in waves that grew stronger with every heartbeat. The air itself felt suddenly thick, charged, and through the thin walls, I could sense a shift in the very atmosphere.

My heart raced as I braced myself, taking another step toward the door, my bare feet tingling against the trembling ground. Outside, the usual sounds of village life had fallen eerily silent. The voices, laughter, and hammering from the blacksmith's shop were gone, replaced by an unnerving stillness.

Then it came, crashing down like the roar of a storm. The ground shuddered, more intense now, and I took an unsteady breath, realizing this was no trick of the mind. I pulled the door open and stepped outside, half-dressed and uncaring, drawn by a sense of urgency that overpowered all else.

The sight stopped me cold. Racing toward us, across the horizon, was an enormous, dark cloud, thick and unnatural, twisting and churning as if alive. It stretched across the sky in a relentless wall of shadow and ash, swallowing the bright afternoon light as it barreled forward. The edges glowed an angry red, pulsing like veins, as bits of ember and soot flared within, casting a fiery glow beneath the dark mass.

It was moving quickly—too quickly. The air turned acrid, filling my lungs with the metallic tang of smoke and sulfur, and as I inhaled, my stomach clenched with an instinctive fear. All around me, villagers stood motionless, caught in the same horrified trance, watching the nightmare unfold. Children were gathered close to their mothers, elders grasping at each other with hushed murmurs of prayer as ash began to drift down, dusting the ground like a deadly, gray snowfall.

The darkness swallowed more of the sky with each passing second, its presence oppressive, inevitable. I clutched my side, barely feeling the sting of the wound, and took another step forward, transfixed by the relentless march of the shadow. It felt as though the world itself was holding its breath, the light dimming as the cloud drew closer, rushing toward us like the embodiment of dread itself.

I searched the crowd of people frantically, hoping to recognize a familiar face. In the distance I saw a bundle of golden hair staring up at the abyss approaching. While others ran and took cover she stood facing the enemy head on accepting a fate no one prepared for.

And in that moment, I knew we couldn't outrun it.

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I awoke with a gasp, lungs burning as I choked on the acrid smoke that filled the air. It clawed at my throat, each breath a battle against the stinging haze that enveloped me. Blinking away the remnants of darkness, the world came into a blurred, nightmarish focus.