Valterra

CHAPTER THREE

A few leagues outside of Bolster City grew a vast forest called The Eastern Wilds. It was the oldest forest in the land and it reminded Faeron of his home. It was where he spent most of his time when on this side of Valterra. He felt comfort within its boundaries. The soaring evergreens parented the shaded shrubs which still held their pink and red blossoms even though Spring was coming to an end. Birds sang in the distance, critters stirred up the dried branches and mulch from winter's past.

Faeron lay in the brush, with Bolster City in close proximity, only a few leagues to the west. He usually only ventured close to human civilization when he sensed he was needed. As Warden of Humankind, it was his duty to intervene when he felt it was necessary. Though it had been nearly twenty years earlier since his last Call to Arms.

It was his own cumbersome need that had brought him to seek out the shelter of these particular trees. He never thought he would need the help of a human, much less a witch. He'd been keeping Valterra safe for generations, but there he hunkered, damaged and alone, knowing nothing in his power could help. He sensed her strong magic resonating from nearby, most likely inside the walls of Bolster City. He needed to make it to her before he succumbed to his wounds and it shamed him, even more so than his memories.

For months, his dreams of the Bringers had made him reflect on the countless lives he shed during the Great War.  It weighed heavily on his heart and left him feeling uneasy by day.

The Bringers were never fully at fault for what they had done or who they'd become. They were controlled through Dark measures, yet he had cut them down regardless. He tormented himself with the thought that if he could have just found the Fallen One and destroyed him, he would have brought them back to reality. Still, he had failed and it pained him to his core.

During his last Call, Faeron found himself off hunting to destroy the Fallen One in the Scourge. He had been certain he detected his essence coming from that desolate place. For days he searched every ruin, he explored every cavern he could find but he came up with nothing. 

When he finally felt his enemies' death, killed by another man's hand, he knew he had just wasted time and precious lives. He could have been in the cities, keeping people safe instead of off on some fruitless search.

Although the death of the tainted Primordial was a victory for humankind, being wrong about the Fallen One's whereabouts and not killing him was a heavy loss for Faeron. 

Now his dreams perplexed him and by the pain in his side, he knew they were on the verge of destroying him. At first, Faeron only dreamed of himself fighting the Bringers. Every night he relived their slaughter, saw each face as a life he ended and watched as their souls were drained - denied the Light.

Surprisingly, for the last fortnight the Bringers in his dreams began to metamorphosize into some other type of creature; living rotting humans with no souls, no flowing essence, no lifeblood running through their veins. He had heard stories of these abominations when he was a child, and again in his studies to become Warden, but he never thought he would actually encounter one, if only in his dreams.

The Soulless. The dead reborn.

Even the trees bellowed at his thought of them.

"I'll live," he mocked their lack of concern for the state he was in. He groaned and pressed on to his side to ease the throbbing. Once he let go the pain only worsened. It was the deepest of his wounds and it continued to weaken him. It bled through the honey wrap he had made and now through his shirt.

Night after night he fought them. He cut down hundreds of these Soulless in his dreams. His twin blades sliced them apart, swiftly and accurately, but they just kept coming. He escaped death time and time again and each morning he woke with a putrid stench up his nose, burning lungs and wounds that should not have been real. His bones ached, his muscles were tense and sore, and his cuts felt like his flesh sizzled. He finally succumbed to his need for help.

He had stayed camped out in the Wilds in hopes the witch would move on from Bolster so he could approach her without any prying eyes. It had been three days since he'd arrived and he couldn't wait any longer. The pain that crept into every crevice of his body was almost unbearable, even for him. He would make it there on foot that day, he just needed a few more moments of rest. He hoped that she was as gifted as she felt. It had been generations since feeling such promise from a human witch, and like his dreams, this haunted him.

Why had he not felt her before now?