The Rise: Eldunari

Chapter 33- Silence

Ava and Avarael's journey was pointless. They flew circles in the sky, facing a constant barrage of an external storm, and internal conflict.
I lost control.

I know.

What if we're banished.

Eragon-elda wouldn't leave us.

We exposed his weakness. I exposed him. I tormented him.

Your strength grows with each passing day. I have a feeling Eragon knew what would happen.

And yet he insisted that we spar.

He has his reasons, that, I am sure.

When do you think we can return back to the hold. You saw how Saphira reacted.

She was emotional, and rightfully so. But she will see sense. For now, enjoy the view, rest your mind.

Ava slept like she had never slept before. Mere seconds were enough to delve her into the Dreamworld. While Avarael battered gusts of wind and the shards of rain, Ava dreamt.

A soil landscape. Damp yet fresh from a night's rainstorm. One half of the forest bloomed, forming a timeless brush and canopy. It sprung with life and death, in equal proportions, as the world should be. For every species extinct by a predator, two more birthed into existence. The other half was burnt, charred and black. Smoke rose from the stumps of hundreds of trees, like chimneys during the darkest winter. There was no life, only the inevitable death that would rot the remains of the forest like a virus. The cries of hundreds of thousands of organisms wailed. n this microcosm, both sides battled for supremacy and dominance.

Her dream shifted.

Darkness. Ethereal and ephemeral. A swirling cloud of black tainting a white surface of snow. The darkness was formless, shapeless, non-existent but existing. The darkness in the centre of the snow was surrounded by blotches of red, blue, orange and purple. And at the centre of the carnage was a girl, no older than five. Her jet black hair was singed from fire. Her eyes were of two colours- brown and blue. Tears streamed down her face. She had witnessed death. The tears stopped. her face hardened. The darkness swelled until it was even in width and breadth as the snow. Then greater. Her hands became bloody. She wiped and wiped but the blood rushed endlessly. Blood on her hands. The blood irritated her. She buried her hands in the wet snow, and pulled out. Snow stained blood. The girl cried in anger and frustration and then:
Child. A voice reverberated in the darkness.
My child. Let the blood flow.
The girl recognised the voice. It reminded her of a time of comfort. Of a beach, with calm waters brushing against the shore. Of family, not by blood but by action. The girl never trusted such emotions.
The darkness rose to consume her. To protect her from this foreign force.
The voice continued to warm her.
Let me in.
Immediately the darkness parted. The girl, through the gaps and spaces between her fingers, spotted a man. He had blonde hair, dark blue eyes. His face had seen wars, and death. His hands were calloused from the constant tight grip of a sword. Yet, he possessed and unusual kindness and gentleness the girl was unaccustomed to. Slowly yet surely, the man reached into the darkness. His hands began to ribbon, cut nothing. The girl felt the pain. Yet he continued forward, offering her his hand.