Lasting Repercussions

Chapter 3

Light and warmth. Even in the heavy stupor of his unconscious mind, Jim felt the sweet embrace of warmth.

It comforted him, and consoled him with its alien and yet oddly familiar sensation. It reminded him of the rare days when temperatures in Arcadia dropped below fifty degrees and he and his mother curled up beneath his grandmother's old quilt; of rainy afternoons spent playing video games in Toby's cozy attic-bedroom; of light radiating on his cheeks as he, Toby, Claire, and Blinky had stood atop Arcadia Ridge, enjoying Blinky's first day in the sun.

That was the day he had met Angor Rot.

Jim flinched as his sanctuary was pierced by a sudden chill, the light before his eyes tarnished with droplets of inky black.

They had started to search for the Triumbric Stones. He had become the prey of Angor Rot. The dark splotches grew, their insidious stains gaining momentum. Jim shivered as the chill around him deepened to a freezing cold.

Mom had gotten hurt. And little gnome Chompsky had returned from his expedition, bearing Gunmar's ultimatum. And Enrique... And Aaarrrgh...

He saw nothing now, everything swallowed into the black jaws of shadow.

It was his fault. It was his responsibility as the Trollhunter to protect them all and he had failed. He hadn't been able to protect them... It was his fault... It was all his fault-

A sudden gust of air swept across his face. It brought with it an oddly fresh aroma -grass, pollen, and leaf mold. It was so refreshing and clean and Jim feld nearly overcome with the force with which it washed over him, striking him as incredibly out of place within the darkness in which he was suspended.

Wait, not suspended. Standing.

And not in darkness.

Light blossomed before his eyes and he found ground beneath his feet. Rays of morning sunshine seeped through a leafy canopy now over his head, not enough to break the canvas of shade before him, but enough that its lime-tinted brightness felt offensive to his eye. In fact, everything seemed painfully bright, like the burn of lights after being suddenly turned on in a long-darkened room, sending retinas and sclera scrambling to focus and adjust. He tried to raise a hand and block out the excess input. He could feel the labored breath in his chest and the drag of his feet against dirt and grass.

His eyes still hadn't adjusted to the light, and so he stumbled forward in half-vision, low-hanging tree branches scratching at his face. Oddly enough, they did not hurt, but only scraped harmlessly against his head, unfelt. How strange, Jim thought continuing on, that the scratches of brambles did no harm when the soft glow of morning light had such an effect upon him. What was going on?

He felt himself halt as he reached the bank of a stream. It flowed happily in its winding path, covered by the foliage of more trees which sprouted from its edges. Its waters rushed over rocks and upstream rapids with a playful whisper of bubbles and foam before draining into the pool, where they swirled in dark, lazy circles before Jim. He remained where he stood, and leaned forward over the stream. The scent of growing waterside vegetation, along with mud, minerals, and river-musk filled his nostrils, refreshing despite its sudden and surprising strength.

As he sniffed, a small trout leapt from the spring, sending cold water spitting into Jim's face. He hastily shook the spray from his head before thrusting a hand down into the water with surprising speed, intent to catch the pesky little thing. Of course, he only managed to stir up aggravated ripples, as the fish darted into the cloud of mud at the water's bottom and disappeared from view. With an annoyed huff he removed his hand and ran eyes over the water, watching for any spark of motion. But, as he scanned the pool, something far more peculiar caught his eye.