Orias

Chapter 1 - Dreams are dreams

Shallirah, North Arman

"I may not be able to comeback, but don't think of it as a failure. " Said Ulda, kneeling so that his eyes and his sons are level.

"Father, please don't go." The boy said wiping his eyes, but tears kept on flowing like the leaking pail that his right hand was holding.

"Don't cry son, this is what we are destined to do. We exist only to fulfill our destiny." Ulda said this as he was stroking his son's black hair. It made him wonder again why his sons hair is as black as the night. His and his fathers hair are as white as snow like all the dark elves of the kingdom Arman. The boy's father stood and turned away from his crying son. He screamed but his father seemed oblivious of the boy's screaming. The boy's vision slowly gets obstracted and realized that it was his black hair rapidly growing and covering his eyes. His hair that's been a subject of ridicule of the entire kingdom. His hair being black while all the dark elves naturally has hair as white as snow. They were called dark elves because of the color of their skin. Varying shades on the darker side of purple. His was on the extreme lighter side of purple and his hair black. Blackness, enveloping the boy's vision as part of his hair now covering his entire face. Strands of it encircling his neck, suffocating him.

"Find me..."

A faint and barely audible voice calls out. Soft as a whisper yet it seemed loud enough like it was spoken just an inch away from his ear. The boy turns his head to the direction where he thinks the voice is coming from yet finding no one in sight. He closed his eyes as he was taught to do in the Wizards Academy of Ezker.

"Close your eyes, shut every senses but the ears and you'll be able to point your finger where the sound is coming from." He remembers his teacher Theros in one of their skills classes in Ezker. So he shut everything but his ears, now waiting for the voice to call out again. He had not learned this skill in the academy but this time he is decided to try, he must.

"Find me..."

He heard the voice again, now he is sure the voice is coming from the left of where he is facing. He didn't open his eyes yet.

"One more, and I will know where you are." He thought to himself.

"Everything but your ears, your sense of hearing." Remembering what his teacher Theros told him. His eyes are closed and when something makes a noise, he puts a mental picture of the direction of the source relative to where he is at.

Legend has it that Great Wizards are said to have the ability to hear anything from a rats footstep to the sound of its breathing a kilometer away from where he is standing. But that's just folklore, he thought. A kilometer is too far away from what he really needed right now.

He focused his mind just on his sense of hearing. Even held his breath fearing that this involuntary act will distract his concentration. The smell of the forest; the trees, the leaves, the damp ground, the pungent smell of a rotting animal somewhere, slowly fades until he smells nothing but the air. The cold breeze, kissing his cheeks eventually withers as if it seemed he's getting numb. Then he started feeling light as if a heavy load has been removed from him. Much like when a knight feels when heavy armor is slowly being taken off. He can't even feel his feet touching the ground anymore. And as if in queue, like a burst of fireworks his father always makes on feast day, he is surrounded by a golden dust representing everything that made a sound. The swaying of the leaves, the slightest movement of a tree dancing to the movement of the wind. Immovable objects such as the big boulder he saw with eyes open a while ago, does not emit sound but he knows its there, its form outlined by the things that made a sound around it.

"Find me..."

"There! I got you now". As soon as he hears the voice, an image of a hooded man, formed by streaks of light standing out by the brightness of the light as compared to its surroundings that he had earlier made a mental picture of, based on the sound it emits. With eyes still closed, he walked to the direction of the image of the man. Pushing aside what he thinks are leaves, vines hanging from branches of a huge Tu-og tree. Thirty paces and he will be face to face with the hooded man.