The Lost Voices (OLD VERSION - New Version to Come)

CHAPTER 13... BROTHER (PART 1)

FILE 15,312,960 (-1,036,800): Puzzles

8-21-1620 A.R.

Location: The Silent Mountains, Terrarin 

The moonlight reached through the night sky, draping Ithrayel and his room in a single beam of pale gold. Beyond the window frame, cascades of snow kept tumbling and twisting, but the moon's gaze was barely obstructed. In his small hotel room, he sat at the edge of the bed and leaned forward as he sipped on some water.

Every snowy whirlwind quickly reminded him of where he was. A beautiful, cylindrical lodge built against an array of silent rocks. No howling tunes rode the gales that pushed against the glass, only the quiet breath of winter. Behind him, out the door, and down the spiraling stairwell, he could still hear the patrons drinking and chatting. 

It was almost comforting, knowing that people were nearby, knowing that life still persisted in places like this. 

After another drink, Ithrayel mulled over the last few hours. He'd traveled with another caravan to reach Westin's Barrel lodge and had been able to blend in with the rougher crowds. Meeting Retraenon afterward was a welcome surprise. The man was clearly a member of The Watcher's Guild, what with the pin and soft accent, but he was refreshingly open. Not many people who did things like him were that approachable, at least not genuinely.

Ithrayel was accustomed to hitting it off with people, but he rarely cared enough to make something of it. Maybe he would here, if they could help each other out. He wasn't sure what The Watcher's Guild could want with him–other than Broker information–or what Raam could need of Retraenon–other than some extra muscle. He shrugged and took another drink. 

The more people to help dismantle the Regime, the better.

Then Ithrayel gradually stood and placed his bare hand against the glass. Closer now, the cold seeped through the window and through his bare chest, sobering him up. As his breath steamed up the frosted window, his thoughts trailed to Tenfadin and their stories. In raw honesty, their meeting couldn't truly leave his mind. It was like seeing a friend for the first time in ages and he wondered if he'd ever felt that way before.

With little of his water left, Ithrayel set it aside for a cigarette. Leaning one arm against the window frame, he grabbed his lighter and brought it near his lips. After a few unsuccessful clicks, the small flame came to life and he soon breathed in the empty heat.

Each puff made him think longer and deeper about the night. Tenfadin's stories brought him back to being a kid on the street who heard myths about heroes, legends of gods, and fables about people. It wasn't religious or even spiritual to him, it was just fun. 

It was a time when hearing mysteries didn't frustrate him. When he didn't need all the answers. How could a stranger bring that out of him? He wasn't usually the kind to consider the idea of the right person at the right time, but not much else came to mind.

He couldn't even bother himself enough to think back to the last time he sang with someone before tonight. Would old friends do that to him? Help him be okay with not knowing? Or would they just make it worse? Unable to answer his own question, Ithrayel's thoughts brought him back to an old tradition.

As the smoke drifted from his mouth and fogged up the glass again, he saw himself with his brother, sister, and mother. They were putting a puzzle together in an old cellar. Their mom would always complete the border first so they could get started. He used to argue, like kids do, that it wasn't fair. To him, back then, she got to do the easiest part.

Grabbing the ash tray from the window sill, he scoffed at himself. He was such a moron. Ella would tease him and say that mom got to do whatever she wanted because she was the boss. Ithrayel would sometimes fire back, but their mom ended the bickering even faster than usual when it was time for those puzzles.