Sevensworn

XXVII. Eyes Alight

Ronan couldn't sleep. The dread he had begun to feel at the prospect of speaking to a room of angry all-powerful beings had caused his heart to start pounding. After two and a half hours of tossing and turning, Shivaroth had climbed down from his perch on the nearby windowsill and come to sit on the edge of Ronan's bed, abandoning the research he was doing by the light of the moon.

Ronan's eyes had opened, and he'd turned to face the god miserably. "I can't sleep."

"Then you are lucky that I am the god of dreams." Shivaroth had nothing but warmth in his eyes. "I will aid you for the night, if you wish."

"But your magic⁠—"

"You have a meeting to keep, and I have the power to get you there. What do you say?"

Ronan sighed. "Only if it won't hinder your ability to do more important magic in the coming days. I can't have you exhausting yourself over me, after all."

Shivaroth smiled softly, and ran a hand through the prince's hair. Ronan felt an immediate wave of exhaustion at the touch, and his eyelids fluttered.

"Ronan Aldrea," Shivaroth murmured, "I bless you with a deep and peaceful slumber."

He was out before he could feel Shivaroth's hand retract from his hair. His body was heavy, weighed down by the pull to sleep, but he could feel, faintly, that his mind was being called elsewhere.

The weight faded away. He felt something cool and solid beneath his bare feet. When he opened his eyes he was standing in front of a set of massive wooden doors with intricate, shifting silver adornments. Looking down at himself, he found that he was wearing a simple high-collared tunic and pants, but no shoes. It was always interesting to see what the dream realm thought was appropriate attire.

He reached out to push the doors open but they did so on their own before he even reached them, opening wide to reveal a massive citadel, ceilingless, with the night sky hanging above it seemingly close enough to touch if he jumped. A fountain was before him, simple and elegant, surrounded by willow trees similar to the ones in Serenvah. Past that was a smaller set of doors, these not sporting anything particularly gaudy, though he found himself drawn to them. His feet knew the way before his mind did and he let them lead, walking swiftly in the direction he was pulled toward with little hesitation.

There was nothing he could do but get this over with.

As he approached the door, he began to hear voices, two of which he recognized, three of which he did not.

All of the voices went silent when he opened the door and stepped through it, as if the air itself had left the room.

He stood in front of what was obviously a throne room⁠—seven massive seats of various elegance stood in a semi-circle before him, though the gods that were supposed to be upon them instead stood around a large war table strewn with documents and weapons that Ronan recognized from old myths.

He looked up from the table. The five members of the pantheon that remained in Feihjelm were staring at him with the same curiosity that he regarded them with. One of them, a shorter woman with dark skin and long white braids, stepped forward a moment later with a hand extended.

"Welcome to the Seven-Eyed Hall," she said, her voice even and vaguely familiar. She spoke in Hjelohk, which was mercifully familiar to him by that point. Beside her, Felhan moved to pull her hand down.

"Do not embrace the one meant to kill us," he hissed.

The goddess pulled her hand away, fixing Felhan with a steady glare. "I will do as I please, and you will remember your place." She crossed the room and Ronan moved forward hesitantly to meet her, bowing respectfully as the woman once again extended her hand. Felhan continued to protest.