The Prophecy

The undergrounds of Kahr-O-Tirr | the intrusion

Within this strange lethargic sleep which took her, Half Moon felt a presence above her. She wanted to open her eyes, but already she felt pulled out of the rock cavity without being able to put up any resistance. The fresh air, which circulated through the large room through an air vent in the side walls, hit her face hard. Her eyes rolled, her eyelids shivered and opened painfully. Then, suddenly, as she relaxed, she pulled herself out of the foreign hands that were holding her back and jumped to the side. Her energy immediately dissipated and she felt her legs fail. In a flash, the dark figure had grabbed her once again, a firm hand placed over her mouth, smothering her.

_ Not a sound, not a word, or we are both lost, the figure murmured.

Half Moon looked at this being with a look that seemed to ask whether he was a friend or an enemy.

_ Neither, he replied, apparently understanding her silent question.

And without giving her time to react, he rushed into a transversal corridor, taking her with him. He held her firmly against him, advancing in measured steps through the narrow, wet tunnel. At first, she had tried to get out of his grip, but the pressure he was exerting on her was proportional to the pressure Half Moon was developing to escape, so she had finally let herself be led.

They walked silently along the dark corridors in which the distorted cries of the disheveled grey bats echoed. An icy shiver had taken hold of Half Moon and each step the man made her take increased her discomfort. She stopped for a moment, her hand resting on her chest, holding her beating heart. The man thought that she was rebelling again and pulled her abruptly towards him, but Half Moon stumbled, her eyes became blurred as she fell, and only a reflex allowed her to hold onto the man's coat. He boldly lifted her up and supported her, looking attentively at Half Moon's face and noticed with amazement her pallor. He discerned the shivers that ran through her regularly and the irregular beating of her heart. For a moment, as fast as lightning strikes the earth in a violent storm, he had the sensation of his own heart beating wildly, following the same rhythm as that of his prisoner. He didn't want to give in to his impressions until he was submerged. He recalled to his memory the danger he knew was real, concrete and close, forcing him into action. Holding Half Moon more strongly to the point he was almost lifting her up, he progressed towards the end of the tunnel: the exit, towards which his spirit was tending, was close. The light, white, raw, was already striking his eyes.

The exit.

A black mass suddenly obstructed the entrance. At first blurry, it became clear that it was the silhouette of two trolls in togas. The man threw himself backwards sharply dragging Half Moon with him. She was no longer putting up any resistance and seemed to be absent. The man stumbled against the wet and slag-covered wall of the corridor.

The spirit of the man was burning. Something had to be done, the two trolls were approaching. They were going to be discovered and all his efforts reduced to nothing, in a ridiculous instant. He sank even deeper into the wet wall and felt the scoria welcome him and embrace him. Half Moon still did not move, abandoned as if dazed, unaware of what was happening before her eyes. The trolls were only about twenty steps away. One of them had stopped.

_ Did you hear?

_ What? Your ghost stories again?!

_ No, no... respiration, pulse, fear...

The troll looked around him, along the tunnel, seemingly scanning the darkness. The silence was heavy, sometimes disturbed by the muffled rustle of the bats' wings and the heady rhythm of the drops of condensation falling from the nearby vault. Slowly the troll turned on itself, his body following the orientation of his eyes as if to better concentrate. His whole being was a receiver. He stopped suddenly in front of them.