The rain was cold.
Freezing, even.
It cascaded down onto Quies' soft skin. He could feel every single droplet. They fell down, down on his hair. They glided down his arms, off his fingers. They caressed his bruised skin, soothing it with their slick touch. There were so many of them.
It made him feel small.
Small and insignificant. Like nothing.
Formless, free, unbound.
His mind aching, he finally released the strain that was his mantra. He had been holding it for over two minutes—longer than last time. He could feel the space in his mind clearing. Finally, his thoughts could finally roam once more. As he did, his crimson blade dissipated, the blood spattering below him. Soon enough, the rain would wash away its traces, too.
The blood on the ground was sickening. He could smell the foul stench of hard metal as the air rose from beneath.
Ah, but the rain.
The rain. Yes, focus on the rain. He could hear it so clearly.
He closed his eyes and listened. Without his sight, he freed up even more space in his mind. Free space where his thoughts could roam. Devoid of his primary sense, Quies listened.
The rain. He could hear it land. Some landed on the field of grass he no longer saw. Some landed on the stone face off the tall spire. The culminating sound of individual droplets combining together to form the soothing whispers he could hear. It was calming.
Quies shut his eyes tighter. He savored the feeling, the tranquility of the scene around him despite having his eyes closed. Individual blades of grass swayed in the breeze of night, dancing in tandem with one another. The rain… Well, he had thought a lot about the rain already. Far off in the distance, he could imagine the dim glow of Etris lamps, their faint light barely reaching him past the torrent of rain and fog.
It was a lie.
'Face it.'
He opened his eyes.
Despite the darkness, he could still see. His eyes saw everything. They saw the products of his actions laying there, right in front of him. The aftermath from his own hands.
Bloodied and dead.
There in front, not more than two paces ahead, was the body of a beheaded man. There laid a mother's son, whose head had been severed and now rested on the grass beside it. Quies could see the white of his spine, the blood having already been washed away by the rain.
Quies stared into the dead man's eyes. They trembled no more, for they were now lifeless and dull—A calm stare peering into nothingness. The cut on his cheek bled no more, his skin was now pale. There was no blood left.
Quies wiped the rain off his face.
He wiped the tears.
He wiped the blood.
Quies had just killed a man. An innocent man.
And he felt proud. So damn proud.
It felt so wrong, yet, the thrill of triumph… It was overwhelmingly exhilarating. He couldn't help but let a sly smile creep onto his face.
This man… This wretch had done so much to Quies. All of his injuries—his wounds, his bruises, his fragmented bones, his sanity had been imposed upon him by this man. All of his suffering, pain both dull and sharp, was because of this damn wretch.
But that all meant nothing.
His death meant nothing.
'I still won.'
Without the blade, he stood only on his healthy leg. His femur was still broken, the pain only fueling that sense of utter domination.
Quies stared hard at the fallen man once more. But there was something… something was off.
He looked behind the spear guard.
'The sword guard…'
Suddenly, a huge gust of gale rushed past his side, nearly knocking him off balance.
'Shit!'
He was behind him.
Quies instinctively turned to face his back. However, a sharp pain jolted through the right side of his body as he did. His injuries were too grave.
There was nothing he could do. He couldn't dodge—one of his legs was broken. He couldn't block it either, since his sword was sent flying away when he got hit by the spear guard's kick.
The rain seemed to fall slower. The grass froze in hesitation.
He could smell it—the sweet smell of doom. It was intoxicating.
He could see a flash of movement in his periphery.
He could hear the sound of metal, clear and pierc-
"Smite."
Crash
Deafening thunder struck behind him. The light was blinding. Quies stumbled and fell backwards, gritting his teeth.
Lightning…
Thundercall…
'Valerie…'
The blinding light was only momentary, the deafening sound dissipated as fast as it appeared. As the dust settled, Quies could process what had just happened.
Looking behind where he was just a second ago, there was a small circle of black, charred grass. Atop it was a small pile of ash, smoke rising from it despite the torrent of rain.
It was safe to say that the sword guard was completely and utterly incinerated.
"Quies."
He turned towards the voice.
He saw Valerie, now sitting upright. Her hair looked disheveled, but her armor was utterly untouched except for a few scratches here and there. She looked around, observing what had happened while she was knocked out.
She could see the beheaded body of the spear guard, and his head which lay just a few paces in front of her.
Quies studied her expression, expecting her to show confusion or anger towards him. He stared at her glowing amber eyes.
But there was no pressure. They were dull—as if a wave of fear had washed over her.
Pure and utter fear.
Her words wavered as she spoke hoarsely.
"Quies… w-we need to go."
***
Two structures bridged the gap across two fissures. The rock face was completely vertical, dropping down all the way to the lightless ocean.
They led to a gate.
Red and imposing, it looked utterly mighty if it stood alone. However, it wasn't alone. It stood shorter than giant cliffs of stone which shielded whatever structure was within. Behind the gate and nestled in between the rock formations, half a thousand steps were carved onto the rough rock of Etris, ascending upwards and splitting at a fork.
And at the end of the path stood a palace.
Shrouded in darkness and fog, it was practically hidden from the town below. Its red terracotta shingles shed the torrent of raindrops, lanterns lit the dim gardens that decorated the outside. It sat there, protected by the stone cliffs and fissures of the island.
Within its light tan walls, warm lights illuminated the beautifully varnished hardwood floors. It was organized less like a palace, and more like a mansion.
There lay the lord. The lord regent. The Fourth Prophet of the Ministry, Zi'eer.
His white hair cascaded down the raw black rock of a throne. Coral that seemed to have been extracted from the bellows of the depths spread across its back and erupted around where he sat. A jet-black blindfold covered his all seeing emerald eyes.
"How peculiar…"
He peered through the corporeal surface of his blindfold. It was useless.
"Quies Sokolof—son of that traitor, forbidden spawn of the second prophet…
"I thought he would be dead by now. I had assumed so once my mental veil on him disappeared. It seems that… that person wasn't thorough enough. People make mistakes, I guess."
He shifted slightly.
"He intrigues me, though. Attaining bloodrend without the mentorship of the second prophet… Once I tell him about this, I'm sure his interest will be piqued too.
"Pathetic. Both him and that felinor black diver. That visionshaper annoys me. Conjuring up illusions, blinding herself from the truth. Ah, but in the end, I revealed the truth—my truth— to her anyway."
The room was silent.
"I could care less if they found out my 'truth'. What would they even do with that information?"
He chuckled, a vindictive smile creeping onto his face.
"I'll drown them anyway. Sink them to the depths along with this damn city. Etris shall suffer. Etris shall fall. Etris shall drown.
"Then, maybe, will the gods below listen."