Chapter 18: Dreams of Home

Mykil lay there, totally comatose, upon a dark slab of rock in a small room several miles beneath the mysterious black thing that had teleported him here. How his captor got the energies to power such a device, let alone erect it, are beyond knowing. But if two things are for certain, they are that the object is Ancient in origin, and that the captor is not native to the world the Mykil found himself trapped in so many months ago. And the captor is here He walks in, wearing a drab brown cloak; torn at the edges to make him look something like a common rogue, but in actuality he is much more. He is the Ancient who died once at Mykils own hand. He is the Ancient whose essence, though recovered and instilled into a body, was badly damaged by the ferocity of Mykils onslaught so many years ago and must now wear a protective plate over it forever. He is the Ancient who blew up the Eldanasarian Resistance HQ, which was led by Mykils father himself, Lord Llanos of the House Belthasar. He is the Ancient who was trapped in the same nexus with Mykil and the Ancient that, with Mykil, entered this world and he is the Ancient that swore vengeance on him. He is Marx. He stands here now, ready to torture and, eventually, kill his sworn enemy. The room howled as a gust of wind from an unknown source blew. Its power, in actuality fueled by the cold within the Ancient, sent icy needles through the skin and soul of the young prince that now lay upon the table. Shivering, Mykil of the House Belthasar moaned as images of times months past came to his dreams. Dreams of the last few weeks before the cataclysm that hurtled him into the nexus and, from there, here to Nu. Marx, watching the young prince shiver on the table and moan in pain from the images that now pervaded his dreams, smiled with glee; his orange eyes glistening and clearly showing in the darkness of the room. Then, Marxs mouth parted to utter a slight snicker, then a muffled cackle, then a slight chuckle, and then a bout of roaring laughter at his imminent success. Then Marx lowered his eyes, spread his hands, and started to chant the words num ilx vag leth over and over again. His voice started at its normal tone, fairly high pitched, like that of a joker, but as he continued, his voice grew deeper and deeper, until it was a booming sound within the room. As his voice, and the trance, grew deeper, the wind grew colder and colder, fueling Mykils discomfort as he still lay asleep, and trapped, on the table. Finally, the wind died down, and both Mykil and Marx were frozen in place while the body of Marx continued to chant. The presence of Marx, however, was insinuating itself into Mykils dreams and preparing to deal the final blow.

-Within The Dreams

-Mykil awoke, feeling quite bewildered, in his throne on his fathers flag airship, The Grey Dragon. His father, Llanos, was nudging him to wake up and see the sight that now presented itself to the command and crew of the ship. Wake up boy, you have to see this! Mykil, still bewildered, stood up faster than he ever had before upon seeing a grey wing swiftly glide past the ship through the window of the room. Momentarily forgetting his bewilderment, he ran out to admire the dragon and was awed by what he saw. The dragon that now flew alongside the ship on the port side was none other than a Great Grey Dragon of the kind only found in the mountains of his fathers very own High Mountain Province. The Belthasar Crest, which is a Great Grey Dragon flying over a scarlet red sky, was nothing compared to the sight that now presented itself. What he now saw was something that few saw in a single lifetime. But before he could soak in enough of this sight to fully describe what he had seen, the dragon was gone, and the crew back to work. Mykil ran to the other side of the boat to see if the dragon had flown to the other side, but was disappointed to see nothing but the land below. Mykil returned to his room to digest a sight that he would never see againever. And then the bewilderment returned. Mykil stopped dead in his tracks, his black cape blowing about his black boots and grey tunic with the Belthasar crest emblazoned on the front. It was military protective garb, true, and not necessary on a pleasure cruise such as this, but this was wartime and, although Mykil was uncomfortable in it, he wore it. But that was not the matter at hand. The feeling that now hit him was that of vague recollection, but what he was recalling did not make any sense. Somehow, someway, he remembered how this very day would normally play out. After seeing the dragon was gone, he would return to his quarters, crestfallen, and hope to see it again someday. But after that, the recollection gets blurry. He remembers something about fire but is unsure. He reaches to his hip and grabs the handle of the flute dagger that he had found so many years ago. He had killed to get it, and it had been in his possession for a long time, but it felt different now. It felt empty, hollow, and cold. Although that was the feeling he expected, it didnt feel quite right. He stood on the deck for a moment, mulling over these thoughts, and then continued to walk to his quarters. Somewhere along that walk he dismissed the thoughts and recollections, but the bewilderment remained. He ignored it and, without hesitation, returned to his quarters, crestfallen, and hoped to see the dragon again someday.

OOC: Well, the AP tests are over and, as you can see, I am alive and well. In any case, although some of you might remember me doing something similar to this chapter before, it will be different this time. In any event, I might disappear into the mists over the coming weeks to prepare for the June SAT. In any case, cya around.