Nearby, a father grabbed his son, and yanked him into a building, while a mother dragged her two daughters down an alley, dodging the blossoming red flowers sprouting from the walls. A small boy ran past, frantically shifting his eyes in a search for an escape. He tripped over a root, and fell face first to the ground, unable to even utter a cry before a wave of moss encased him.
Cyrus fought to get back to his feet, but his strength was nearly gone. Groaning, he collapsed into the writhing roots as his hearing faded, and the world darkened. The last thing he saw through the spreading grass and moss was the gleaming eyes of a stranger, concealed by a dark cloak, and the shadows of a distant alley.
Then, as the last bits of light faded, a soft voice whispered in his ear, like a summer breeze.
'Find the… Altier…'
Cyrus's eyes snapped open, his head pounding as he jolted up. He sat on a soft cot, with a wool blanket draped over his legs, in an unfamiliar room. Blue and gold tapestries hung from the walls, depicting vast seas, and foreign deserts, while a bowl of water and rags rested on the nightstand beside his bed. Sunlight streamed in through the window, overlooking a small forest, which grew in the middle of a kingdom.
He stiffened, eyes darting around. The walls were made from chiseled stone, lined with smooth bookshelves, and a cotton rug stretched across the wooden floor. His cloak hung from a hook beside the door, and his boots were set beneath.
'Where am I?'
Cyrus slowly swung his legs off the bed, wincing as it creaked. His legs wobbled as he stood, and crept to the window. Clutching the windowsill, he scanned the land outside, hoping to spot anything familiar. To his surprise, the forest engulfed the kingdom, with trees growing through houses, while vines and ivy clung to the walls. Cyrus studied the strange view with a furrowed brow. It took him a moment to realize it was still Galeden, when the memories of what happened flooded his mind.
'Gods above… Did I do that?' Cyrus staggered back, the crimson rug on the floor spinning beneath his feet. As the walls and window blurred together, the screams of the people echoed in his ear, horrid and piercing.
"It seems you've woken." A gravelly voice rumbled through the room, and Cyrus whirled around. An old man stood in the doorway, towering above him. His blue tunic hugged his broad shoulders, while a dagger was strapped to the waist of his black trousers. He observed Cyrus, his misty grey eyes swirling with curiosity. Frowning, he tugged at the thick white beard knotted around his chin.
"Who- who are you?" Cyrus asked. His eyes flickered to the open hall behind the man, decorated with cluttered desks, and sleek bookcases tall enough to reach the ceiling. "Where am I? Why did you bring me here?"
The old man held up his hand. "One question at a time, if you don't mind. I'm a bit old, you see, and it takes me a moment to think. Firstly, my name is Myrel, and you're in my home. I wasn't the one who brought you here, but my apprentice, and I believe you know why he brought you here. Now then, a question for you… How do you feel?"
Cyrus tensed. "I'm not certain what you mean. I feel fine."
"Really? Considering the amount of magic you used, I'm surprised your sanity remains intact. Interesting…" Myrel said.
"What do you mean? I've never used magic before," Cyrus said. He eyed the doorway, measuring the distance. There was at least a meter between the old man and the opening. 'If I ran for it, I'm certain I could make it.'
"You don't need to worry. I only wish to speak," Myrel said. He held open his hands, and stepped to the side. "You can leave if you wish, but I'm afraid it would be a bit difficult to escape the kingdom. Would you care to hear what I have to say first?"
Cyrus slowly nodded, and Myrel led the way to a pair of cushioned seats, situated near a smoldering fireplace. A better look around the room revealed six stone pillars, three on either side of the room, with a grand window set in the middle. A sleek series of bookshelves lined the walls, while an archway stood against the far wall, its depths hidden in the shadows.
Cyrus peered into the darkness for a moment, half expecting guards to come rushing out, before glancing around. To his left, a set of stairs curved down into a dining room and kitchen, neatly adorned by a small table, and a pantry filled with food. Sacks of onions and potatoes hung from hooks, while jars of flour and sugar rested on the counter.
A second fireplace nestled into the wall there, beside which Cyrus spotted a thick wooden door. Dirt cluttered the floor around it, and a small alcove was set to the side, filled with boots, coats, and packs. Myrel cleared his throat, and settled into one of the seats.
"All the gates have been shut, each with a garrison of knights to guard them. I'd recommend trying to find a place to hide for a few days before leaving," Myrel said. He gestured towards the other seat. "I'm willing to provide such a place, as long as you answer my questions."
Cyrus stared at the door for a moment longer, then took a deep breath and sat down. Myrel smiled, and leaned back against the cushions, taking his time to watch Cyrus. As the minutes passed, Cyrus rubbed his hands together, and stared at the floor. Finally, he looked up.
"Why did you save me?" Cyrus asked, gripping the armrest. "You spoke of magic, but I thought it was forbidden. If anyone finds out, you'll be thrown into the dungeon, if not worse."
"You don't need to worry. You're not the only one with a connection to the aetherial realm," Myrel said. He waved his hand towards the fireplace. "Serifel, denete.'
Cyrus jumped as the smoldering coals burst into flames, which whirled around the fireplace before fading away. He stared at the glowing embers, then glanced back at Myrel. "You're a warlock?"