Chapter 89

Standing Dreams

Sylas paused abruptly, his feet rooting to the ground. Just yesterday, the room was empty--now, however, there sat the Prince, his legs covered with a blanket, gaze focused out the window, nibbling away at some grapes. Sighing, Sylas gritted his teeth and pushed down the surge of emotions before approaching, pouring himself a cup of wine, and sitting opposite Valen.

Neither of the two spoke for a little while, both seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Almost two weeks had gone by, and this was the first time Sylas had seen the young boy outside the wing of the wounded. Though still appearing haggard around the edges, the young Prince maintained his handsomeness, even enriched it--morbid though it may sound--by adding a tinge of melancholy.

“... I’ve heard you’ve been burning through the castle’s wine reserves,” Valen was the one to break the silence, looking away from the window and toward Sylas.

“What can I say?” Sylas said. “Wine... understands me.”

“I’ve known many men that were understood by wine and other manner of booze,” Valen said. “And all of them had one of two things in common: they were bitter, dissatisfied, ultimately petty folk who saw injustice everywhere.”

“...”

“Or... they were broken,” the Prince added. “Men beaten by life, looking for any manner of reprieve they could find. Which of the two are you?”

“... just an alcoholic,” Sylas flashed a smile. “I’m afraid.”

“Everybody avoids it.”

“H-huh?”

“Looking at my legs,” Valen said. “They seem to think that if they just keep looking into my eyes... I will somehow forget I’ve become a cripple.”

“...”

“I hate it.”

“... aren’t you angry?” Sylas quizzed.

“Angry? I am,” Valen nodded, though his voice lacked the manner of fumes that made such a statement believable. “I will never walk again. Of course... I’m angry. Sometimes, in the morning, when I’m still half-asleep... it’s almost as though I can feel them again.”

“...”

“Just if I reached out, just reach out a bit... I’d walk again. They’re there, like phantoms. But then I awake. And they’re gone. Leaving behind a ghastly, hollow sensation. And I feel it... anger consuming me. The first few days, Master had to feed me wollyseeds each time I woke up.”

“...”

“Why me? I’d wonder,” the young Prince continued, a bitter smile emerging on his face. “Why me? All my life, I’ve tried to be good. Decent, at the very least. I didn’t steal. I didn’t kill. And though my conscience is far from clean, I never thought... I deserved this.”

“You didn’t,” Sylas added.

“... when I was a boy,” Valen said. “One of my uncles, Aydeen, used to take me on hunts. Unlike my Father and his lot, the uncle had given up on his royal blessings a long, long, long time ago. He spent his days drinking, indulging in women, and hunting game. I loved spending time with him, back then. In the Palace, all I would ever be told was ‘don’t run’, ‘be proper’, ‘you look dirty’. But, when I was outside with him... I was free. He’d take me to the forests and fields and let me run till my lungs would collapse. And though I always treasured those memories, I also always thought I’d have my freedom one day once again--freedom to run and hunt and drink just like my uncle did.”

“... what happened to him?” Sylas asked.

“He drank himself to an early grave, I reckon,” Valen replied. “Fell sick one day, and died the next. Didn’t seem to bother him. Never in my life have I seen another man smile so broadly in the face of death.”

“Sounds like a passionate man.”

“He was a fool,” Valen chuckled. “But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from him and many other fools in my life... it is that it’s precisely those fools who enjoy life the most. But I didn’t want to be a fool. That’s why, when you came into my life... I... I was so happy. I didn’t care that you were a prophet. Didn’t care that you were a man of God. Not nearly as much as the fact that you put your faith in me. That was it, I figured. My time to chase my dreams has come.”

“...” Sylas bit his lip and lowered his head.

“That hasn’t changed,” the young Prince’s words, however, surprised him, causing him to look up--there, he met the young boy’s gaze. It was bright, Sylas realized--it wasn’t the look of a man who’d given up. If anything, it was quite the opposite. “So long as you’ll have me still... I’d like us to continue chasing that dream, Sylas.”

“... you’ve got a heart of iron,” Sylas smiled faintly. “That already makes you half a King.”

"... nobody blames you," Valen said suddenly, surprising Sylas who was about to indulge in some more wine.

“W-what?”

“If it weren’t for you... we would have died during the first invasion,” Valen continued. “You... you kept saving our lives. Nobody blames you, at all. If anything, we are beyond grateful to have you.”

“...” Sylas looked at the young boy for a moment before sighing and taking a sip of wine. “You don’t blame me... because to you, I’m a miracle.”

“...”

“Someone who peaked into the future and foretold it--someone who appeared in the darkest of nights, bringing the light. But that light... has been stacked upon the countless failures. Valen, through and through, I’m a failure.”

“H-huh?”

“I’m happy you don’t blame me,” he added. “But... I blame myself. Because, of all of you, only I know the truth. Only I know that, in fact, it was on me. That I could have prevented it completely. I’ve had a few deaths to reconfigure myself, and what I’ve learned... is that wine numbs the heart the best. However, each time I see you, or Ryne, or when I visit Tenner... I am reminded--reminded of just how mind-breakingly awful I am. So, thank you--but, believe it or not, I need the guilt.”

“W-what are you--”

“It’s pushing me forward. It’s reminding me to never become complacent again. And... I need it. You should rest now.”

“No, I don’t--”

“I’ll send for someone to help you,” Sylas said, getting up and slowly leaving. “Let’s talk another time.”

Sylas didn’t forget the jug of wine, an accessory that he carried with him wherever he went. Though he knew he would do well to curb the drinking, he wasn’t ready--not yet anyway. For now, it was fine to indulge. A good pill for dreamless slumber.

He headed outside, into the snow--preparing to practice some more and try and clear his head in the process. He’d already ventured into the forest and beyond five times now--never encountering the hooded man who led the attack, and only learning two pieces of new information from the dead beyond the veneer.

The first was that the city he encountered... wasn’t the only one. Though he was uncertain of the exact number, there were at least three scattered across the world. The second piece of information was that the attacks weren’t exactly targeted--the dead were simply moved into the land of the living and then followed the scent of life to attack.

From there, Sylas also extrapolated that the Brokers--those who connected the living and the dead--likely acted during this period. Though he still didn’t know just how they managed to control the dead, for the time being, that information wasn't necessary. What calmed him was that the city wasn't sending armies directly to any specific settlements.

Stab.

Having crossed off most of the beyond-the-wall ventures, for the time being, Sylas' next focused became the Shadows. If anyone had the chance of being behind that hand, it was them. However, as it was still deep winter, his options were limited--one was going to the Altar of Sacrifice and trying his luck, perhaps bringing Derrek along. Another one was trying to figure out the location of their nearby settlement.

Stab.

He was beyond certain that it existed--the hooded man liked heralded from there. Furthermore, as they had to intercept the dead, they likely settled close to the 'border'. As such, the best course of action was to just walk along the edge both east and west, and look for them.

Stab.

It was still difficult, however, considering the sheer quantity of snow. He’d likely last a few days, at best, once the true winter resumed in full. Because of it, he could only explore limited space. It was still worth trying, however, though the conjecture was hardly foolproof. In fact, it was entirely possible that they didn’t have a settlement and instead used some form of magic to teleport or something along those lines.

Stab.

Another point of failure was his inability to locate Iun. Wherever the Thrall went, it didn’t seem as though he was keen on returning. It was unfortunate, as the boy was a good bank of knowledge--especially when it came to the dead. Additional disappointment in the hooded man permanently dying was that he seemed to know who Iun was, or at least it appeared as though the two were acquainted.

Stab.

Then there was the matter of Ascindium Shard. One of Sylas’ aspirations was learning how to replicate how the Shards are made. Ever since he picked up on the few ancient characters Iun taught Ryne and him, he’d had such ideas. However, even now, he was entirely unable to decipher the shard. As it stood, it was just another very situational tool.

Stab.

Fixing the castle.

Stab.

Recuperating the provisions.

Stab.

Clearing the quest about a Thrall that died three thousand years ago.

Stab.

Mastering magic even further.

Stab.

Swordsmanship.

Stab.

Talismans.

Stab.

His mind.

Stab.

The sword continued to flutter for a moment, extended from his hand. Snowflakes fell tender and they fell gently, melting upon the simplest touch.

So, so, so many things, he realized. And likely plenty more that he’d forgotten in the decades that have melded in his mind.

“One by one,” he mumbled. “One by one.”