When Tyrese found himself back on the teleportation array in Solhollow, his chest heaved as he gasped for air. The air felt too thin, too heavy, like he was suffocating in it. He was in worse shape than the other trainees. His body trembled, his muscles aching as though they had been torn apart and hastily stitched back together. Goosebumps prickled his skin, his head pounded relentlessly, and blood continued to drip from his nose, mingling with the sweat streaming down his face in rivulets.
All of it stemmed from one reason: the roar they had heard before their abrupt teleportation. Unlike the others, Tyrese felt as though he had understood those terrible, alien words, as if they had somehow pierced through the fabric of his consciousness, leaving behind a jagged imprint. Yet every time he tried to recall them, his head throbbed with excruciating pain, a sensation so raw it made him feel as though his mind was teetering on the brink of madness, ready to slip away into the darkness of the unknown.
"What happened?" barked a man clad in light white armor, rushing toward the disoriented trainees. He gestured to his colleagues, who immediately began administering aid.
A group of Sentinels arrived, their grimoires floating open by their sides. The pages fluttered, glowing faintly, before stopping on specific sigils. A soothing light bathed the trainees, calming their minds, steadying their trembling bodies, and stemming their bleedings.
As the haze in his mind began to lift, Tyrese could hear a voice, shaky, uncertain, cutting through the fog of his thoughts. One of the trainees, still trembling, found his voice. "We… we don't know," he said with difficulty, his breath shallow. "It all happened so fast. There was this terrible roar, filled with incomprehensible words. It felt like… like we were losing our minds." The words tumbled from his mouth in a dazed manner, as though the very memory of the roar was enough to shake him to his core. He faltered for a moment, his body shuddering, his eyes wide with fear. "Sir Arras protected us with a barrier and sent us back immediately. That's all we know."
The Sentinels exchanged uneasy glances, their faces betraying a hint of apprehension. Still, they moved with precision, checking each trainee for lingering effects of the trauma. Once it was confirmed that none were in immediate danger, they began sending the trainees home. Whatever was happening in Duskwatch, it was clear there was no point in keeping them here any longer.
Sir Arras himself was leading the mission, accompanied by Solhollow's best Sentinels: Ashanti, Alek, and Denzel. That reassurance was all the Willholders in Solhollow could cling to for now.
Yet, just as the trainees began to leave, the chamber's atmosphere shifted. The room was suddenly filled with new arrivals, civilians, their faces pale, their bodies trembling and bleeding profusely. Some collapsed unconscious as they were brought in, their breathing shallow and labored.
The Willholders present froze momentarily, the severity of the situation sinking in. Their grimoires flared brighter as they snapped into action, their voices sharp and commands precise as they worked to stabilize the injured.
The air grew thick with tension, the room heavy with an unspoken dread. Whatever was happening in Duskwatch… it was far worse than anyone had anticipated.
Tyrese walked home alongside Maha, his body still trembling from the day's events. His head throbbed with every step, and the dizzying sensation had only worsened. The chaotic events had completely pushed everything else from his mind, and he had forgotten entirely about the herbs he'd planned to buy for the infusion that would calm his headache. His thoughts were a storm of confusion, spiraling back to a single point:
My life became a mess since the day I visited that damn sanctuary. Was I really cursed? No, that's just superstition… but what if…
His train of thought was interrupted by Maha's voice. "Tyrese, are you okay? You still look a bit dizzy," she said, concern evident in her tone.
"Ah…" He faltered for a moment, trying to summon enough strength to sound reassuring. "I'm alright," he replied, forcing a small, strained smile. "Just a little shaken by everything. I just need some rest."
Maha studied him for a moment longer, her gaze sharp and perceptive, as though she could see right through him. It was as if she sensed he wasn't telling the whole truth. Her lips parted, as if to press him further, but then she seemed to think better of it. She nodded, accepting his words, but the concern didn't leave her eyes. "Yeah, you're right. We all need rest. That roar… it was terrifying. If not for Sir Arras's swift actions, we'd all be dead."
Tyrese nodded, his lips tight. He desperately wanted to avoid thinking about the words in that roar. Every time he tried, the pain in his head surged, and a creeping unease clawed at his sanity.
They chatted casually for the rest of the walk, their words an attempt to distract themselves from the lingering fear. As they approached the Lightspire District, where Tyrese lived, they parted ways with a small, mutual wave. Maha's home lay to the east, near Meadow's Edge, where her family's house stood nestled in the shadows of the town's outer border.
"Take care of yourself, Tyrese," she said, her voice soft but sincere, her warm smile offering a fleeting comfort before she disappeared into the narrow, winding streets of her district
Tyrese watched her leave before turning toward his own home. The familiar sight of the modest building gave him little comfort. His thoughts were still clouded as he stepped inside.
He moved through his nightly routine on autopilot, taking a quick bath, eating a simple meal, and then collapsing onto his bed. Staring up at the wooden beams of his ceiling, his mind wouldn't let go of the day's events.
I need answers, he thought, the words ringing clear through the haze of exhaustion. I need to go back to that sanctuary.
With that final resolve, his eyes fluttered shut, though his sleep was anything but peaceful.
Sir Arras and his team had returned from their expedition and now stood in the dimly lit office of the Church Paragon in Solhollow, Father Rael. The room exuded an air of quiet authority. Modest yet elegant, it was lined with shelves filled with ancient tomes, their spines cracked with age, and glowing sigils etched into the walls, casting a soft, shifting light across the space.
Father Rael, a man who appeared to be in his fifties, sat behind a large, sturdy desk made of dark wood, its surface polished to a shine. His pale skin seemed to absorb the glow of the sigils, lending him an ethereal appearance. Black eyes, sharp and calculating, peered out from beneath long white hair that flowed past his shoulders. His gray beard framed a face lined with wisdom and calm authority.
"Tell me what happened," Rael said, his voice low and steady, each word carrying the weight of his station.
Sir Arras stepped forward, his posture stiff with the gravity of his report. "We received an urgent transmission through the sigil network from one of the Adepts stationed in Duskwatch," he began. "They reported an attack by Seedlings. Though numerous, the threat was deemed manageable, and they requested reinforcements to prevent casualties."
He paused briefly, his tone growing heavier as he continued. "I decided to bring the trainees along, thinking it could serve as a valuable learning experience. However, upon arrival, we heard the unmistakable roar of a Voidbringer."
The mention of the Voidbringer hung in the air, its implications palpable.
"Recognizing the danger," Sir Arras said, "I immediately sent the trainees back to Solhollow. Myself, Ashanti, and Alek engaged the Voidbringer. We were able to subdue it without sustaining injuries, while Denzel and the Adepts successfully evacuated the survivors. Duskwatch still stands, though it has suffered greatly."
Father Rael leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers steepled in thought as he listened. "And then?"
Sir Arras's gaze shifted momentarily, as if recalling a scene that unsettled him. "After the battle, we ventured into the depths of the Ancient Forest to investigate the source of the attack. And… we found something." His voice lowered, tinged with unease. "It was unlike anything I have ever seen."
He took a deep breath and continued. "We came across what appeared to be a gigantic, fragmented mirror, suspended mid-air. The space around it was fractured, as though reality itself had splintered. It pulsed faintly, almost as if it were alive. But as we approached, the anomaly began to mend itself. Within moments, it disappeared entirely, vanished as though it had never existed."
A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the faint hum of the sigils along the walls.
Father Rael's black eyes narrowed, his expression pensive. "So, it confirms what we've long suspected. The Rodraks truly originate from another plane of existence. A century of speculation… finally validated."
He tapped his fingers lightly on the desk, his mind clearly turning over the implications. "This is unprecedented. The Rodraks have always appeared like specters, materializing without trace or warning. We've never been able to confirm their origin."
His tone grew quieter, laced with contemplation. "The Diviners have theorized for decades about an alternate plane, another universe parallel to our own. But why now? What has changed?"
Rael's voice trailed off, his gaze distant as he sank into deep thought. The room remained still, the enormity of the revelation weighing heavily on those present.
Tyrese woke with a start, the relentless pounding in his head finally reduced to a dull ache. He moved through his habitual morning routine, the familiarity grounding him as he prepared for the day.
The morning air was brisk as he stepped outside, a light wind brushing past him. Today marked the fifth day of the week, a designated day of rest. On Orion, the days stretched long: 26 hours of daylight followed by 10 hours of night, making each full cycle 36 hours. The twin suns, Durnas and Veyra, circled the massive planet in a year divided into six months, Dawnspire, Emberleaf, Stormtide, Solshade, Frostveil, and Starfall.
Today was the fifth day of Emberleaf in the 1465th cycle of the twin suns. But despite the day of rest, Tyrese couldn't shake the unease clinging to him since the events of the previous day. Seeking clarity and hoping to check on Sir Arras, he decided to visit the Church of Light.
The spires of the Church loomed ahead, their intricate designs etched with luminous sigils that seemed to pulse faintly in the sunlight. As Tyrese approached, he noticed several trainees milling about, including Maha. Though not all were present, a significant number had gathered, likely driven by the same concerns that plagued him.
Maha spotted Tyrese and waved, her expression a mixture of relief and lingering worry. He nodded in acknowledgment and joined her as they walked into the church together.
The halls were quiet, their usual energy subdued by the weight of recent events. Finding the main hall empty, the group instinctively headed toward the training area. The familiar space seemed both comforting and foreboding in its silence.
"Hello, trainees," came Sir Arras's voice, deep and commanding. He stood at the front of the room, his expression solemn but composed. "I expected you to come. I know what you seek. Take a seat."
The trainees complied, settling into a semicircle as Sir Arras began to recount the events that followed their abrupt departure from Duskwatch.
He spoke of the fierce battle against the Voidbringer, Denzel's heroic efforts to rescue civilians, and the discovery of the fragmented, mirror-like anomaly in the depths of the Ancient Forest. His words painted a picture of calamity and revelation, leaving the room heavy with thought.
The trainees exchanged uneasy glances, the enormity of the Voidbringer's presence and the implications of Sir Arras's discovery sinking in.
Tyrese sat quietly, his expression grim. The thought of returning to the Lost Sanctuary, nestled deep within the Ancient Forest, now seemed reckless. The forest was far more dangerous than he had ever imagined.
After a brief discussion, Sir Arras dismissed them. "There will be no training tomorrow," he said firmly. "Take the day to rest and clear your minds. I have other matters to attend to."
The trainees nodded, understanding. Sir Arras's responsibilities likely included meetings with King Deon and the Harbinger of Solhollow to report on the team's findings.
Leaving the Church, Tyrese accompanied Maha to the marketplace. The lively chatter of merchants and the vibrant colors of their stalls offered a fleeting respite from the heaviness in his chest. Tyrese purchased the medicinal herbs he needed for his mind-calming tea, paying four Coree before heading home.