Shadows Reborn (2nd Book)

Chapter 30: Sanity's Veil

Awaken, my disciple.

"Wha...?" He groaned, rolling over in his cot as he released a puff, his muscles relaxing moments later.

The night calls, Champion of mine.

A whisper, cold as night, harder than steel, yet softer than the lightest feather, emanated into his mind, the voice of a being powerful enough to communicate with him telepathically.

Awaken!

Now, he stood straight up, an exclamation of shock slipping past his throat as he looked around, beads of sweat trickling down his brow.

Good.

Lord Master? He asked, rubbing his eyes, seeing nothing but dark everywhere. His eyes opened and closed, trying to adjust to this sudden change, from light to complete blackness. His head again darted around, trying to see anything of sorts, and came upon a dragon covered in the color of the skies, looking at him as he did with her.

"Seraith." He nodded, greeting her.

"Althalos." She reciprocated his actions, looking back into the fire she stared in, that only now Althalos realized was there. He stared at it for a second, watching the flames tear into the wood, a crackling sound heard over the silence the night had spawned.

The night calls, boy.

What? He asked, perplexed by his Lord Master's words. What do you mean by that, my Lord?

Your fate shall be complete by this night.

His mind summoned a faint inkling of his words, but it was only a fleeting thought, and it was soon replaced by the same confusion that had arisen with the Lord of Shadowy Death's words.

"Talking to your master, I'd wager?"

He snapped his concentration, turning to Seraith, who had spoken, and nodded his eyes, having no shame in revealing it to her.

"Yes, I am."

The blue dragon chose to stay silent, and in the joined mind of Althalos and Merec, they thought it was very smart move. A grunt was heard, and her snout was pointed to the fires once more.

The scroll, and the stone.

He smiled, looking at the discarded saddlebags.

Hidden.

Take them out.

He stood straight up, dusting himself off, and as he passed by numerous cots, he saw Fendrel's peaceful expression, the Nightwalkers' barely relaxed ones, and then the others who tossed and turned in their cots, as if not wanting to be drowning in their slumber.

He fetched the items Merec asked him too, hearing the tired sighs of the purple dragon.

"The stone? And the scroll?" Came the voice of Miasmador, the purple dragon, once his friend, now only a passing memory.

"Where is it?" He asked calmly, laying by his side. The smile still stuck to his lips, as if remembering something that set him in this euphoric state.

"Right here." He raised one of his forepaws, and his Lord's artifacts lay there, ripe for the taking. But curiosity burned in his mind, and he could not resist to ask the dragon.

"Why take them, then?"

"Questions to be answered." Was the only answer of the dragon, who looked at him with piercing red eyes.