And the Child of Prophecy must be sacrificed to save the foundation of the future.

Journal of Reane Matir

Like a bolt of lightning struck her, Reane surged upright in her bed and out of the slumber that finally consumed her late into the evening.  Between the heavy breaths in and their accompanying brisk exhales, she tried to coral the enduring parts of the visions at the source of her angst.  Covers cast half-aside, the meager glow of embers remaining in the fireplace did little to warm, or even light, the second story room given to her for the duration of her stay in Telga.

Bolstered by the visions haunting her dreams each night over the past five days, the puffy, dark bags under her eyes had only expanded in size to the point where they actually hurt.  After several unsuccessful attempts, the seer combed the sweat-soaked hair from her face.  Skin clammy, throat dry and raw from screaming in her sleep, Reane took the seconds that followed her awakening to acclimate herself back into reality.

Gripped by the undeniable sensation that she was literally falling apart, her mental checks and balances verified she was no longer consumed by her vision.  Satisfied that it was over, she focused her thoughts on the oil lamp resting by her bedside.  Without even so much as the slightest physical touch from Reane, a moment later it burst to life and brought enough light to see by into the room.

The remaining covers discarded, Reane threw her legs over the edge and placed her feet, still in their boots, onto the wooden floor with its annoying creek. Slinging a heavy fur hanging at her bedside over her shoulders, she advanced upon the only window draped in heavy winter curtains.  Throwing them back, she took advantage of the missing panes of glass to cast open the louvered shutters.

The night rushed across her face, making Reane's blood run even colder as she stood there and stared towards the heavens lit by what remained of Earoni's Eye above the southern horizon.

Below her, on what passed for a street here in Telga, a guard walked by.  The lone soul about in the evening stopped his nightly circuit as he recognized the delicate light cascading out of her window.  With a glance up, their eyes met in what was now a recurring routine exhibiting a dwarven-like precision.  After only a slight hesitation, the patrolman moved off to resume his rounds.

Reane withdrew back inside, closing herself off from the world and resuming her isolation once more while the light from the lamp flickered slightly as her actions stirred up a breeze. Her destination was the rustic desk upon which rested a small and worn leather-bound book.  Sitting down, the seer flipped past many pages already packed with writing, stopping at the first blank one she came to; one of only about five or so remaining.

As much as she would have desired to purge the visions from her mind, she knew that she could not.  For each was a piece of a puzzle that were too precious to not record and hopefully decipher.  Leaning back, her thoughts wrapped around a quill nestled in its well of ink and proceeded to guide it in a dance across the page as Reane dictated.

"Thirty-first of Rumatan," the words wrote themselves in flawless script.  "The dream continues, each night more powerful and much more clearly than the last.  I fear that seeing this vision is beginning to cloud my judgement and hinder my effectiveness as councilor and friend to The Child of the Storm.  Our paths are diverging, with her success portending and end for myself that I still struggle to accept.  I know that she needs and values my advice, even if she does not approve of my methods, but at this point I'm just not certain how to proceed."

Reane sighed, allowing the pen to dip itself in fresh ink.

"If anyone needs to maintain clear thinking during this time, it's me.  But the forcefulness of these images have caused me to retreat, seeking to protect myself from the unpleasant sights and outcomes.  In the coming days and months it will be my judgement that ultimately either causes success or failure, and I must not have tainted thoughts."

Once more, the quill paused, longer this time before refreshing itself and continuing with her next words.

"The lone grave upon the mountain plateau now contains a name; mine.  And the entire vision of who must perish is coming into sharp focus with this cleric, Daphney, at Anthony's side in the end of it all.  Both were in sorrow, but also happy to be together.  If I save her, I will lose him, and myself.  It is hard to maintain strength through this ordeal knowing the outcome to befall me if I do what I must do to save the Rebellion and allow us a chance to recover the Tear."

Releasing her control over the implement with a fit of frustration, but also finished penning her missive, the feather flopped to the table and laid there dripping ink.  Reane followed its fall with her head into her own hands.  Where once these visions were unclear, the mental pictures began to sharpen and draw into focus. Combined with the sight of Anthony and Daphney standing over the grave and the cleric soothing the man Reane loved, the experience kept forcing her to consider one particular and selfish option that remained.  

Just walk away, she told herself.  Yet, no matter how much she tried to coax herself to that decision, Reane couldn't overcome her own objections to it, each born from a knowledge of what such an action would cause.  The feeling she had come too far down a dead-end path flooded through her like a plague through a village, and it compounded upon the realization that her own personal happiness and the fate of the world were at direct odds with one another.

Walking away was always a choice she clung too, but it would set into motion a cascade of events beginning with the downfall of the Rebellion and culminating with the world careening into chaos.  Lord Hedric would recover the Tear of Earoni for himself.  After that, Lady Noranda would unleash her Dark Lord and master from his prison within The Dark.  Reane and Anthony would be together, but the world would collapse while evil and darkness consumed it.

Still, it would be so easy, and they'd at least have more time with one another before everything ended in fire and brimstone.  All she'd have to do is not even try to revive the woman who would vie with her for Anthony's affections.

If she walked away, the name on the grave would change.  But she just couldn't.

So, for now, she resolved to follow this path onward to her own fate, all while searching for an opportunity to shift this seemingly inevitable and dire outcome into her favor.  She'd done it before.  She'd do it again.

The rapping flowing from the other side of her door drew her head up from its resting place.  "Reane?" Anthony's voice called to her.  "Rickard said you were having trouble sleeping again?"

"Come in, Anthony."  The seer closed the journal.  With a thought, she engaged a hidden lock to hide its most recent entry from unwanted eyes.

Door cracking open, he entered, closing it behind him until the latch bolt clicked and caught.  "The dreams still?  The ones you refuse to tell me about?"

"Don't start.  Please?  They are my burden, not yours."

Instead of replying to her, Anthony walked over, tilted her chin with a gentle hand, and kissed her.

The touch of his lips to hers melted away most of Reane's worries. Not all, but most. And only for a moment. "What have you been up to all evening?" She asked once the tender moment ended.

"Sorry.  Trying to get caught up on everything that's happened while we've been hopping all over the oceans.  And, putting in several good words for you, General."

"Oh, I figured you'd been—wait... wait what did you just say?"

"The rebellion needs capable leaders, I was talking to Gwen Havarston about you, and she wants to make you a general.  So, congratulations.  She'd like to meet with you first thing in the morning."

"Dare I ask what you told her about me to convince her to grant me such an honor?"

"Well, believe it or not, nothing."  The slight smile from Anthony bordered on a laugh.  "She actually knew your mother, it seems, and was familiar with her talents.  She asked me if you had the same propensities."

With a roll of her eyes, Reane replied, "And you said?"

"I told her you had a lot of gifts.  Ones that could be valuable to the Rebellion."

"Great.  So now I'm going to become a War Seer?"

"I said, if you want it."  He smiled.  "It's just an offer.  Told her we'd probably be moving on soon, and she was very interested in our plan to travel west and seek to recover the Tear of Earoni and what we know about how to.  That's what really got her ears to perk up."

"I'll bet. And I'll also bet you promised the Rebellion access to its power?"

"Well, you know Hitithe is going to want it back once they overthrow Lord Hedric and restore the Kingdon.  It was theirs originally, after all."

"Yeah, especially considering if the legends are true? That kind of power would make whoever wields it unstoppable.  Although," Reane paused.  "Power has this distinct flaw of proceeding the corruption of those who wield it.  There are stories about why Hitithe fell, and they revolve around arrogance that overcame them.  And I'm not so convinced the Rebellion, and this Gwen character in charge around here are any better.  They are not pure enough to sustain themselves against the same failings."

Anthony shrugged.  "Are any of us?"

"Your girlfriend?"

"Reane."

"OK, OK.  Sorry.  Former girlfriend."

He answered her with a glower instead of words.

She waved his sour demeanor off.  "Anyway, I've decided to attempt to wake her up.  If I don't, things aren't going to go well for the world."

"Why do I hear something unspoken that should follow that?"  Anthony tried to kiss her again, but Reane prevented it with a turn of her cheek.  "Perhaps something about things not going well for Reane if she does?"

"I'll jump off that bridge when I get to it."  Standing, Reane pulled her fur tight about her.  "Come on, looks like I've got a cleric to wake up."

Reane lingered, observing what was nothing more than expansive blackness.  The void consumed her as she wandered through the emptiness of Daphney's thoughts.  There were no waypoints; no means to keep track of her progress other than the psychic tether she maintained to her own mind.

The woman was so blank that the seer could tell she was pretty much dead, at least in the mental sense.  Her body might be clinging to life, but such was about the extent of the cleric's existence.

The inside of one's mind, even for someone merely asleep, was always a bustling mesh of crisscrossing roadways of thoughts, feelings, and emotions.  Just more disjointed than the mind of someone who was wide awake.  And either way, the mind only became more chaotic the deeper one delved into the subconscious.  Normally, Reane would never have dared plunge this deep into anyone's mind.  If the cleric's brain had been functioning like it should, filled with virtual rivers of flowing imagery, they would have swept Reane away by this point and with no hope of finding her way out.

In order to have even a chance to succeed at her chosen, if not reluctant, course of action, what Reane required was a memory, any memory, with enough emotion behind it where she could amplify it and use it to shock the young woman into waking up. The sort of raw memories she required were often plentiful, but not here.  So she needed to go even deeper, certain that eventually she'd discover something useful.

If she didn't, then hope for this woman's mind to recover was nonexistent.  So onward she went, like exploring a bottomless cavern with nothing more than a candle.

Reane prepared to give up and turn back, giving in to her growing frustrations even as she trudged deeper.  As she was formulating how to deliver the unpleasant news to Anthony and the rest, news that was actually somewhat satisfying to her even if bittersweet, was when the seer saw something she deemed promising.  Up ahead in the emptiness was what she could only describe as the faintest fog of a memory. Flickering on the verge of non-existence, there was no clarity at this distance, but it had been the only one she'd seen.

Approaching with a mix of eagerness and hesitation, Reane knew that it had to be something deeply special to have hung on and remained when all others had vanished.  The fog started to take enough of a shape as Reane drew nearer that it allowed her to make sense of its grainy resolution.

Replaying itself over and over before her, Reane took in the hazy, but clearly tender scene between Daphney and Anthony.  Sitting on a log near a stream, they were conversing about something, their words lost to the static.  But the sound was not needed.  Their faces close, both leaned in to the other for a kiss.

Frozen there, watching the scene that horrified her in slow motion, Reane questioned why she was so determined to do this.  As their lips touched, those questions only grew while the memory looped back to the start and began another play through.

She could end this now.  Reaching out, Reane struggled with the desire to push this last remnant of the cleric's conscious mind into oblivion.  Doing so would have been so easy.  And no one would need to know.

Fingers curling as her hand retreated, stopping herself from falling prey to the appeal of that action, it felt like the Fates themselves were mocking her.  With a sigh, Reane prepared her escape from this dungeon of emptiness.  The link back to her own mind, already firm and secure, tightened further.  She'd have to make a quick exit once the cleric's mind woke.

Exhausted from watching the scene and the passions it was driving up inside her, Reane reached out again, this time to latch onto it.  With a thought of her own, the seer began to revive the memory, feeding it.  It became clearer and stronger.  Then, its stability reached critical mass with a final surge from Reane.

In that moment, the seer felt the floodgates open, and her own consciousness was yanked out of the cleric's mind just as a torrent of renewed life rushed in.