Heavy and constricting, a thick, grey haze surrounded Joenek. He sensed nothing beneath his feet, nor could he feel his own body. No sound reached his ears and there did not seem to be any distinguishable source of light. Nothing existed but the unending, ever-shifting grey.

Gradually, the haze began shifting in odd, swirling patterns until it was swept away and Joenek beheld a dimly lit room.

Edileth stood before him; her hair was loose and pulled over one shoulder. Tears filled her eyes, pooling over and leaving little trails of moisture down her cheeks. A dull ache pulsated in Joenek's chest. For reasons he could not comprehend, a sense of shame washed over him.

As he reached for Edileth, the grey haze returned. It moved as a slow wave, gaining speed as it neared Joenek. His hand was nearly upon Edileth's shoulder when the mist darted toward her and spiraled around her body. She was soon swallowed in the mist.

Now, Joenek found that he stood in a wooded area. The lighting was like that of mid-morning. Bits of sky could be seen through the tree branches, a blissful shade of blue.

In an explosion of sound, Joenek heard birds chirping and the subtle roar of a waterfall. Beneath the overlying cacophony, there came a quiet sobbing. He turned this way and that, trying to discern where the crying came from.

At first, he thought he heard the sound from directly behind him. However, as Joenek turned, the weeping moved – sounding to his right and seeming distant. He turned again and darted toward the noise. Joenek pushed through brush and wove about countless tree trunks until he felt certain he was nearly upon the one who cried.

Yet, when he skirted the undergrowth, the sobbing ceased, and he saw no one. Just as he thought to return the way he had come, a striking elf made her way toward him with silent steps. Her rich, mahogany hair hung in lengthy waves down to her knees. Her eyes were the colour of emeralds; her skin was a flawless shade of alabaster. The rothnak's satin gown was of a deep green that nearly matched her eyes. Golden-coloured voile was draped across the scooped neckline, serving as an elegant accent.

Her eyes held Joenek immobile, draining him of any thoughts of moving. She continued her measured, seductive pace until she stood before him. For a long moment, she stared at him, a small smile decreasing the thickness of her lips. Then she took Joenek's hand in one of hers and laid her other hand upon it.

She wore a silver ring upon her middle finger. Its band was wide – while still possessing a delicate quality – and bore an unusual symbol.

Two spiraling lines rested against one another with their 'tails' extending past the circular portions and arching downward. Under these were three hollow circles. One was in the center, beneath the place where the two spirals joined. The other two rested – one each – under the curved 'tails'.

The rothnak removed the ring from her finger and held it in the palm of her hand. As she did so, her hand – which had looked youthful – was replaced by a gnarled and grimy one. Joenek flinched and looked up. He stared at the rothnak that had accosted him in La'el.

With a smile that revealed her stained teeth, she lifted the ring, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. After staring at Joenek, she returned her gaze to the ring. When Joenek had followed suit, he felt the rothnak take one final step, closing the small distance between them.

Pressing her body against his, the rothnak slipped her hand – and the ring it held – into one of the pockets in Joenek's breeches. The moment she had done this, the rothnak vanished. So, too, had the wooded scene.

Joenek stood in the grey mist, once more. He found that he now held the ring in the palm of his hand.

Cackling laughter tore through the space. The strange creature that had attacked Edileth leapt from the ever-shifting haze. It charged Joenek.

As it ploughed into him, the creature dissipated. However, the force of the blow had sent Joenek sprawling. He lay in the mist, gasping for breath. A deep, rasping voice spoke from somewhere above him, in a dark tongue.

"Nakh turiish nit lekht torshtaanin Akkheron. Turre lo-nakkt shmenith vorrdon; norret lor, biet Akkheron Khellem."

After the words came a sinister snarl. A dark, shadowed face emerged from the mist, darting toward Joenek. He winced, raising his hands in hopes of blocking the spectral face. Just before its teeth sank into Joenek's arm, a white light flashed.

Joenek closed his eyes, crying out as the brilliance burned his mind with a searing pain.

An eternity seemed to pass before he dared to open his eyes. Joenek squinted, blinked a few times, and studied the blue sky above. It was bright and clear, without a hint of cloud cover.

Beneath him, the earth was soft and provided a surprising comfort. Long blades of green grass swayed above him. The air was warm – not a stifling heat, but a dreamy sort of warmth. On the subtle breeze, Joenek detected a delectable fragrance. It smelled of summer and spice; the mist of a waterfall settled over vegetation and rich earth.

Sitting up, Joenek looked at his surroundings.

He sat near the edge of a circular clearing, in the center of which stood a towering tree. Its trunk was wide and smooth. The whole of the tree glowed in golden, shimmering light. The leaves far above seemed gilded in gold leaf. Joenek was certain it was somehow enchanted.

Four short columns were positioned at the cardinal points of the clearing. Joenek stood and moved to the closest one, the southern column. A staff rested lengthwise upon it. He moved closer to study the staff; as he neared it, he felt that he could sense its presence.

It appeared to have been sung from a single tree that spiraled about itself. There were veins of silver within the grooves of the twisting wood. As they neared the top, the veins became thicker, more prominent. They gathered at the top of the staff in an incredible display of wave-like tiers.

Joenek had been so mesmerized by the staff, he nearly failed to notice the pillar upon which it rested.

The stone was a dazzling white, so that Joenek wondered how he had overlooked it. It glimmered with little, glassy flecks. But more stunning was the relief work upon its surface.

Near the top, a tree – in the likeness of the one in the clearing – spread its limbs outward, encircling the pillar. The roots of the tree extended around the column as well and descended in tangled lines to its base. On further inspection, Joenek noted that there were images – scenes of events from an ancient time – hidden within the maze of roots. His mind could make little sense of these.

Strange creatures took flight, charged forth, or skulked through the vast curtains of the tree's roots. Some scenes bore a likeness to battles, while others were tranquil settings.

A deep thrumming drew Joenek's attention away from the pillar and the staff upon it. He glanced about the clearing, unsure where the thrumming had come from. After waiting for further noise and hearing none, Joenek strode to the eastern column.

This one displayed an unsheathed hand-and-a-half sword. Just as with the staff, the sword seemed to have a presence all its own, reaching out to him. The sword was ordinary in appearance, save for the faint etchings of runes in the fuller and a wave-like symbol upon the rain guard. The pillar upon which the sword lay looked much the same as the southern one.

As Joenek rounded the column and started toward the bare pillars at the northern and western points, the tree glowed with greater intensity. He tilted his head and redirected his steps to draw near the towering tree.

He came to stand where the roots met with the earth and – as he did so – another deep thrum resounded. It echoed from within the tree, and Joenek felt the vibration of it starting at his feet and trickling up his legs. Not sparing a moment for thought, he scaled the roots and lay the palm of his hand against the smooth trunk. The same pulse tingled in his hand and coursed through his veins, going so far as to reverberate in his mind. The sound was like that of a heartbeat.

Startled, Joenek lurched back. His foot slipped on the rounded surface of the thick root and he fell.

Joenek sat up. His heart was pounding. Darkness surrounded him.

It was only when he had allowed his mind to quiet that he remembered where he was; Gallimna. A heavy sigh left Joenek's lungs as he lay back down.

It was all a dream.

His brows came together. There was an odd niggling in his mind. It was not the same prickling sensation he felt when he had visions of future events. Yet, he sensed that the strange dreams had importance. Lying still, Joenek contemplated what message the dreams might convey.

Each dream had been peculiar and none of them seemed to relate to one another. Only the ring had served as some form of connection, minor though it had been.

Recalling the rothnak in La'el, Joenek found curiosity stir within.

I wonder, he thought.

Tapping a rhythm with his fingers, he contemplated whether he should act on the absurd idea he had. Joenek sighed and sat up. He retrieved his pack and took the breeches he had worn the day of the elaborathin attack out of the hannolled compartment.

He fumbled with the fabric until he found one of the pockets. Joenek found nothing within it. He was surprised by the frown that appeared on his face. With a shake of his head, he searched for the other pocket.

When Joenek found it, he took a deep breath and slid his hand into the opening. The course fabric brushed against his fingers until – at the base of the pocket – his hand touched something hard and cool.

Joenek snatched the ring out of the pocket and felt along the band. I need a light.

With caution, he rose to stand. He had a general recollection of where the door was and thought his path to it would be clear. Joenek took one step and paused. He took another step, another pause. His eyes were opened wide, seeking any source of light to guide him.

After a time, he came to the door of the room. Joenek opened it just enough to slip through. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. Once he had ceased squinting, Joenek moved closer to the candle that lit the hall.

Lifting the ring, he inspected the band. There, he found what he had expected to see; it was the odd, swirling symbol. Joenek's pulse hastened. He did not know what the ring was. Yet his dreams had hinted at a great importance. He stared at the ring, musing over its value and its purpose.

Joenek brought his fist up to cover a yawn. Shoving the ring into the pocket of his tunic, he returned to the room. He shuffled toward his bedding and burrowed into the blanket. Though he felt the weight of exhaustion upon him, Joenek struggled to fall asleep. He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position – to no avail.

So it was that, when a stream of light burst through the open door hindered only by the shadowed form in the entrance, Joenek reached for the throwing knife tucked under a fold of fabric. He recognized the outline of Celik and released his grip on the small blade. The door closed; the light disappeared. Joenek puzzled over the Kenim Naduhl's early-morning activities. Shrugging it off as the diligence of a well-trained ranger, Joenek rolled onto his other side.

His thoughts returned to the ring, and whether he ought to inform the others of his discovery. He had the sense that he should tell them. And yet, something within him rebelled against the idea. He imagined how he might broach the subject, how he would explain the peculiar dreams. Each time he envisioned his conversation with the Ferlians, a force combatted him. With one final weighing of options, Joenek made up his mind.

He would not tell the others.

Author's note: This chapter has been drastically edited (as of 2021-03-28). Future chapters will not reflect some of the changes made here. Thank you for your continued support, patience, and understanding.