//------------------------------// // Prologue: The Dream // Story: Awoke IN // by Qwix //------------------------------// All is aflame, yet he felt no heat. Where... Three mountains cleave the sky, yet no clouds are there to honor it. Why... His eyes felt heavy, yet his body felt of air. No matter how far they fell, he could not see his own hooves. What... is this? Silence ruled here. The flickering flames tugged at the edges of his vision, threatening to engulf him. Yet they made not a single crackle, a single singe—not a single sign at all that they were there beyond what his heavy eyes saw. I feel... what? Like a picture... He blinked—as suddenly as the wingbeat of a dragonfly, as fleeting as a wisp of smoke in the wind, sound bloomed from nothing, heat swelled from ahead, and life filled his eyes. He rose them with the sun that peaked over the tallest mountain. This place... Where am I? I am... Pennaprose. Pennaprose Lochflow? That is... my name? The words floated by his vision as he thought them, vanishing somewhere into the out-of-sight above him. He tried to follow, seeing the mountains that loomed before him instead. They seemed to swallow the sky around him as he looked. The sun disappeared again, yet its light still shone around them. A glimmer of starlight? The peaks of all three sparkled, beckoning him. Yet he could not walk, for the heat of the flames around him threatened to scorch him if he dared advance. He blinked—again, the world around him evolved—and the flames died down. Three blades sheared the air, impaling the ground. Sound once more cloaked itself. One was wickedly curved, yet pure gold and reverent. Where it landed, grass sprung up from nothing, spreading like a virus. It had no hilt, it held no gems, it possessed no edge to speak of. And yet, the sight of it seemed to cut into his eyes, making invisible threats. He looked away. The second blade was a short sword, elaborately wrought. Its hilt had two curved golden feathers, the blade cut to a diamond-fine point and toned of icy-blue and blood red. The earth around it seemed to halt the grass, sucking the ground dry. The longer he stared, the more he wanted to back away—like the first, its existence seemed to emanate some sort of painful aura. And lastly, he gazed upon the third, feeling comforted. It felt familiar, almost as if it was crying out for him to take it up. The hilt was curved, like a horseshoe—the blade, thin and silver-white. Changeré. The words floated by in his vision, but this time, they did not leave. I know this blade... I have this blade. In... huh? He moved forward, attempting to pick up the blade with his magic. As he did, the flames roared back to life twice as strong, Sound once more stepped in, bringing with it a howl of wind and a sting of snow. One moment the land was green—the next, winter white. Through the flames, he could spot everything around him disappearing. The mountains crumbled one by one, bringing with them a mighty earthquake that rent the earth. The second blade stood resolute in this newfound chaos; as he looked, the flames around him were taken in by it, expanding the aura of pain tenfold. He flinched and fell over, helpless. The third blade, Changeré, wobbled dangerously before falling over in the din. It got quickly covered in snow. He tried reaching out a non-existent hoof to help, feeling sad for it. But as he did, the second blade tore from the earth of its own accord and replanted itself between him and Changeré. He wretched a little. Up close, the painful aura was much worse. He tried looking beyond it, towards the first blade. It had done nothing but sit there, accumulating snow. The blade before him, moved through the earth without warning, scattering sparks asunder. Where they landed, snow melted along with the grass underneath it. As the flames spread, he saw pieces of the first blade fall off in chunks. No... this is... a nightmare? Wait! I know this blade too...! As the thought passed, the name formed before his eyes. Djiingoh. The blade stopped, seemingly aware of his thought. It floated away slightly; he got back up and glared at it. Djiingoh... The blade that has the ability to cleave a windigo in two... It floated and bounced as if mocking him. He lunged forward in an attempt to contain it—some part of him told him that it was the source of this havok. It vanished in the blink of an eye. He stopped, confused—the snow had not stopped falling, neither had the flames stopped burning. Was I wrong? No matter... where is...? He hunched down and tried to shift the snow around in search of Changeré. It seemed infinite, a hopeless task... He glanced over at the first blade in desperation. It was in a sad state, yet still somehow the remaining pieces exuded power. He went over to it—oddly, the ground where the fragments had fallen held no snow around it. He perked up and grabbed one with his magic. Simply wielding the piece gave him a feeling of great confidence. Suddenly, all the snow in the world seemed as puddles. He held the fragment low to the ground, melting the snow. This is a dream, or a nightmare... anything should be possible. So...? He smiled, or at least felt he did, for he could not feel his mouth. All around him, flowers bloomed from the snowbanks, an absolute array of colors untold. One grew with such vigor that surely it was stronger than steel—stronger than such, as when it came up and clawed the sky, it brought with it Changeré. He dropped the piece in happiness, rushing over to meet it. Changeré seemed so delicate up close... I must guard this from harm... he thought. He tucked it away, even as the flowers that bloomed began to recede back into the earth. It was like watching a play in reverse. He regarded them fondly as the sun made itself known again. Warmth filled the land again as the grass sprung up, flicking the snow aside. And yet, the wind remained cold. Sound flickered out once more. His brief happiness drained out, yet he could not figure why. Changeré seemed to shiver on his back. He paused, then tried to turn around. He found once more that he could not. Fear struck a dart into his thoughts. Why can't I...? What is this? Ice? His hooves, he noticed, had finally materialized at some point. But they did not come alone—attached to them was a prison of ice, binding him the ground. He felt no cold, but rather a searing fire running up his legs. He tried to hack at them with Changeré, but it did nothing but bounce uselessly off of it. His breathing quickened, becoming shorter and shorter. Why does this dream feel so... real? "Yes." The voice, containing no tone or timbre, exuded no warmth of chill, bore no command or plead. It was as a word was made voice and voice alone—and it came from nowhere. He turned around in a panic, as far as his neck could twist. There floated Djiingoh, wrapped in hate and fear, edged in ice—pointed straight at his back. He tried to swipe Changeré at it, but it parried with no effort. The clang that should have come did not sound. Everything froze in place in lockstep. His sight, each blade of grass, the sun itself—all seemed to stand still as Djiingoh poised... And struck.