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Where was the air? He could feel it, both a blockage in his throat as well as a set of invisible hands choking him from outside. A gasp, desperation. And black. He felt his knees crash on the floor, but when he tried to get up again, he couldn’t. As if he was in a suit of armor pulled along by a set of strings.
“Callum?” Rayla asked, cautiously.
“Rayla!” He tried to speak, but his helmet felt like it clamped his jaw shut.
He heard her footsteps approaching, his eyelids still stuck as if he was wearing the tightest blindfold in the world. The strings, as if by instinct he felt them starting to move.
He was just a puppet now.
The invisible hands tugged on them hard, forcing his eyes to turn to her. And in hers, he saw fear. The horrified expression of someone who has seen darkness. Looked it right in the eye.
The strings tugged again, and his knees floated off of the ground. More than just hands now, another being engulfed him, his armor turned to ether and on his face became plastered another. Aaravos.
He felt the glee of the parasite, the elation of someone who accomplished their goal.
“Zubeia.” He spoke, the echoes of his words bouncing around in Callum’s ears. “You haven’t aged a bit.”
“You look as young and ravishing as the day you betrayed me.” He saw the anger in the Arch Dragon's eyes, expecting, almost hoping she’d end it right here. “So sorry to hear of your mate’s untimely, and tragic, passing.”
His legs started to move on their own again, Aaravos leading him along without a second thought, and without slacking control. He turned to his friends. His brother, Soren, Rayla. Looking them each in the eye with as much contempt as condescension. He wishes he could help them, hold this villain back. He was desperate, but no matter how much he tried he couldn’t move an inch.
“So these are the champions you’ve gathered to try and stop me? They’re nothing but pathetic children.” Callum knew that that statement was just as much about him as the others.
“The whining child king. In over his head, and he knows it.”
“The moonshadow assassin, who, can this be right, isn’t capable of killing?”
“The failed son, whose father wishes he’d never been born.”
“Ouch…”
What was that? Why did that work all of a sudden? Just as fast that they slacked, he was back under his full control. Did Aaravos mean to say that? Did he let him on purpose? It was instinct to make that remark, but it felt… off. Like he wasn’t in full control either, if only for a split second.
“And my favorite.” He stared at himself, or rather his mirror image. Aaravos. “The human mage. Already tainted by darkness. And destined to play right into my hands…”
He turned around, one final time. “Oh, my time has come.”
And with that, He left him. His knees were starting to feel weak again, and his sight faded to black, again. The last thing he felt was the support of someone holding him, guarding him against the cold and hard rock of the floor. And he was gone.