Chapter Text
I knew at first only the sensation of being.
In a previous state, I was a spark, adrift in a warm golden glow while the cold void of the unknown roiled at the edges of my dream. The glow nurtured me. This I knew. It sang to me with a voice like thunder and rain, crashing against my spark like the waves of an endless sea. Upon the crest of one wave was Form, and as it rolled into me, I knew what I would become. Upon the crest of another were two names. The name of the voice became Mother, and the name of the sea became Father. With their breath, they gave me Will and a secret truth: that I was the dream, and that the dream was a name, and the name was me, and it was good and true.
But even the best of dreams must end.
Mother sang to me less and less. Father became somber, distant, and still. I did not know how long it was; there was only the Changing, like a turning wheel—the sea froze; thawed; became a fury; then slowed and chilled, to freeze again. A thousand turns it felt like. But always there was the glow, now quiet. Why? Had I disappointed them? Where once my thoughts sent waves, now my pleas sent ripples. A gnawing emptiness began to consume me with their absence. Then—a tsunami tore through me—
The dream was cold. It was dark now. My cries were met with silence. It was so lonely…
The Changing continued, but not as it had before. Now it was … detached; a wheel off its spoke. As though separate from me. It left a cold sort of hollowing within me. I could not ponder its meaning. Something was amiss, that much I knew. Why wouldn't Mother sing to me anymore? Had I displeased her? Has she abandoned me? Eventually, even my perception of the absence disappeared, and then I was floating in nothing. Silence and fear had become a part of me, so heavy and overwhelming that I didn't know the meaning of the words. Would there ever be an end to this stasis? Consciousness gave way to the draining claws of a formless hand again and again; I was sinking in the nothingness—the in-between before the new dawn.
There was a silence in my mind, before—
—~*{(|)}*~—
I awoke in the heat of the fires of the world, the foreign melody a comforting rhythm compared to that of the storm that raged against the world beyond, like the heart that labored to pump ichor through my frail body. I could hear it all around me, a deep-seated choir of voices, singing about warmth in Icedusk; about home and hearth. Though the song was comforting, I could feel the nullifying ache of something lost. I couldn’t put a name to it as a rush of sensation flooded my mind. The smell of hot earth, molten and flowing nearby. The taste of smoke in the back of my throat, choking and acrid. The sharp bite of obsidian glass—the coarse claws of gravel and ash beneath me, clinging to my once-white fur, dragging me down by my ears and tail in a rebellion against life, holding me prisoner with hidden, inward weights. The same weights kept my eyes closed.
Does the dream end?
A tortured cough clawed its way up through my lungs and tore itself free from cracked and parched lips as I choked. The air scarred my breath and dragged cruel, unforgiving fire down my lungs with each trembling inhale. My body convulsed with shivers that threatened to shatter bones that felt like cracked glass.
Then, a voice shouted from a distance, accusatory and commanding. There was a cacophony of noise and movement as I felt myself lifted from my volcanic bed and carried, hapless and limp, through an imposing door into a cooler, welcoming darkness that lived in the corridor beyond the threshold. But no sound could drown out the rhythm that I first heard on waking. The one that burned and spat its incandescent heat into this place; that now sang and called me in my feverish state. I want to leave. I want to return to the darkness. I want… The cold dying would be a welcome mercy. The one that held me close when Mother left. Where is Mother Voice? Where is Father Sea? Why is it so hot? Please, it burns, it burns…
But I soon began to dream again. Or was I waking up? The only difference was the soft pitter of rain from outside. The storm was ending.
“It is in dire condition.” An elderly voice; concern laced his voice like honey mixed with tea, warm and sweet. Is that Father?
“I found it in the Chamber; I watched the leaf strike the Element!” Another voice. Lighter. Younger, he sounded. They, too, were concerned about … something. Mother?
“A’lei!” The elder exclaimed. If it was exasperation or annoyance, I could not tell. “Be at peace, child. We will find out more, but not now.”
“Its glow, it's gone, it needs—” The child's distressed voice was cut through like a river going around a stone by the elder one.
“You will do nothing but go home, young spirit.” The tone became scolding. “You're in enough trouble as it is, sneaking off to the Chamber. Again.”
“But—”
“The Leitling needs rest and healing. Leave him to this old Mediker.” The older voice paused, and in that brief silence, I almost knew peace. There was a sigh.
“It was foolish of you to be out in this Storm, i’dai. But…I concede that you were brave. Now go, dry yourself by the fire before you freeze to death.”
Anything else that may have been said began to fade. The silence that came was a welcome one. Their voices had been loud and grating like an old grindstone against my ears; there was an unfamiliar and incessant pounding all about me.
I just want it to stop. I just want to sleep. I want to remember a better time, when the voice like thunder and rain sang my name… My name...
My … name?
In dream, the name was told, but in waking, the dream forgot me.