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Viren sat bolt upright, gasping in the foreign air around him. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat so viscerally that he almost wanted to scream. He hadn’t even had a heartbeat in…however long, and he hadn’t even noticed its lack, or much of anything, in that entire time.
And now, to his bewilderment, he was…here.
Somehow or other, after the fire, after Soren, after he’d harvested his own heart to save everyone, he was…alive.
“No,” he whispered. “No…no, no, no, no, not again. Not again!” His hands trembled and his eyes were wet. “Claudia, how could you-”
But Claudia wasn’t there. When he pried his eyes away from his own alien form, he found that he was…alone.
But…but how?
As he examined his surroundings, he realized the scene was very different from that of his first resurrection. First of all, he was lying on a plush bed, with a dark purple canopy embroidered with bright stars overhead. There was nothing in the room that he recognized, but the furniture was…of a familiar style. He rubbed at his eyes, shifting and flexing his toes. He hadn’t moved in a long while, he guessed, and it felt strange, despite the fact that in his mind, no time had passed at all.
He swung his legs over to the side of the bed, intent on finding Claudia, or whomever had brought him back this time. His body could not have spontaneously revived itself. Perhaps the spell had been cast a while ago and was only now taking effect.
This time, he couldn’t hesitate. He had to make clear that, though he lived again, he did not wish to do so much longer. He had decided to die when he performed the Hearts of Cinder spell. Fate had willed him to die when he fell from the Storm Spire. He was meant to be gone.
And I suppose, if she isn’t receptive, the spell will wear off in thirty days anyhow.
He only fell twice on his way out of the room. When he opened the door, he found a long empty hallway. He kept one hand on the wall for balance as he made his way to a more open room at the end of it. It seemed to be some sort of kitchen, when he got there. There wasn’t anyone there that he could see, so he made his way toward a door on the other end of the room.
He wasn’t even the slightest bit prepared for what he found on the other side.
Before him was a room he recognized very well, though he had only ever seen it from behind glass.
This was Aaravos’ prison.
But it couldn’t be. Surely. This-, this was a dream, some kind of dark magic vision. His dying brain trying to exact one last punishment for everything that had happened.
Viren knelt down for a moment to catch his breath. He tried to remember his previous visions. He’d had a few. One when he cast his first spell. Another when he healed Soren. And then that…very strange one after Umber Tor.
They always had some sort of throughline. Some clear path for him to follow.
He got to his feet and began searching around for some kind of passageway. He tore the books off their shelves and searched underneath the table and chair for anything of interest. When that didn’t work, he moved on to the kitchen, and then to the hallway. He searched the rooms he hadn’t seen earlier. There was an indoor garden, a library, and a spare bedroom but after what must’ve been hours of searching, nothing of interest appeared.
No, this can’t be happening. The visions have never taken this long before.
So, it was true then. He was really here.
But how?
Aaravos. It must’ve been. The elf was toying with him again. He’d found some way to…trap his soul, or something.
Viren hadn’t seen him in any of the rooms, but that didn’t mean anything. He was probably just disguising himself, getting some sort of sick joy out of watching Viren stumble around his prison.
“Alright!” Viren called. “I’ve had enough! Show yourself!”
Nothing.
“I know you’re here, Aaravos! Whatever game you’re playing, I’m not playing along! Come out!”
Still nothing.
“I MEAN IT!” he screamed. “SHOW ME YOUR FACE, YOU VILE…CONNIVING…MONSTER!” The last word echoed through the corridor and lingered in the air. It was the only response to Viren’s outburst.
“No,” Viren whispered. “No, no, no, no…”
He trailed off.
If Aaravos wasn’t here, then that meant…he’d escaped. He was out there, somewhere, with Soren and Claudia, and…and Viren was stuck here. Alone.
He raced to the room with the mirror in it, hoping that…somehow, he could send some kind of message. To let his children know he was trapped here. That he was, once again, back from the dead.
But will they even care?
He didn’t know. But it was worth a try. After everything he’d done, he could at least offer his help in taking down Aaravos. Even if his usefulness was negligible without dark magic.
When he arrived in the room, however, he saw that the mirror’s glass had been shattered. The only gateway to the outside…gone.
He was truly and completely alone.
Viren couldn’t breathe. He fell to his knees, gasping. He began to sob, quietly, understanding that he might never escape this place. Visions began to flash before his eyes, of endlessly pacing an empty hallway, never feeling another’s touch, sitting alone in silence for countless hours. He’d- he’d be here for years. Decades, maybe. The only end would be death, but…could he even die in this state?
After his second resurrection in (presumably) under a year, Viren knew death was not something to be trusted. Especially in this strange realm he found himself in that seemed to defy logic itself.
He had thought his sacrifice would be a fitting punishment for his crimes against Xadia. An act of repentance, followed by a permanent neutralization of the threat he posed.
But it was clear, now, that fate had a much harsher punishment in mind. Whatever force was behind his new imprisonment intended for him to suffer. It wasn’t enough for him to perish. He needed to sit, in silence, with what he’d done.
Possibly forever.
The mercy of death had been denied him twice now, and neither would he ever be free again. The years stretched ahead of him like the endless expanse of the ocean.
Time would tell, but somehow, he could feel that there would be no end to this torture.
Viren buried his face in his hands, thinking of all he’d done for Aaravos, and all he’d done to Claudia, and dear Soren, and Lissa, all for him to end up here, with a fog of insurmountable guilt hanging over him and nothing left to him but time. Time to stew, and ruminate, and all the while despise himself.
That mirror. You have discovered a fate worse than death.
He clutched his sides, curling into a ball and sobbing himself senseless there on the polished floor.
Indeed I have.