Page 97 of To Free a Soul
His own voice muttered to him incoherently as moments of madness festered within the ache of his mind. The dullness of living for eternity, in his own self-made suffering, was his imprisonment.
Memories flickered, all the same. Just a string of indecipherable thoughts. Then a face, beautiful with a mix ofbrown and gold, appeared for a millisecond. It was gone before he could truly discern who it was. Their face returned multiple times, each time growing more withered and drained, and the golden glow radiating from their very being became lacklustre.
The darknessalwaysreturned. His darkness.
Another twitch, and this time his subconscious stretched in two different, twisting directions.
Then he managed to grab ahold of a memory when it blessed his everlasting void, and it played out in his mind.
A set of green hands, the soft flesh of their palms paler and near cream, picked up his prism. He felt nothing, despite knowing he was no longer lying upon the bed his mother, the Gilded Maiden, rested on.
Bright-green scales covered the hands as the sides and backs of them came into view. Cream-coloured claws chinked against whatever was keeping Weldir contained. Then the darkness parted like a curtain, and a strange, humanoid face with short dark-green hair was revealed.
The facial scales appeared soft and malleable, allowing the reptilian flesh around his yellow eyes to crinkle. The spikes framing his eyes and brows moved with his frown, and a forked red tongue licked at his dark-green lips, which incidentally revealed his sharp, thin fangs.
He looked Elven formed: a broad jaw, high cheekbones, and arching brows. His long, pointed ears twitched, tipped with little spikes upon them. Yet his face lacked a proper nose; it was only two little slits with a slightly convex bulge where there should be one.
He’d never seen this male before. As he eyed the spikes jutting out from the corners of his jaw, and the scales lining his neck, the rest of him faded from view.
“I know you are in there, dark one,” the being, likely an Elven deity, stated. His voice was soft, rich, and smooth, and oddlyhad a calming influence upon Weldir’s subconscious. “I have felt your power shifting and changing as your prism lies in my mending vines.”
He remained silent; no one could hear him beyond his prison.
The bright, indistinguishable background sped past in a downward fashion, as if the male lowered to sit upon the ground with the crystal prism in his hands.
“I hope you don’t mind, but it’s time I introduced myself.”
Yellow mana rippled from the male’s fingertips like water.
Weldir’s mist perceived an intrusion, and he spun in a circle to find the male behind him. He was in the far distance, searching the endless darkness, so Weldir transported directly in front of him.
He wore a pair of loose white pants, and a sleeveless shirt made from vines and pink flowers. His clawed bare feet were also adorned with green leafy-patterned arching shoes that lacked soles, with little pink flowers. Over his shoulders he wore a half vest made of thick, scaly brown material.
The male spun, his head moving one way and then the other, and almost passed over Weldir. Yet he stopped, and his yellow eyes slipped back, then widened when they fell upon him.
“So, you have truly gained some kind of form.” He pushed forward in a way that was unnatural, as if the makeup of the prism didn’t affect him. “But it’s still not whole.”
“It’s a manifestation,” Weldir answered, unsure if he’d be heard or even understood.
The male whisked his hand through his mist.“Of mana?”
Weldir’s entire being pulsed without his control.
“It is real. I can feel this is a part of you, a solidness that isn’t complete or truly tangible.” The male then lifted his yellow eyes with slitted pupils to meet his gaze. “It’s more than we hoped. It means you have a semblance of... control.”
Weldir lifted his arms to look down at his body, seeing it in its entirety. He also saw the constant mist that shrouded him wherever he went.
“Who are you?” Weldir shifted to look behind him, to where the image of this male still existed beyond his prism. “And how are you here? How have I not eaten you?”
“It’s a projection.” He waved down at himself. “I’m not truly here – merely an illusion – and you cannot destroy what isn’t real.” Then his thin lips pursed. “Although I can feel you eating away at the mana the longer I do it.”
Weldir waited patiently for him to answer all his questions.
“I am Leyfr, the god of forestry and flora. One of your potential sires, and one of the last three deities remaining on this plane.” He gestured towards his own face beyond the prism wall. “I’m the one who has been keeping Almethrandra alive within my mending vines and monitoring your progress in her stead.”
His gaze slid down Leyfr completely, and he expected that by the time he looked back into his eyes, he would regard him differently.
He didn’t.
