Rest now. Explore later.

Something awakened Sandro from his slumber.

The young man opened his eyes very slowly and sat upright on his bed. His body felt light, insubstantial even, and yet his movements were sluggish and delayed. “I’m probably still asleep” he thought and, according to the rules of dreams, the thought slipped away the moment it appeared. After all, dreaming allowed little logic or deliberation.

The cleric could see the hands of the clock as well as the numbers, when he focused, but concluding anything meaningful from this information was beyond his ability at the moment. He knew it was late, though. Very late. The regular, lulling sound of the clock seemed deceptive. Something was just not right. Still, seeing it was nothing but a dream Sandro got up and dressed, failing to notice that his vision was blurry, that some unseen hand was guiding his every move. “Will this be a nightmare or a fantasy?” The thought barely touched his spiritless mind.

The moment he was ready, the door of his room opened by itself, slowly, without a sound. He turned around to face the unearthly blue mist which poured inside, drawing closer and enveloping him in its cold embrace.

Sandro…

The female voice came from no particular direction, as if it was inside of his head, but the boy knew where it beckoned to and he obeyed. How could he resist when it whispered his name with such sweetness, such love? Smiling and dreamy-eyed, he left his room.

The halls were quiet beyond belief, like the corridors of a monastery’s stone catacombs. All the guests and all the guards, all the maids and all the servants were fast asleep. Most were in bed by now but many lay at their posts, put to sleep by the touch of the magical mist. The blond cleric paid no attention. He walked past them with arms wide open, following the phantoms of women that the pale blue fog conjured for his eyes only. Flickering, bright green flames accompanied him, flying around in an obscure dance. Somewhere in the distance one could hear a tinkling sound; a chime that somehow shifted into a quiet, girlish laughter. And there were the whispers…

Sandro…
Windfall…
Godsend…

“Such a wonderful dream” the boy thought. “I don’t want to wake up.”

And then, atop the highest tower of Castle Kaltenbach, he fell to his knees. Storm clouds gathered almost instantly and began to roar over his head; their grim blackness threatened to devour the whole world. Powerful gusts of wind tore at the loose ends of his garments while cold rain poured from the sky and the occasional lightning seemed to set the horizon ablaze. Sandro cared not, however. He stared intently at the three young women in white robes who appeared out of thin air in front of him. Their faces were pale and their long dark hair was not affected by the wind.

You can hear it…
The heartbeat…
The call…

Their eyes remained hidden by the shadows as they spoke one by one and their voices conveyed much more than words. Knowledge, shreds of memories and visions flooded… stained the boy’s mind and soul.

You are the chance…
You are the light…
You are the key…

As the otherworldly, mind-numbing litany continued, Sandro could feel his strength waning. He never even realized when he clenched his fists on the crucifix he carried around his neck but he didn’t let go of it even when he fell to the stone floor. The wraiths etched their last words on his fading consciousness.

You must act now…
You speak for us…
We have chosen you…