Caretaker of Light

[Fez_The_Kid]

In the dead of night, Azaranth raved. Sheathed in a layer of sweat, he shifted restlessly over his grit-stained cot. Flitting thoughts raced in his mind, stirred in almost perfect accordance till they fused and took form. Once again, he found himself within the same dream. Yet he could feel the odd, obscure magic with which it had been imbued, the originator ebbing power Azaranth had not felt before, and its waywardness chilled him even as he slept.

Even so, he stood in the frozen wasteland once more, at the heart of a world visited on many occasions now. A recurring scene - an earth frozen, howling winds, and a sunless, grey-colored horizon, and, of course, the snowstorm itself. All, as usual, had appeared to greet merely one of his sporadic entries.

The snowstorm’s arrival, however, had been… abrupt, stronger than it had been the times before. It had struck harder. Much harder, practically burying him in a layer of snow. Vaguely, even his presence felt more lifelike than the more spectral visitations he’d inadvertently incurred in the past. The weather permitted him no more than a few paces of sight, and in all directions, the world was sheathed in a raging gauze of snow.

He waited. The mysterious, if not dubious, wraith would certainly soon make an appearance. Except, he realized after a time, it would not. The time passed had betrayed that a... change had occurred. Six heartbeats and Azaranth usually found himself facing the bastard. It was obvious, now, that this dream did not share the same overly predictable pattern of the past ones.

A detail that, if anything, drew the monster hunter's interest.

The wind shrieked. Blinking snow from his eyes, Azaranth oddly felt the air shiver.

Then started as the storm, like a stoppered tap, vanished in a sluice of snow. Just like that.

He reeled, forward into the clear, and found himself standing in the middle of an empty world. Not a single soul in sight on this frozen oblivion. The wind had gone still, as if the life had abandoned it, and the hardpacked earth underfoot stretched onward, ever onward, on all sides. For the first time - he now noticed - a glaring sun blazed at its zenith.

Suddenly the world turned dark. It was a few moments before Azaranth realized he was standing in a cast shadow. Huge, a grimly new presence manifested behind him.

He turned.

And found himself standing in the lee of a... monstrosity, its height reaching skyward to challenge the Citadel itself. A looming structure. When he looked up, he saw that the shape was, in fact, no structure at all. For he saw, at the upper end, that the thing was looking down on him.

Serpent-like and plastered with a huge grin.

A dull chill seeped through Azaranth. He stood, stock-still, his heart skipping beats as the narrowed, blue-colored slits so far up - what passed for the creature’s eyes - studied him, flitting, he saw, from limb to limb. And he, in turn, studied its scaled features, the bulging underbelly heaving as the monstrosity seemed to exhale - wait. Wait.

Scaled... His eyes widened as recognition dawned on him. Azaranth hesitated, then managed, “You are…”

In answer, a voice rasped in Azaranth’s mind. Which made sense, for if the creature had used its vocal cords - had it any - Azaranth doubted he’d understand anything beyond the ridiculously low pitch. “Real? Not in this manifestation, not at this time. I only appear before you as would a wraith, abstract and not of this world. But so it is only from your perspective, as some have presumed to call me a ‘myth,’ a ‘legend,’ and enforce it among their kin. You mortals have fickle minds.”

Azaranth’s thoughts raced. He had so many questions. Mortals? Did he stand in direct conversation with a god? Was this anyway related to his past dreams? Was this even real? It’s too damn similar to real life to not be. He drew breath, the air - as it would in the waking world - entering his lungs. To begin with— “Who are you?”

“I am Sihldir, Lord of the Seas. Ruler of the depths the world over,” it asserted. “Now I ask - who are you? What brings you to my realm? My dominion?”

Azaranth suspected at first that the behemoth mocked him, then shook himself back to awareness. That would be ridiculous. “I am Azaranth Ubissad…” The monster hunter elected not to reveal more of himself, or, more precisely, his profession. “With pleasure. It was not in my intentions to... encroach on your world. In my world, I now sleep. And each time I do, I find myself dreaming the same dream. This time is different, though.”

Sihldir was silent for a moment. “I take it, then, you have my totem on your person?”

“Your totem?” As if of a will of its own, Azaranth’s hand reached into his thawing clothes and came out with a bone-white, circular disc. Arcane writing was etched into its polished surface, the lines glinting with power as it rose in the warrior’s grasp. “Do you mean this?”

“Indeed,” it replied. “It seems there has been no ritual to celebrate its rite of passage. The last owner was indeed worthless of my gift. He had grown complacent with its powers. It is decided, then, that due punishment be delivered upon his entourage.”

Azaranth thought on his words for a moment, then ventured, “Does the owner go by the name of Tobb Frostbloom?”

A momentary pause. “Yes.”

“And what, if possible, can be done to lift the penalization?”

“Nothing can be done, mortal. I have reached a decision, and that is final,” it said, massive, toothy jaws parting to account all those words.

And what if I persist?

As if guessing his thoughts, Sihldir added, “Do not question my authority, lest you suffer the same fate.”

Aggressive. “As you wish.” Heartbeats later, Azaranth looked up again, met that monstrous gaze. “Sihldir—” he paused, if only to see the creature’s reaction to that blunt address, then continued— “is this the first time we meet?”

A slow blink. “You do not recall? We have met many a time. Once, in fact, in your world. Yet my arrival immediately rendered you and your comrade unconscious. Alas. The difference between this dream and the ones past, of which you revealed to have been ignorant, utterly lies in the legitimacy of your intentions. You seem to have found... solid answers to my ever-persistent questions. Something has been altered within you, Azaranth Ubissad - a new purpose, I sense, cause to make this audience a reality. Thus, I have deemed you worthy of this greet meeting."

Yes, and of being able to actually talk to you rather than play the mannequin over and over again. So, you were that nagging prick, except in false form. Because I… hadn’t yet found my purpose? Azaranth sighed. Just as everything had started to make sense, it all went tumbling into pieces again.

Azaranth demanded, "Why do you ask me these questions?"

Sihldir spoke, hastiness edging his voice.“All in due time. Mortal, your half-blooded friend is in trouble. He is in need of you. However, you must first answer me this before I release you from your dreaming.”

Azaranth’s brows rose, then nodded. “Ask away.”

“Why are you here?”