In the dead of night, snoring and soft murmurs competed against the silence in the room. On most nights, Sanim Grennathoc wouldn’t bother to bring himself to bed. By the time he emptied the bottle, his desk would be just as comfortable. Of course, that would mean that he would wake to find his map and notes disheveled and covered in drool. Again. For weeks now, he had been poring himself endlessly over any records he could find. Tonight would mark three months since his brother’s disappearance. No, his brother’s murder. It was murder. He just needed to prove it. Three months and none of the wrinkled and wet pages piled up on his desk brought him any closer.

The bottle slipped from Sanim’s hand. Glass shattered on the cold cobblestone floor, bringing the snoring to an abrupt halt. Rubbing his face, Sanim sat up. When he realized his hand was empty, he frowned. He remembered the noise and frowned harder. No matter, there was always more in the cupboards. Before leaving his desk, Sanim focused on the sprawled-out map. It was an old and brittle map. But it was the best-kept and most accurate representation of the Dwenliar Empire Sanim could afford. From the barren wastes in the east to the secluded snowy peaks in the west, the Dwenliar Empire stretched its influence across the land. Indeed, when looking at the map one can't help but picture the unified territories as if it were a great bird with wings outstretched in flight. 

At the heart of the empire was Folinthra - the capital and crown jewel of the expansive empire. The last known location of Thaelin Grennathoc.

The grand city would always be easy to locate on a map. The notable orchards and vineyards surrounding it would be easy indications. Everyone knew the best wines were made in the capital. If you found yourself in Folinthra and you weren't a nobleman, scholar, or criminal awaiting execution, then you were there to indulge. People would come from across the land to visit and experience Folinthra, and part of the reason was for the vineyards themselves. Axios Vineyard, Tanglevine Orchard, and Bitterthorn Winery were among the most recognizable attractions, with each one specializing in its own unique recipe for wines, spirits, and beer. As popularity continued to grow, consumers began associating these landmarks with the great city itself and before long, they were marked on every map in the kingdom. Folinthra became quickly identifiable by the circle of trees denoting the famous vineyards and orchards.

On Sanim’s map, Folinthra was marked in a less glamorous way. His own drool.

Sanim's lips formed a tight line as he shook his head. Another map ruined. 

He left his desk and peered into his cupboard. His precious collection of Folinthra wine was lined up, like soldiers standing at attention. Ready. Half of them were missing. Panic swelled. His foot hit something as he stepped closer to open the cupboard. He looked down. Relief met disgust when found his missing bottles. Well of course no one would think to steal from me. But flames above! Had I really drunk this much?

The discarded bottles on the floor were marked plainly. Folinthra's emblem - a bell engulfed in flames - and a number.19, 20, and 21 lay empty on the floor. Haalic's latest experiments to draw in more tourists to the capital. Sanim could hardly remember the different tastes. Haalic had always been ambitious with his ideas. He had introduced caff as a drink made from fermented beans and aged herbs that could help one stay alert and energetic. People were skeptical at first, but once they tried it they couldn't deny its effects. It sold like wildfire. Haalic discovered ways to make ordinary life more exotic and interesting. He and his team developed tabaac, paints, perfumes, and dyes. And now he was working with the prominent wineries in the area to add new flavors and spices to famous wines. 19 held hints of citrus and rosemary. 20 combined a mix of earthy spices from the far west. 21 carried notes of juniper, ginger, and pepper. 

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Of course to Sanim’s dull senses after one too many tastes last night, they were all the same.

Sanim took a bottle. A gift given to him last year. Bitterthorn Bite. He unstoppered it and poured a full glass. Before taking a sip, he let the glass hover in front of his lips as his eyes watched the map. His eyes fixed on a stack of notes. He frowned and lowered his drink.

What?

Sanim grab a loose sheet from atop one of the stacks. His eyes widened. He grabbed another, then a book. He began frantically flipping through it. Despair began to claw at him. He grabbed at another stack of notes. Then,  another. They were all the same.

"Impossible."

Sanim rubbed at his brow trying to make sense of the jibberish. The writing was a mess. Some words were large, others small. One part of a word would start at the top of a page and finish on the back. Several lines of writing were written unevenly. Numbers - or at least what Sanim thought were numbers - could be found peppered about. Diagrams, figures, and charts were found upside-down or in an orientation completely separate from anything else. Nothing made sense. Nothing was legible.

Sanim held a loose sheet. The angry, conflicting lines of ink seemed like scars on a veteran's face. Like Thaelinn's face, Sanim thought. Before Sanim crumpled up the paper, he froze. His eyes were fixed on a spot that held what seemed to be the only sensible piece of script. Clear and bold, it was circled furiously many times:

SHADOWS SEE!

Sanim narrowed his eyes and leaned closer--.

"Look at yourself."

Sanim spun, searching for the sudden voice.

"How could the great Sanim Grennathoc could fall so low?"

A bold voice. Commanding and hard. A familiar voice.

His eyes darted around the chamber. His breathing was getting heavier. He tried to take another sip but his hands trembled in protest.

"Why do I find you repeating yesterday's dance, Sanim?"

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" 

Dark lines of a silhouette appeared on the mirror in the back of the room.

"Come now, Sanim. Don't tell me you don't recognize me."

Lightning crashed outside, and for a brief moment, Sanim could make out features. Long black hair framed and a battle-worn face.

"You? But it can't be."

"You have always been so doubtful. Always questioning reality. It's no wonder you've become the wretched disgrace you are now. Too scared to face what's right in front of you."

Sanim squeezed his eyes shut and began draining his cup. I'm seeing things. My mind is uneasy. Just like the notes. This is just another--.

"We all believed in you. That you'd become someone. A man worthy of riches and power. A man worthy of love and respect. But a pathetic drunkard? Who could ever love you, Sanim?"

In an instant, Sanim threw the cup toward the mirror. An eruption of glass and noise filled the corner of the chamber. Something clattered to the ground, hard and metallic.

"You know nothing of what I am! You know nothing of what I had to do!" Sanim bellowed, spittle flying.

Sanim was breathing quickly, his chest rising and falling. He clenched the last of the unstoppered Bitterthorn Bite. The room fell quiet. Several heartbeats later, Sanim could hear laughter. It grew louder, mocking him.

He pulled the bottle to his lips and drank.