The waning days of autumn cast a somber veil upon the land. Streets grew hushed as the gentle patter of rain graced the cobblestones. But it was the unforeseen chill that seized everyone's attention, as the heavens unleashed their wrath. Raindrops transformed into merciless hailstones, and the tempest swelled into an unyielding blizzard. David Cantorean, akin to his fellow Barnachians, fixed his gaze upon the outside world, peering through the window with trepidation. To the townsfolk, it seemed as though the city incurred the wrath of Avendil, the Ruler of Skydome, unleashing her fury upon them. Little did they fathom that these torrents were the tears of a mother, her heart now shrouded in ice.
Lost in contemplation of the scene before him, the aged wizard treaded with deliberate steps into his study, a sanctuary of ancient wisdom. He approached the grand desk, where an open parchment awaited his touch, and poised his enchanted quill to write:
"Has the prophecy come to fruition?"
As his words graced the parchment, a mystical glow illuminated the page, revealing the cryptic response:
"Averia is falling."
"In that case, the hour draws near," he whispered to the stillness of the room, his voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and caution.
The elderly wizard delicately curled the enchanted parchment into a slender scroll using the tip of his long, slender fingers, then stowed it away in a hidden drawer. He took a leisurely stroll, allowing his mind to wander freely before retiring to his restful sanctuary. Settling into the embrace of a rocking armchair, he stretched his weary limbs and awaited the arrival of his young apprentice, Caleb. The lad, bearing the lineage of the halflings, seemed to have been delayed more than expected, but the wizard would wager that the boy had simply become ensnared in some trivial distraction, losing track of time.
Outside, chaos seemed to ensue, or so it appeared to some. The wizard, however, remained unperturbed as he continued to wait, free from undue concern and finding solace in passing the time. Sooner or later, he knew someone would come, seeking his counsel and wearing thin his patience. Until that moment arrived, he resolved to make the most of his limited hours, embracing tranquility and peace. As he closed his eyes, the sound of the door opening on the floor above reached his ears. Uttering the enchanted words, he turned his gaze toward the magical mirror, where secrets were revealed.
David extended a courteous greeting to the venerable dame descending the winding staircase with deliberate strides and motioned for her to join him in the adjacent seat.
"Indeed, Lady Illaine, your presence in this place is an unexpected surprise," he remarked.
The high priestess responded with a serene smile. "I beg your pardon, Master David. The recent events have weighed heavily upon me. I never intended to burden you with these concerns..."
David rose from his perch and kindled a pipe, the smoke curling around him like wisps of enchantment. "Ah, your noble pride, dear high priestess."
"Please, address me as Illaine, as we did in days of yore."
"Very well, Lady Illaine. Pray tell, what visions have graced your slumber this time?"
"The knight by the name of Brad Silverhilt, he instills a sense of dread within me."
David's laughter erupted momentarily. "Truly, I did not anticipate witnessing fear surface from within you, a woman of wisdom and might."
"Please, spare me your jests, Master David. My brother Illuen provides me with ample mockery. I beseech you, share your impressions of this knight. You have crossed paths with him." The elderly lady's voice trembled with timidity.
"Yes, I have. Just as expected, he exudes fearlessness. Yet, that alone does not render him exceptional."
"He possesses a will as unyielding as steel. He distinguishes himself from the rest."
"Why, Lady Illaine, do you attach such significance to this young knight?"
"A profound intuition resides within me. I believe he may be one of the heralds."
Upon hearing those words, David settled back into his seat, savoring a deep draw from his pipe. "I assume, my lady, that you do not seek my validation of your foresight?" he inquired, a glint of detachment in his eyes.
"No, Master David. I have sought solace in your counsel, wishing to confide my concerns for the knight's well-being. I yearn to shield him," she replied with determination.
"Are you acquainted with the fable of the Hunter and the Beast, my lady?" David posed, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Is that a query aimed at me?" she retorted, her inquiry laced with sarcasm, a soft chuckle escaping her. "The entire tapestry of the Orion doctrine is woven around that very tale. The Beast, once one of our own, or so they say."
David interjected with a timely interruption. "Thus, the destiny of your valiant knight shall be entwined with the threads of time," the wizard declared.
"And in your discernment, time eludes governance," the high priestess asserted.
"Indeed, my lady. At least not within the confines of this realm. The otherworldly domain lies beyond my expertise. As the esteemed sage Terentius once mused, no manifestation from this realm remains unfamiliar to me. However, the Ethereal Realm, that realm belongs to the gods. It is not my playground," David concluded, his voice carrying a reverential tone.
"What will befall us if the two worlds collide? The elders speak of heralds bringing forth this cataclysm," Lady Illaine argued fervently.
"As long as the Archaics remain guardians of the sealed gates, there is no cause for trepidation," David responded calmly. "And if need be, the gates can be sundered," he added.
"But without the ethereal realm, the wellspring of magic would wither away, Master," the high priestess expressed her unease, her voice tinged with apprehension.
"Time shall be the arbiter of that truth, Lady Illaine."
"Truly, I struggle to fathom your perspective, Master David. You possess such mastery in the very art that you seemingly wish to see fade."
"I yearn for its restraint, for the wielders of this ancient craft can unleash devastation as readily as they bring forth creation. Such has always been the way," the venerable wizard sighed wearily, reclining further in his seat. "Once more, we find ourselves enmeshed in these futile debates, my lady. If your purpose here does not encompass a plea on behalf of your deity, my responses to your inquiries may prove limited."
"I beseech the Great Orion each day, yearning to convey a message and receive enlightenment, yet Illuen basks in far more divine replies than I ever have."
"Could it be that your brother coerced a greater number of answers through his relentless questioning?"
"That is the dread that permeates my thoughts. I dare not displease the Mighty Orion."
"Never underestimate the Power Within the Luminosity. Long ago, he assumed the role of the Hunter, forging merciless strategies to ensnare the Beast."
"But he has undergone a transformation," objected the High Priestess.
"That is the narrative you have been presented," replied the aged sorcerer. "Yet what if he remains unaltered? The gods' cunning diverges from the teachings of moralities. In the pursuit of triumph, a multitude of methods are permissible."
"Then what distinguishes Orion from Therion?" Lady Illaine inquired.
David elevated his gracefully arched white eyebrows. "That is the tale, is it not? The Beast once dwelt within the Hunter's lineage. Hence, Orion and Therion are whispered as twins, two halves of an apple."
"You seek to convert me into an infidel akin to yourself," jested the High Priestess.
"Expanding your vista would do no harm." David rose from his seat. "Although our discourse has been captivating, an urgent matter requires my attention, my lady. If you permit," he continued, gesturing towards the door.
"Master David, I implore you to exercise utmost vigilance in safeguarding the knight," beseeched the High Priestess one final time, bidding farewell to the venerable man as she departed the chamber.
After bidding farewell to his guest, David exhaled a deep sigh and sank back into his well-worn rocking chair. He drew a few contemplative puffs from his pipe, fixing his gaze upon the mist-swathed mirror, a wistful smile gracing his lips as he whispered to himself.
"An astute stratagem, Caleb," he remarked, his eyes falling upon his adopted apprentice materializing before him as he uttered the incantations.
"For a fleeting moment, I swear I teetered on the precipice of vanishing into the ether. Were it not for your witness, my mentor, I shudder to think of the outcome," Caleb confessed, relief washing over him in a heartfelt sigh.
"Mayhap you shall glean the wisdom to eschew Averan powder without due cause, Caleb."
"This time, the matter was of genuine import, my master."
"Allow me to venture a guess. You sought an audience with Ilberius, veiling your intentions under the guise of attending to the knight."
"I was not alone. Brad accompanied me on this expedition," Caleb interjected.
David's brows furrowed with a stern countenance. "And?"
"Events spiraled into disarray. I find myself severed from my corporeal vessel, and the knight is nowhere to be found," Caleb confessed, his lips contorting in a sheepish grimace.
"Marvelous. Truly, a marvel," David muttered, rising to his feet and extending his hands wide in a gesture of resignation. "I presume you overheard the words Lady Illaine uttered earlier, my apprentice?"
Caleb nodded, confirming his awareness.
"In that case, you have brought forth a monumental predicament, Caleb. You and your unyielding fixation upon Ilberius. I have admonished you ceaselessly to maintain a distance," the venerable wizard grumbled, the weight of his admonishment resonating in his words.
Caleb lowered his head, resembling a cat that had spilled its milk. "Might a divination spell be of use?" he ventured with hope in his voice.
"It merely unveils the whereabouts of your corporeal forms," David replied. "Are they not within the Scholars' Lounge?"
"I surely hope so," Caleb responded.
"Very well, you shall accompany me," David commanded.
"That's the quandary, my mentor. I am unable to depart this chamber. I have made the attempt," Caleb hastily explained, recounting the intricacies of his astral journey. "Upon Brad's disappearance, I merely sought refuge. Luckily, here I find myself."
David ponderously stroked his chin. "Remain here, then. I shall venture forth to investigate," he ordered. "We shall unearth a resolution," he assured his apprentice.
Chanting the arcane incantations, David vanished from sight, reappearing within the Scholars' Lounge of the Great Barnachia Library. The scene before him was one he dreaded witnessing. The chamber exuded an eerie coldness, the hearth's embers extinguished, and every object within encased in frost. The windows were obscured by a thick mist.
"Could this truly be the cause?" he murmured to himself, his gaze fixating on Caleb's frozen countenance, where even his lashes and brows were coated in ice.
After a brief investigation in the library, David swiftly returned to Celestia. Caleb, his brows furrowed and immersed in thought, released a despairing sigh upon beholding him anew. "Is it truly that dire?" he inquired.
David solemnly nodded. "The knight is lost, and you are succumbing to an icy demise. A sudden winter has descended upon the realm, and contrary to my initial suspicions, the two of you may be the catalyst. Or perchance that accursed specter, Ilberius. Now, recount to me with meticulous detail everything Ilberius uttered to Brad. Omit no detail."
"Do you harbor suspicions against Ilberius?" Caleb inquired, his countenance filled with astonishment as he gazed upon his master, who seemed even more infuriated after Caleb divulged all the intricate details.
"Have I ever extolled Ilberius as a benevolent, helpful entity?" David retorted.
"No."
"Then why does this astonish you?" the aged sorcerer bellowed with anger.
This was an uncharacteristic reaction from his mentor, one Caleb was unaccustomed to receiving.
"You find yourself entangled with the wiles of a ghost who was once a potent and treacherous mage. And perchance, you have unwittingly furnished him with a prized desire. Why do you reckon the gods confined him there? Merely to assume the role of a librarian?" David grumbled as he made his way towards a bookcase in the northern reaches of the chamber, sifting through volumes coated in dust.
"Does this quandary pertain to the issue of the heralds, does it not, Master David?" Caleb timidly inquired.
"Do not engage in conjecture concerning matters of which you possess no knowledge, apprentice. It appears your mixed heritage renders you indifferent to such concerns," David responded testily, his fingers leafing through the pages of ancient tomes as he spoke.
Caleb, attuned to his master's penchant for secrecy in matters of significance, pursed his lips and patiently awaited. The passage of time seemed to stretch on, interminable, until finally David raised his head from the tomes.
"We have no choice but to persist with your role as our clandestine operative, a necessity dictated by the circumstances. Time eludes us, as you well know. With the impending threat of icy demise, discovering Brad's corporeal form may be the sole means to impede Ilberius. We must swiftly ascertain the whereabouts of the knight's partner and beseech his assistance."
As David spoke these words, a resounding knock reverberated from the upper level. The aged sorcerer fixed his gaze upon the enchanted mirror, which unveiled the approaching guests, and he drew a deep breath upon sighting them.
Asvelas Freethorn and Ismeth Crimsongale descended the winding stairs, their figures adorned in furs and enveloped in a snowy mantle.
"The elements outside are gripped by an unrelenting frost, master," Asvelas remarked, brushing the snowflakes from his countenance and his hair streaked with crimson hues. "Pray tell, where do we find Caleb and the knight?" he inquired.
"Caleb is present. However, the knight is bereft from our midst," David calmly responded, his voice measured, as he uttered incantations and cast a shimmering powder upon his apprentice, rendering him visible.
"Salutations, esteemed gentlemen," Caleb greeted mischievously, donning the visage of a wayward child.
Observing Caleb materialize in the heart of the chamber, his form aglow with luminous hues of golden light, flickering like the flame of a candle, Ismeth clasped his fingers together, shaping them into a protective cross. "Keep thy distance, foul specter!" he exclaimed. Then, directing his ire toward the aged wizard, he demanded, "Pray tell, why did you speak of Brad's absence? Someone must promptly elucidate the events that have transpired here."
With agility, Caleb swiftly recounted the tale as Ismeth's irritation grew. Meanwhile, David dispatched Asvelas to the library to ensure the safeguarding of the youthful apprentice's corporeal manifestation.
"Are you not sorcerers? Can't you locate Brad?" Ismeth queried David.
"Alas, Sir Crimsongale, matters of such nature elude swift resolution," David responded.
"Please address me as Ismeth," interjected the knight with dusky skin.
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"According to my estimation, it appears that thy companion's physical vessel has shifted due to an incident during his astral sojourn," David expounded.
"But what might have caused such an occurrence?" Ismeth inquired.
"I possess no answer to that query," David replied. "I, regrettably, lack expertise in matters of spiritual magic. However, I have conceived an idea that may lead us to his whereabouts. And the realization of this idea shall necessitate thy aid, Knight Crimsongale."
"I am fully prepared to provide any assistance necessary to rescue my comrade," Ismeth responded resolutely, without a moment's hesitation.
"Executing this method will require embarking on your own astral journey," David explained.
A shadow fell across Ismeth's face, causing him to take a few steps backward as he wrestled with a multitude of thoughts. One passing notion involved launching himself at the elderly wizard, but he swiftly dismissed it.
"So, you're suggesting that the only means to save Brad is to employ the very same method that has already ensnared him in peril?" he asked incredulously, unable to believe what he was hearing.
"To put it plainly, the astral realm serves as an intermediary dimension. To locate someone trapped within, you must delve into that realm itself before they plunge deeper," David calmly elucidated. Then, locking his gaze with the dark-skinned knight, he continued, "You, Ismeth Crimsongale, are the individual closest to Brad Silverhilt. You possess a profound understanding of his innermost thoughts. With Caleb's aid, you may decipher the scattered fragments and forge a path towards him. Brad Silverhilt's mind may be clouded, thus I recommend focusing on whatever plagues him as a starting point."
"Ok, if that is the case, circumstances have changed, old wizard. My man Brad is currently consumed by a profound infatuation. His mind fixates on a sorceress named Charlotta. I dare say he is attempting to reach her. However, I am unfamiliar with this Charlotta, and her whereabouts remain a mystery. We have scoured all the inns since morning, and she is nowhere to be found," Ismeth disclosed, unveiling the fruitless extent of their search.
"Indeed, my mentor's wisdom shines true. Should our focus be fixed upon Brad, a path shall reveal itself. I stand ready to lend my aid," Caleb affirmed with unwavering determination.
"Very well, then. Let us proceed, damn it all. But mark my words, Caleb, upon our return, I shall deliver a resounding blow, landing square in the center of your mouth," Ismeth declared, his gaze piercing into the young wizard.
Caleb swallowed hard, his apprehension palpable, and subtly gestured with his right hand. "Fair enough," he whispered softly, accepting the terms.
With precise guidance from the venerable sorcerer, Ismeth took his place upon one of the chairs positioned before the grand worktable. Then, David ignited the pipe, emanating an ethereal glow from the sacred powder contained within, and thus commenced the extraordinary journey that lay before them.
* * *
As Brad Silverhilt's senses gradually returned, he found himself within the confines of a damp room where the walls curled inward and merged seamlessly with the ceiling. A palette of verdant hues adorned these walls, creating an unsettling juxtaposition of decay and vitality. His acute olfactory perception detected an amalgamation of putrefaction and life, intertwining in an enigmatic dance. Blurry visions plagued his sight, and a throbbing ache pervaded his head, as if it were swollen beyond measure. However, the bone-chilling cold that had earlier sapped the warmth from his veins seemed to have waned, yet wisps of breath escaped from his lips with each exhalation.
Driven by the desire to escape his confinements, Brad embarked on a quest to locate an exit. His searching gaze caught the glimmer of light reflecting upon a window, beckoning him forward. Peering through the glass, he beheld a frenzied tempest of snowflakes, whirling and swirling in a chaotic ballet. The entire city lay enshrouded in an immaculate blanket of white, though he knew he stood in Southern Barnachia, where these streets were all too familiar. Directly across from his position, his gaze was drawn to a majestic hill adorned with trees whose boughs, laden with a pristine layer of snow, gracefully descended to caress the ground, enshrouded by the embrace of ivy. At the apex of this serene mound, where Mother Earth Gaia resided, a profound sense of tranquility washed over him, gently assuaging the throbbing ache that had plagued his head.
As Brad's vision finally cleared, he cast his gaze upon the chamber's interior. It was a modestly furnished room, sparsely decorated with an ebony nightstand adorned with a flickering gas lamp, and an unvarnished, wheat-colored wooden bed positioned to its left. And there, right before him, stood the elusive figure he had tirelessly sought.
"Charlotta," the knight whispered, his words barely escaping his lips.
Wrapped in a dark green blanket, the woman lay in a profound slumber, her countenance glistening with beads of sweat, her complexion pallid, mirroring the shallow cadence of her breath. Intermittent tremors coursed through her frame, as though tormented by a feverish ordeal.
In an instant, the woman jolted upright. Or rather, her material form remained motionless, while her trembling silhouette detached itself deliberately, hovering just above. With a yearning to ascend towards the ceiling and beyond, her outstretched arms extended sideways, and she inclined her head skyward. Brad observed that her eyes remained sealed shut, and her movements bore the essence of an entranced state.
Emerging from his initial astonishment, the knight's indomitable determination resonated within, whispering, "Nay, I shall not permit this."
With swift determination, he surged towards Charlotta, enwrapping the ethereal astral manifestation of the sorceress in his embrace, drawing her downward. The dormant spirit wrestled desperately against its impending departure. The slumbering woman's corporeal frame quivered and convulsed with restless energy. Unyielding, Brad clung ever tighter, unrelenting in his grip.
Gradually, the convulsions ceased, and the woman, now embodied in the ethereal reflection, delicately unfurled her eyes, locking gazes with Brad. "How came thee here?" she queried, a perplexed expression gracing her visage. Her searching gaze scanned the surroundings. "What place be this? Where does my presence dwell?" she implored, her voice laced with unease. Fear took hold of her as she beheld her own corporeal form, prompting a stifled gasp. "A dark fantasy this seems, a mere nightmare," she whispered, her words tinged with trepidation.
Brad clasped her by the nape, gently turning her gaze towards him, his grip firm yet tender, aiming to assuage her troubled spirit. "Answers be few in my possession, fair Charlotta. What I do know is that, through means unknown, our paths have converged within this astral realm. Thy spirit battles against the forsaking of thy mortal vessel. But you are a resilient soul, steadfastly resisting its beckoning pull. Stand resolute," he implored, his voice resonating with unwavering reassurance.
The woman mustered the strength to utter, "Fatigue engulfs me," her pallid form quivering even more violently.
"Why?" Brad inquired, his voice quaking. "Why did you withhold this from me?"
"What matter do you raise, noble knight?" queried the enchantress.
"You comprehend the subject of my discourse. Cease these deceits. You coveted a page from the Book of the Damned and manipulated my being. Where now resides the artifact concealed within that chest, Charlotta?"
"I am ignorant of its whereabouts. Upon prying open the chest, an incandescent burst of brilliance assailed me. Overwhelmed by dread, I fled without a backward glance. Arriving in Barnachia, a profound malaise assailed my essence, and I sought asylum with an erstwhile confidant. It was he who escorted me to this haven of restoration. Subsequent recollections elude me, replaced solely by relentless nightmares."
Brad distanced himself from the woman, running his fingers through his tousled mane, striving to cogitate.
"I pledge upon my honor, my words bear no falsehood. Indeed, I concealed from you the verity of my quest for an archaic and perilous arcane heirloom bequeathed by my forebearer, Charlattan. Yet, that was the extent of my misdeed," Charlotta implored. "My intentions harbored no malice towards you. I beseech your forgiveness."
"Fear not, for I shall extricate you from this predicament," vowed Brad.
In the midst of the unfolding scene, the door adorning the right flank of the chamber swung ajar. Time seemed to halt as both protagonists became fixed in their stances. With measured steps, a crimson-maned elf, reliant on a black cane for support, entered alongside a spectacled gnome bearing disheveled, coiled tresses and a spiral of a beard.
"Melphin," Charlotta's voice resonated.
The gnome approached the woman with deliberate grace, taking her temperature with meticulous care.
"They are oblivious to our presence, their senses bereft," Brad whispered.
"Melphin, my esteemed gnome companion, possesses profound skills as a healer," Charlotta elucidated. "My trust in him is unwavering."
Meanwhile, a dialogue commenced between the gnome and the elf. Brad signaled Charlotta to remain silent, embracing the weight of silence.
"How can you be so resolute, illustrious elf sorcerer?" inquired Melphin.
"As I previously alluded, Charlotta finds herself ensnared by an unparalleled enchantment. Her liberation cannot be achieved within these confines. Though as a healer, you might temporarily postpone her inevitable demise, know that her passing will be an ordeal of unbearable torment. I present an avenue of deliverance. In the realm of Lathvaryl lie enchanted relics, endowed with the ability to sever such a pernicious spell. Together, we can rescue her."
The gnome pondered, his gaze fixed upon the elf adorned with strands of silver woven through his fiery tresses. "Alas, I am uncertain, Monsegnour Eldorian. Our shared comrades vouched for your trustworthiness, yet I am wary of endangering Charlotta," he mused, his words tinged with contemplation.
"I shall grant you a respite for contemplation," the elf responded.
"Nay, such reprieve is unnecessary. I impose but one condition. I shall venture forth alongside you," proclaimed the gnome.
"Very well," acquiesced the elf, extending his hand. His emerald orbs shimmered akin to precious jewels.
Emerging from his pocket, the gnome retrieved a vial of crimson liquid and commenced its administration to Charlotta.
Witnessing this, the ethereal essence of the woman implored, "I beseech you, Brad, save me. This elf is unfamiliar to me, and I find no solace in his presence," before vanishing from sight.
Meanwhile, Brad caught the enchanting incantations whispered by the approaching elf who struck the ground with his staff. Hastening towards the elf, Brad suddenly found himself ensnared in stillness. Immobilized, as were all others save for the elf, he leaned close to the sorceress' ear and uttered in a hushed tone, "You shall restore that which is rightfully mine."
"Did you bear witness to the transpired events? Does it now satiate your desires?" someone inquired from the shadows. The resonant voice belonged to Ilberius.
"Leave me be so that I may confront that wretch," Brad exclaimed.
"Had he detected your presence, he would have aimed for your demise. Whether you realize it or not, noble knight, the man possesses the power to halt the very fabric of time, if only for a fleeting moment," Ilberius cautioned, his words weighted with concern.
In that instant, the flow of time was restored. The elven mage and the gnome departed from the chamber.
"How did you find your way here?" Brad inquired, his composure slightly regained.
"I followed your path, for there was naught else of significance to occupy my existence," Ilberius replied.
"Were you not confined within the subterranean dungeon beneath the grand library?" Brad questioned, his voice tinged with skepticism.
Ilberius emitted a cunning chuckle. "It seems that I am no longer beholden to such captivity. The divine forces have, to some extent, liberated my essence."
"What do you mean by such enigmatic utterance?" Brad probed further.
"For a span of time, we shall be bound together, valiant knight. You and I. Embrace the journey that lies ahead," Ilberius remarked, his tone laced with mysterious anticipation.
"I cannot fathom the intricacies of this predicament," Brad confessed, his frustration palpable.
"Nor can I lay claim to a complete understanding of its depths. Soon enough, the veils of this enigma shall be lifted," Ilberius retorted with a sense of subtle authority.
The ghostly entity's nonchalant demeanor further unsettled Brad. Once again, the room blurred into obscurity. Brad conjured a mental image of a place where tranquility embraced his weary spirit. The fleeting solace bestowed upon him by Charlotta now seemed distant. Determined to depart from this chamber, he shut his eyes and yearned for a fleeting respite.
* * *
"I feel buoyant beyond measure, by the gods!" Ismeth exclaimed.
For a few hours, Caleb and he had been meandering through the winding streets of Barnachia in their ethereal apparitions, concealed from the sight of mundane mortals. In truth, the young wizard, harboring a tinge of mischief, found solace in having eluded the clutches of Celestia's boundaries. However, Ismeth's endeavor to relish the moment swiftly frayed Caleb's nerves. He couldn't shake off David's parting admonition, which lingered in his mind, and he reiterated it to Ismeth:
"Remember, Ismeth Crimsongale, time is an elusive companion. This is no trifling game. Our companion may vanish into the void without a trace. You are the passenger, and I am the guide. As Master David emphatically expressed, it is entirely plausible that Brad's guide could be the haunting sorcerer Ilberius."
"Very well, I shall regain my composure. Yet, there is an oddly enchanting delight in treading barefoot upon the frost-kissed ground. It is chilly, but not frigid to the core. Can you perceive the tantalizing aroma wafting from the artisanal bakery? They concoct extraordinarily delectable olive bread. I confess, my cravings have taken hold," Ismeth mused.
Ismeth resembled naught but a wayward adolescent boy, ensnared in the turbulence of adolescence. He persistently dissipated into sheer whimsy. His mischievous and childlike persona had completely overtaken his ethereal essence.
"By the gods, you've become quite the laid-back fellow!" Caleb grumbled. "Concentrate."
"Alright, alright. Where does Brad venture? When Brad is confounded, his anger flares. He yearns for a brawl. But alas, in our current state, we cannot throw punches, can we?"
"Indeed. Unless you possess the specialized training of a monk, it remains unattainable," Caleb replied.
"Speaking of monks, a thought just struck me. What might the White Maiden be occupied with at this moment, I ponder? Perhaps she sits amidst the temple's garden, upon the snow-clad ground, immersed in profound meditation. Oh, the sheer beauty of it all."
"The White Maiden?" Caleb inquired.
"Shaeala Alchanor. Lady Illaine's personal guardian. We crossed paths but yesterday. Time gallops at a startling pace. Night descends upon us. I surmise Brad has sought solace within the temple's hallowed walls."
"Are you concocting excuses to catch a glimpse of the White Maiden?" Caleb skeptically questioned.
"No, it is not like that. Brad hails from Barnachia and is a knight, yet he lacks companionship in these environs. His only familiar domains are the orphanage and the Orion Temple. He is a man of astute judgment. Once he comprehends the gravity of the situation, he shall seek counsel from a sagacious mentor. In due course, he will assuredly yearn to beseech Lady Illaine."
"Verily, what you express holds logic. Night encroaches, bringing forth darkness and introspection. The verdant moon, embodiment of Mother Earth Gaiya, graces the celestial expanse. On such nights, primal instincts stir. Given your befuddled friend's dread of surrendering to his own primal urges..."
"Wait a moment," Ismeth interjected, his voice determined. "Brad relies on his instincts, not mere primal urges. Do not depict him as some uncultivated savage devoid of training. He is far from being a barbarian. He willingly chose to depart from the esteemed ranks of the temple knights."
"Exactly my point. Why did Brad relinquish his esteemed role as a temple knight? Especially when he was on the cusp of completing his rigorous training?" Caleb inquired.
"I cannot claim to know the specifics. Perhaps dogmatic influences played a role. Brad is a spirited soul, unshackled and free. Just like me. Perhaps there lingers within him a touch more untamed wilderness," Ismeth replied.
"I have been deliberating on this matter for a full hour now. Brad, during his arduous training as a temple knight, must have encountered an event, violated some sacred tenets. And he must have grappled with an irreconcilable conflict within his pride, Ismeth... Has he ever alluded to such an incident in your conversations?"
Ismeth shook his head, his expression conveying a negative response. "Brad is reserved, holding his secrets close. Yet, you might be onto something. He purposefully evades discussion of this particular issue. But how does it relate to our current discourse?" he inquired.
"Because there must exist a catalyst for Brad's loss of control. Ilberius alone cannot be the sole instigator. There must have been a traumatic occurrence. Something that precludes its recurrence. Something that affected someone dear to him, and he fervently wishes to shield Charlotta from a similar fate."
"If I can make sense of your babbling, may the Dunhar barbarians trample me with spiked boots, Caleb. I am bound for the temple. Will you accompany me?" Ismeth inquired.
"You are the passenger, and I am the guide," Caleb replied.
"Seems like you won't make this trip easy for me," Ismeth remarked, a chuckle escaping his lips. He then closed his eyes, adhering to David's teachings, and took deep breaths to conjure a vision of the temple. His mind settled into a tranquil state. Despite occasional glimpses of the White Virgin flitting through his thoughts, he maintained unwavering focus. Upon reopening his eyes, they found themselves standing in the very garden where his gaze first fell upon Shaeala.
"You must admit, I'm improving at this," Ismeth boasted, his confidence blooming like a proud peacock.
"Your composure and ease lend themselves well to astral travel. I can not deny that. Not once did you gaze at the heavens and lose yourself," Caleb jested.
"Why would I lose myself in the sky, my friend? Does it possess the curves of a woman?" Ismeth grinned mischievously, his words dripping with playful banter.
Caleb burst into laughter. "Indeed, you are an impeccable candidate, Ismeth," he chuckled.
As they ventured down the path nestled between the whitewoods, a piercing scream reached their ears, urging them to hasten toward its origin. Swiftly, they arrived at the entrance of a cavernous cellar, hewn skillfully into the solid rock. Descending the stairs with urgency, they pressed on.
"Christine, is it truly you?" Ismeth inquired, his gaze falling upon the petite, fair-haired girl who clutched a flickering torch in the temple's vestibule.
Christine quivered like a fragile leaf, surrounded by casks of wine and tin containers of cheese. With a torn piece of her gown, she endeavored to cleanse the spilled wine.
"You comprehend that she neither saw nor heard us, don't you, Ismeth?" Caleb interjected.
"I see and hear you," the little girl affirmed, her gaze fixated upon them. "It is my curse, to witness the departed," she began to weep.
Ismeth extended his hands, seeking to calm the distressed child. "Hush now, take solace, little one. Although we appear peculiar like a ghost at the moment, we have yet to face death's embrace. Do you not recall our meeting? We were acquainted but yesterday. I am Ismeth Crimsongale, a knight of Illuen."
"Yes, I remember you, gallant knight," Christine replied, finding a measure of solace. Slowly, she rose from the ground, approaching the duo with her torch in hand. "Why do you find yourselves in this place?" she inquired.
"We embark on a noble quest, fair lady. Merely passing through this vicinity, we sensed the tremor in your voice. Why did it waver with a cry?" Ismeth countered, his words bearing a question.
"Because frightful noises emanated from the floor beneath," the little girl responded, extending her finger to indicate the door leading to the cellar.
"Could it be our friend's doing?" Caleb queried, casting a skeptical gaze upon the entrance.
"Fear not, Christine. We stand united by your side. We shall investigate," Ismeth reassured her.
"As unstable incorporeals, we may find ourselves unable to open any doors. Particularly within this sanctified haven. How do you propose to proceed, Ismeth?" Caleb asked. Then, turning his attention to the young girl, he inquired, "Truly, I am intrigued. How do you possess the ability to perceive our presence? Is it through the workings of divine magic?"
"According to the High Priest, this ability was bestowed upon me from birth. It is the reason they spoke of my potential as a white maiden. The duty of the white maidens is to wage war against beings from realms beyond our own," she explained.
"Indeed," another voice chimed, and as Caleb turned towards it, a swift kick struck him, propelling him two meters away. He let out a pained groan, writhing on the ground.
Ismeth, too, redirected his attention to the same direction. "Greetings, Shaeala," he retorted with a grin.
The furious monk hesitated for a moment upon laying eyes on Ismeth, but then unleashed a swift punch upon him as well.
"But that truly hurt," Ismeth expressed, visibly shaken by the blow.
"She doubled it for me," Caleb chimed in, lending his protest, while writhing in pain.
"Remain calm, Shae. They are our allies," Christine interjected.
"Which one assaulted you?" the incensed white maiden demanded, seething with anger.
"None of them, honestly. I heard peculiar sounds emanating from below, Shae. Suddenly, a wine barrel from above toppled over, hurtling towards me. Frightened, I screamed. That's the whole story," Christine explained.
"Aren't you the knight I encountered yesterday?" Shaeala inquired, turning her gaze towards Ismeth.
The knight, blessed with dual sight, took a deep breath. "Yes, my lady. Weren't we destined to be partners by the command of Lady Illaine? Why this lack of trust?" he protested.
"I'm certain the terms of our partnership didn't include knights wandering in ethereal forms," Shaeala responded.
"The monk woman speaks the truth," Caleb added.
Ismeth cast a defiant gaze at the young wizard before turning his attention to the White Maiden. "Listen, Shae. May I address you as Shae? You won't deliver another blow to my face, will you?"
The monk woman extended her hands, signaling her readiness for an explanation.
"My partner, Brad is nowhere to be found. Let's say that he succumbed to excessive Averan powder consumption and delved into the astral realms. We are on a quest to locate him. We thought he might be seeking sanctuary in this place. Then we heard the piercing scream of the girl. That is the extent of it," Ismeth elucidated.
In that very moment, a tremor reverberated from beneath, causing the floor to quake.
"Truly, what lies beneath this cellar?" Caleb inquired, his curiosity mingling with concern.
And then, another rumble ensued, followed by a thunderous explosion that shattered the center of the cellar floor. Christine lost her balance, and in a heroic act, Shae leaped after her, both vanishing from sight.
"It appears the time has come to unveil the depths. Picture yourself gliding through," Caleb suggested.
"Child's play," Ismeth commented, leaping forward with unwavering resolve. The young wizard followed suit, both descending into the enigma that awaited them.