A cold gust swept through the quiet city, heralding the start of a new Era with the creak of wooden signs and fluttering tapestries. Off in the distance a bell tolled, the low note echoing twelve times before going still once more.
Was it signaling the start of a new day… or perhaps something more?
Arven frowned and pulled his cloak tighter. His dark blue eyes shone from beneath the hood as he crept to the edge of the rooftop, and scanned the empty street below.
By now, most were either in bed, or getting ready for it. One by one, windows went dark as candles were snuffed out, with only the house at the far end still lit.
Arven shifted his gaze to the house's roof, where a crooked chimney sent puffs of moonlit smoke into the night sky.
A small glint caught his eye, on the chimney's front. Squinting, he could just barely make out the shape of an hourglass chiseled into the bricks.
Arven checked the street one last time before standing, and stepping off the edge. The drop was at least three stories, but when only a few meters remained, Arven twisted his hand out, and muttered three words in a long forgotten language.
A moment later, he stood safely on the ground, free of injury though perhaps a bit paler. With a deep breath to clear his head, Arven made his way to the front door, knocked three times, followed by a brief pause and two more knocks.
A chair scraped inside, followed by a pair of hurried footsteps. Then the door creaked open, and a head full of wispy white hair popped out.
"Who's there?"
The voice was old, and weary, as though the owner had lived a very long time.
Arven pulled back his hood, revealing a young man with thick dark hair, and a light patch of subtle. A thin scar marred his otherwise handsome face, running from his eye to his chin.
"It's me, Berrodin. Hurry up and open the blasted door."
The old man's eyes went wide, and the door opened with a woosh.
"Gods above, Arven! What are you doing here? And what's that on your cloak? It almost looks like… blood."
Arven glanced down. A crimson pool stained his cloak, marking the spot a dagger only hours ago.
"It's fine. We have more important things to discuss," Arven said, pushing past the elderly man.
The house was two stories tall, with a hallway leading further into the living room and study, while a set of stairs led to the second floor. Arven made his way to the living room, and slumped onto the couch. A small fire crackled in the hearth, warming the room, and casting light upon a variety of delicately carved boats and mythical beasts.
A twisted log popped and sent up a flurry of sparks as Berrodin entered the room, carrying a bowl and rag.
"I may not know what happened, but we should get that wound cleaned before it becomes infected," Berrodin said, making his way across the room.
"The Sanctum… The Sanctum has fallen, Berrodin. Both Verost and Ildith were killed, as was Gilvent."
Berrodin froze, and the bowl fell to the ground, shattering into a thousand shards.
"Wh-what did you say? The Sanctum has fallen, but… but how?"
Arven stared at the flickering flames, his face somber.
"We were betrayed. I barely managed to make it out myself, though I wish I could have stayed and fought."
Berrodin sagged into a chair. "Then why didn't you? You're not the type to run from battle."
"I had no choice. If I hadn't escaped when I did, then both Verost and Ildith's sacrifice would have been in vain."
Berrodin leaned forward as Arven pulled back his cloak. A bundle of cloth rested in his arms, protected by a thin layer of light. Arven spoke in the same mysterious language as before, and the light faded, revealing a small baby, whose sleeping face was like the calm before a storm.
"Their child," Arven said. "I managed to whisk him out through one of the hidden passages. He was born only two nights prior, beneath the light of two half moons."
The child giggled, and rolled over, but remained asleep. Arven looked down at it, his face etched in sorrow.
"The Souless Ones are hunting me, Berrodin. The child will not be safe under my care. That's why I brought him here."
The old man sat back, and furrowed his brows. "I'm honored that you thought of me, but… I know nothing of raising a child. Especially not one who is bound for greatness, such as he."
"You need not worry. Before she died, Ildith placed wards on the child, to help hide his existence from the dragon, Solvengold, as well as his followers. They should keep him protected until he is of age to know what happened."
Berrodin rubbed his wrinkled hands together, before sighing. "Very well. I will take the child. But where will you go, and when do you plan on leaving?"
Arven glanced out the window. The two moons could be seen lowering into the horizon.
"I plan on heading to Amuriel, to seek the aid of the elves. And I should leave soon. The longer I stay here, the more risk I put on the Souless Ones discovering you and the child."
Berrodin nodded. "I understand, but at least let me provide you with food before you go."
"Thank you. That would be much appreciated."
As Berrodin got up and left for the kitchen, Arven turned back to the baby and smiled. Pulling a pendant with the shape of an hourglass from his neck, Arven placed it in the baby's hands and set him on the couch.
"Be safe, young one, and may your time be ever revolving."
…
Berrodin backed into the room, carrying a platter of meat and crackers.
"Oh right, I forgot to ask if you wanted any tea…"
He paused at the door and looked around. Besides the whispering flames, the study was quiet once more. A note laid on the table, and the baby sat nestled in a pile of pillows. A cold gust blew in from the front door, and Berrodin stared out into the night sky. The shadow of a distant roof shimmered once, and a small tear ran down the side of his face as he slowly shut the door.
"Goodbye, old friend. May we meet once more in the Halls of Osyras."