The scene of the night featuring Lucia's face, her figure, her voice, and her tone. The sky, and the various events that occurred that faithful day.
Tristan rewatched happy moments in his lifetime with his only source of light, but his world suddenly became dark.
Voices of men he had killed spiraled into his vision of sorts and everything fell into chaos. A jumble of emotions and memories.
A vast amount of darkness suddenly existed around him and he gazed at his palms to see blood on them, Tristan turned jittery, but then sharp pain reached his mind and he snapped his eyes open.
It had been a dream. A nightmare, but his life was no different from that nightmare. Heck, his life was that nightmare.
Sweating beads, but unworried, Tristan grunted himself to consciousness. Such visions weren't exactly rare. They occurred often, actually.
The addition of Lucia and that night was new, however. Unfortunately, he couldn't focus on that mess of a dream.
The sound of the moving carriage buzzed in his head and the regular jerking of that mass of wood gradually became more evident as he gained full consciousness.
Instinctively, Tristan tried to sit up, but sharp pain filled his mind and he fell onto the seat, wincing in pain. His palms shook but he remained okay. He wasn't dead, yet.
"You should rest, you were cut up pretty badly," Lord Ior's voice reached his ears, and only then did he notice the man's figure at the other end of the carriage's seat.
The man sat close to its window peering through its curtains at the rushing world outside. He didn't even turn to glance at Tristan.
Finding the man's behavior especially weird, Tristan gritted his teeth as he sat up. Immediately, he scanned the insides of the carriage in search of his sword.
Soon enough he found it laying right below his seat. As though whoever placed it there knew he would search for it the moment he came to being.
Struggling to grip it and place it on his lap, Tristan felt a wave of relief hit his mind. Truth be told, he had panicked during those short seconds of looking for his weapon.
His paranoia had reached new levels.
Trying to take a deep breath he closed his eyes as pain ravaged his body. It was the most he had been injured in one fight. That lady knew what she was doing.
Upon further evaluation, her assault on him seemed crazed. Then again, she was demented, to begin with.
"What happened?" Tristan tried to speak sharp and boldly, but his weakness remained too prevalent to hide. His voice sounded whispery and feeble.
"After your victory, they found out that you had been injured pretty badly. And most of all; you lost too much blood. You were patched up and here we are." The man explained still not turning to face Tristan. "That was three hours ago. We're almost home."
Tristan felt odd before Ior's behavior. He couldn't place his fingers on it, but he felt unsafe. More so in his state.
"I see… what happened to Nida?" He asked, trying to drown his growing suspicion.
"She was disqualified and would never participate in any death match held by Lord Hiren. Her cut for participating was also used to pay the bills for your medication," Lord Ior explained, resting his face on his palms whilst he stared at the night sky. Dawn wasn't too far away.
Having had enough of the man's strangeness, Tristan flared up. "At least face me when you're speaking!" He moved his heavily bandaged body, and although he regretted it mere moments after, he managed to get the man to turn.
The look on Lord Ior's face succeeded in stunning him, however.
Total calmness. He seemed unbothered.
Tristan's paranoia wavered at that sight. The man looked just as he normally did, only uncaring. Maybe even aloof. His eye's remained cold and dark.
The rushing winds blew the small cream curtain open, and rays of silvery light beamed into that carriage lighting up the aged man's face.
Tristan felt fear spiral in his chest, but he remained unable to understand its reason. His logical mind saw nothing wrong, but his paranoia found the man's unusual calmness threatening.
Notwithstanding, he had no real evidence even at that point, so he could only sit down with a heavy thud.
He did so right before his legs gave out on him. Weak. He truly needed rest.
A mocking smile appeared on Ior's features momentarily obliterating Tristan's paranoia.
Later on, however, Tristan would realize his father by adoption had only been good at acting.
"When did you want so much attention from me? Now that Lucia isn't here do you want me to entertain you?"
Ior's lips curved in sarcasm, infuriating Tristan who kept his peace and remained seated, tightly holding onto his sheathed blade. It had once again proved its power in his life.
The journey turned silent, as the road grew bumpier, and in return, the carriage directly bounced at certain points.
Tristan wondered why the horseman continued to go that fast, but it didn't raise any suspicion in him.
The trembling of the wooden carriage, the clacking of the horse's hoofs against the ground, the whooshing of the wind, and the occasional whipping sound that unfolded each time the horseman pressured the horse to increase its speed.
Tristan experienced all these but remained too tired to properly focus on them.
He struggled to keep his eyes open. Intense fatigue filled his body, and at some point, he did doze off but managed to snap his eyes open not too long after.
To his well-hidden horror, he caught Lord Ior staring intensely at his figure. The man's cold dark eyes felt ever-watching and made the young man highly uncomfortable. The elderly man averted his gaze and Tristan grew alert.
He tried his very best to remain awake but was no match for fatigue. He had lost too much blood and his body needed to combat that reality.
Sleeping helped preserve strength, and in the mix of his heavy eyelids, he even felt hunger.
Tristan remained silent however, he still felt watched. He eventually dozed off again. He snapped back to consciousness not long after, but this time he found Lord Ior's arms folded whilst he sat, his eyes closed. He looked asleep.
Tristan relaxed at that point, allowing himself to fall asleep again. Albeit unintentionally.
He had stayed awake for about five minutes simply watching the sleeping man.
But seeing no signs of pretense, he couldn't help but allow the influence of sleep dominate him again.
Unknown to him, a few minutes after he gave in to exhaustion, Lord Ior opened his eyes, inwardly glad that he had managed to fool the young man.