When Tyrese found himself back on the teleportation array in Solhollow, his chest heaved as he gasped for air. The air felt too thin, too heavy, like he was suffocating in it. He was in worse shape than the other trainees. His body trembled, his muscles aching as though they had been torn apart and hastily stitched back together. Goosebumps prickled his skin, his head pounded relentlessly, and blood continued to drip from his nose, mingling with the sweat streaming down his face in rivulets.
All of it stemmed from one reason: the roar they had heard before their abrupt teleportation. Unlike the others, Tyrese felt as though he had understood those terrible, alien words, as if they had somehow pierced through the fabric of his consciousness, leaving behind a jagged imprint. Yet every time he tried to recall them, his head throbbed with excruciating pain, a sensation so raw it made him feel as though his mind was teetering on the brink of madness, ready to slip away into the darkness of the unknown.
"What happened?" barked a man clad in light white armor, rushing toward the disoriented trainees. He gestured to his colleagues, who immediately began administering aid.
A group of Sentinels arrived, their grimoires floating open by their sides. The pages fluttered, glowing faintly, before stopping on specific sigils. A soothing light bathed the trainees, calming their minds, steadying their trembling bodies, and stemming their bleedings.
As the haze in his mind began to lift, Tyrese could hear a voice—shaky, uncertain—cutting through the fog of his thoughts. One of the trainees, still trembling, found his voice. "We… we don't know," he said with difficulty, his breath shallow. "It all happened so fast. There was this terrible roar—filled with incomprehensible words. It felt like… like we were losing our minds." The words tumbled from his mouth in a dazed manner, as though the very memory of the roar was enough to shake him to his core. He faltered for a moment, his body shuddering, his eyes wide with fear. "Sir Arras protected us with a barrier and sent us back immediately. That's all we know."
The Sentinels exchanged uneasy glances, their faces betraying a hint of apprehension. Still, they moved with precision, checking each trainee for lingering effects of the trauma. Once it was confirmed that none were in immediate danger, they began sending the trainees home. Whatever was happening in Duskwatch, it was clear there was no point in keeping them here any longer.
Sir Arras himself was leading the mission, accompanied by Solhollow's best Sentinels: Ashanti, Alek, and Denzel. That reassurance was all the Willholders in Solhollow could cling to for now.
Yet, just as the trainees began to leave, the chamber's atmosphere shifted. The room was suddenly filled with new arrivals—civilians, their faces pale, their bodies trembling and bleeding profusely. Some collapsed unconscious as they were brought in, their breathing shallow and labored.
The Willholders present froze momentarily, the severity of the situation sinking in. Their grimoires flared brighter as they snapped into action, their voices sharp and commands precise as they worked to stabilize the injured.
The air grew thick with tension, the room heavy with an unspoken dread. Whatever was happening in Duskwatch… it was far worse than anyone had anticipated.
---
Tyrese walked home alongside Maha, his body still trembling from the day's events. His head throbbed with every step, and the dizzying sensation had only worsened. The chaotic events had completely pushed everything else from his mind, and he had forgotten entirely about the herbs he'd planned to buy for the infusion that would calm his headache. His thoughts were a storm of confusion, spiraling back to a single point:
My life became a mess since the day I visited that damn sanctuary. Was I really cursed? No, that's just superstition… but what if…
His train of thought was interrupted by Maha's voice. "Tyrese, are you okay? You still look a bit dizzy," she said, concern evident in her tone.
"Ah…" He faltered for a moment, trying to summon enough strength to sound reassuring. "I'm alright," he replied, forcing a small, strained smile. "Just a little shaken by everything. I just need some rest."
Maha studied him for a moment longer, her gaze sharp and perceptive, as though she could see right through him. It was as if she sensed he wasn't telling the whole truth. Her lips parted, as if to press him further, but then she seemed to think better of it. She nodded, accepting his words, but the concern didn't leave her eyes. "Yeah, you're right. We all need rest. That roar… it was terrifying. If not for Sir Arras's swift actions, we'd all be dead."
Tyrese nodded, his lips tight. He desperately wanted to avoid thinking about the words in that roar. Every time he tried, the pain in his head surged, and a creeping unease clawed at his sanity.
They chatted casually for the rest of the walk, their words an attempt to distract themselves from the lingering fear. As they approached the Lightspire District, where Tyrese lived, they parted ways with a small, mutual wave. Maha's home lay to the east, near Meadow's Edge, where her family's house stood nestled in the shadows of the town's outer border.
"Take care of yourself, Tyrese," she said, her voice soft but sincere, her warm smile offering a fleeting comfort before she disappeared into the narrow, winding streets of her district
Tyrese watched her leave before turning toward his own home. The familiar sight of the modest building gave him little comfort. His thoughts were still clouded as he stepped inside.
He moved through his nightly routine on autopilot—taking a quick bath, eating a simple meal, and then collapsing onto his bed. Staring up at the wooden beams of his ceiling, his mind wouldn't let go of the day's events.
I need answers, he thought, the words ringing clear through the haze of exhaustion. I need to go back to that sanctuary.
With that final resolve, his eyes fluttered shut, though his sleep was anything but peaceful.