Eshent first began running in the direction he had seen Corrin flee. It had only been a few minutes. If he moved with haste, he could definitely catch up to her! The problem was that haste was his greatest difficulty in his current state. Nearly all of his body's strength had been sapped, the rest trying to bear the pain that diminished his mental state.
When he stared up at the dark and smoggy sky, he could see clearly the stars as black as night. Although they blended in, he could tell they were there, he could feel them staring back.
The cold was the worst, it was what induced the anxiety in him, that dread that choked his heart as it weighed on his shoulders, the thought that he was alone within the fog. The shadows of figures in the distance writhed, taunting him, he was only human, the only human, the only thing left.
On a hill where the haze parted, crimson flames burned wildly. There was a cross amidst the flames, turned diagonally on its side, and outfitted with a corpse. This person, torn apart from herself, gazed in a hollow manner back at Eshent, who approached with loss in his eyes. It was Corrin.
And he understood, he contemplated for all but one moment and understood, that there is no manner by which you can save yourself. Not from God, or Gods, from Light or some inalienable darkness, that there was no hope for survival in the mist where the shadows crept.
He knew, and yet from that moment he began, even though all warnings had begged his surrender.
No- no, no...
Eshent fell to his knees, looking up at the cross in the shape of an X-mark, his face filled with the terror that had overtaken him. Tears streamed down his cheeks, intermingling with the blood wrought from the mushroom-headed monster, and his breathing became staggered and shallow. He felt as if all of the dread he had ever experienced had claimed his body at once, seizing his ability to act.
Was this really not a dream...?
This had to be a dream! It had to be! He would wake up from this soon, snap back into focus as he always had! Corrin would be urging him to remove his food from the flames of the stovetop before they burnt themselves to ashes, and Masha would return from a day of work exhausted as usual!
But there was no respite from the dream, it was not a dream at all.
From the haze surrounding Eshent and the cross, hundreds of red-robed figures emerged. Like the Priests that Eshent had run into, their faces were obscured by shadow, but they didn't carry scripture like the Priests did, only weapons. The figure at the front of the group carried a serrated cleaver, its surface coated in rust. It was still dripping with crimson, as if it had only just been used.
Pain surged through his head once more, threatening his total collapse, but he could bear nothing more, nothing at all. He curled up inside of himself, the pain overtaking whatever grief he had felt. His fear was existential.
Not association with a Heretic, no... no deed deserves punishment like this. What have I done? Am I abomination? Were my siblings too being punished for the sins of our father?
The cleaver-wielding figure in red robes approached, its footsteps sloshing in the wet mud as it knelt down in front of Eshent, dropping its blade to the ground. Raising both hands, it held Eshent's cheeks gently. Its hands were cold, malnourished, bony and grey. When Eshent glanced up at it, he could see no person beyond the hood, only the darkness he imagined obscured it.
Suddenly, a howl erupted through the fog. It sounded like the cry of a wolf, overlaid with the scream of a child. Hearing this, the red-robed figures slunk backwards, disappearing into the haze as soon as they had appeared, as if they hadn't existed at all. Not even their footprints were left in the mud below.
The figure who had approached him remained for a moment, staring back at Eshent, before following its companions.
Light shone through the mist, blinding and radiant in its golden splendor. A figure trailed out, wisps of fog following behind, his background obscured by the massive form of a wolf-like beast. It was August!
Eshent tried to get onto his feet, but he simply couldn't, slumping back into the mud below as his face twisted with a sense of vitriol. Why did the figure that all people of the Blackbaast revered like a Deity travel with the creature that had killed his brother, inevitably leading to the death of his sister? Wasn't this too unlike the story he had been told of 'the Light'?
August first looked towards Eshent, then towards the cross that contained the remnants of Corrin. "Did you... do this?"
Eshent's expression remained lost, torn between a conscious human personality and the attitude of someone who had witnessed all horror. "Why? You're supposed to be 'God'... why are you here, and yet my brother and sister have been taken like this? What kind of God does not exercise his power for his people...?"
August's face paled. "What...? Boy, what do you mean? I've killed no-one..." He pointed towards the wolf, "do you mean this man? I've wrapped his body, he's prepared to be buried... did you know him?"
Eshent's head pulsed with pain once more, his vision blurry. He could barely comprehend August's words. In the distance, he saw the massive figure of the wolf-like beast, and that was all he could make out...
Suddenly, roars echoed through the fog. August's attention was drawn away, but Eshent could not bear to notice. Images had begun to flash through his mind the moment the crimson-robed figures had appeared, and he could barely remain anything but blind to the waking world.
He saw images of a crumbling city coated in the webs of spiders, of the blinding light contained within. He witnessed a man in black, standing afront Priests in Yellow, and of the blood that coated his clothes. He saw a figure standing behind these Priests. He wore a similar cloak, writhing black tentacles spreading out from underneath in every direction. The figure had no face, and stood taller than any man Eshent had ever known, but as he gazed, he felt some semblance of peace embrace his heart, as if a gentle hand had reached inside of his chest and grasped it.
Blood began to stream from Eshent's left eye, glowing a bright yellow-colour, swirls of silver nestled within. The roars continued as another set of figures emerged from the fog, as if it only existed to continuously produce mysterious creatures and take them just as soon as they had appeared, as if it were a rotating-compendium of horrors.
They were like lanky humans with grey skin, their spines nearly protruding from their flesh. They hunched over as they walked, and they lacked faces, only sporting brandy-coloured tendrils from where their expressions should be. One of these figures hovered over Eshent as August watched in horror, leaning over and picking him up as a mother would a child, embracing him as it walked in the other direction.
Lightning flashed in the distance once more, and the shape of the distant fortress was illuminated. August only watched as this happened, biting at his lip. He could track the boy, he was only utilising his avatar. He would return to Gwennaude and Lysia, and then the three of them would venture towards the fortress in the distance to locate the heart of such a strange mystery.
Just what kind of forces were acting inside of Shadowhaunt?
The tall, faceless creatures carried Eshent through the fog for a time, who continued to writhe in his peaceful agony, imbibed and burdened by visions of what approached him rapidly, of a sight of respite and blood both. He had left both his siblings behind, he had no choice. That had been his Fate, and he had accepted it from the moment he had seen it, it was what he had envisioned.
Their destination was a fortress set atop a lone mountain in a thick conical shape, its upward slope interrupted by massive jagged crags and behemoth-like towers. The stone that made up the massive fortress was black and grey in hue, with swirls of marble etched within. It was dilapidated in some parts, but still remained regal and larger-than-life.
Dozens of tattered black banners hung from the towers of the fortress, a mysterious bright-yellow symbol painted in their center. It was an etched, jagged and malformed triskelion, a twisting three-armed spiral stretching outwards from a circular center. As Eshent viewed this symbol, the pain in his head seemed to gradually dissipate, remaining nearly nothing at all.
At the front of the fortress, aside the long winding path leading up to the massive iron-barred gate, hundreds upon hundreds of figures stood awaiting the horde of monsters. Their faces were obscured by shadow, hoods from cloaks made of bright-yellow cloth draped over their heads.
It was the Priests in Yellow, the group that had been handing out black booklets at the Festival of Light! One of these Priests stepped out of the crowd, standing before Eshent and the monster that was carrying him. He lowered his hood, revealing an elderly countenance, smiling genially.
"Welcome to the Nocturne Spire, little Visionary."
Somewhere, in the space declared to exist beyond their home, there were things greater than his most horrid dream.