Cyrus jerked awake, his head pounding as he jolted up. He sat on a soft cot, with a wool blanket draped over his legs, in an unfamiliar room. Colorful tapestries hung from the walls, depicting vast lands, and foreign places, while a bowl of water and rags rested on the nightstand beside his bed. Sunlight streamed in through the window, overlooking a small forest, which centered around a towering pine.
He stiffened, eyes darting around. The walls were made from chiseled stone, lined with smooth bookshelves, and a cotton rug stretched across the wooden floor. His cloak hung from a hook beside the door, and his boots were set beneath.
'Where am I?'
Cyrus slowly swung his legs off the bed, wincing as it creaked. His legs wobbled as he stood, and crept to the window. Clutching the windowsill, he scanned the land outside, hoping to spot anything familiar. To his surprise, the forest spread out into a kingdom, with trees growing through houses, while vines and ivy clung to the walls. Cyrus studied the strange view with a furrowed brow. It took him a moment to realize it was still Galeden, when the memories of what happened flooded his mind.
'Gods above… What have I done?' Cyrus staggered back, the crimson rug on the floor spinning beneath his feet. As the walls and window blurred together, the screams of the people echoed in his ear, horrid and piercing.
"It seems you've woken." A gravelly voice rumbled through the room, and Cyrus whirled around. An old man stood in the doorway, towering above him. His blue tunic hugged his broad shoulders, while a dagger was strapped to the waist of his black trousers. He observed Cyrus, his misty grey eyes swirling with curiosity. Frowning, he tugged at the thick white beard growing along his chin.
"Who- who are you?" Cyrus asked. His eyes flickered to the open hall behind the man, decorated with cluttered desks, and sleek bookcases tall enough to reach the ceiling. "Where am I? Are you one of the Dilthane followers?"
The old man held up his hand. "One question at a time, if you don't mind. I'm a bit old, you see, and it takes me a moment to think. Firstly, my name is Myrel, and you're in my home. I wasn't the one who brought you here, but my apprentice. Also, I have nothing to do with those fanatics who worship a false god. Now then, a question for you… How do you feel?"
Cyrus tensed. "I'm not certain what you mean. I feel fine."
"Really? Considering the amount of magic you used, I'm surprised your sanity remains intact. Interesting…" Myrel said.
"What are you talking about? I've never used magic before," Cyrus said. He eyed the doorway, measuring the distance. There was at least a meter between the old man and the opening. 'If I ran for it, I'm certain I could make it.'
"You don't need to worry. I only wish to speak," Myrel said. He crossed his arms, and stepped to the side. "You can leave if you wish, but what I have to say may very well save your life."
Cyrus slowly nodded, and Myrel led the way to a pair of cushioned seats, situated near a smoldering fireplace. A better look around the room revealed six wooden pillars, three on either side, and layered with bookshelves between. A grand window overlooked the kingdom below, while an archway stood against the far wall, its depths hidden in the shadows.
Cyrus peered into the darkness for a moment, half expecting guards to come rushing out, before glancing around. To his left, a set of stairs curved down into a dining room and kitchen, neatly adorned by a small table, and a pantry filled with food. Sacks of onions and potatoes hung from hooks, while jars of flour and sugar rested on the counter.
A second fireplace nestled into the wall there, beside which Cyrus spotted a thick wooden door. Dirt cluttered the floor around it, and a small alcove was set to the side, filled with boots, coats, and packs. Myrel cleared his throat, and settled into one of the seats.
"A word of advice if you're planning on leaving. All the gates are being heavily watched. Unless you have a way to scale the walls, I would find a place to hide for a few days," Myrel said. He gestured towards the other seat. "I'm willing to provide such a place, as long as you answer my questions."
Cyrus stared at the door for a moment longer, then took a deep breath and sat down. Myrel smiled, and leaned back against the cushions, taking his time to watch Cyrus. A minute passed, before Cyrus couldn't take it any longer, and spoke.
"Why did you save me?" Cyrus asked, gripping his knees. "You believe I used magic, yet still you brought me here. If anyone finds out, you'll be thrown into the dungeon, if not worse."
"A fair point," Myrel said. He narrowed his eyes. "One I fully intend to explain, but first, I'd like to figure out a thing or two, to help better our discussion. To begin with, what is your name, and who taught you how to use magic?"
"It's Cyrus, and… and I told you. I don't know how to use magic," Cyrus said. He glanced back down the stairs, towards the door.
"You don't need to be so wary. You're not the only one who can use it," Myrel said. He waved his hand towards the fireplace. "Serifel, denete.'
Cyrus jumped as the smoldering coals burst into flames, which whirled around the fireplace before fading away. He stared at the glowing embers, then glanced back at Myrel. "You're a warlock?"
Myrel chuckled. "I prefer to consider myself a wizard these days. Being a warlock comes with too much bloodshed, and I left that life behind in exchange for my research."
'A wizard…?' Cyrus furrowed his brow, then jolted upright in his seat. "Does that mean you know a lot about magic? Do you know anything about runes?"
"I know a little," Myrel said, frowning. "Why do you ask?"
Cyrus retrieved the amulet from around his neck, and held it out. The sunlight bounced off the tree, and the bronze shone brightly. Myrel leaned forward, the grey mist in his eyes swirling wildly.
"What do you have there?"
"I- I don't know. A few weeks ago, I woke up on the shores of Withro, a village a few days to the east of here," Cyrus said. He lowered the amulet. "I lost all my memories, besides my name, and this pendant is all that's left of my possessions."
"Is it? How odd. For a trinket so small, it possesses quite the amount of aether." Myrel reached out his hand, then hesitated. "May I see it?"
Cyrus handed him the amulet. Myrel held it close to his face, running his fingers along the tree before flipping it over. His eyes widened as he fixated on the root-like words, and he brushed his thumb over the rough edges.
"Is this why you asked me about runes? To be honest, I've never seen anything like these before," Myrel said, tilting the pendant back and forth. "Do you know what they say?"
"I do. It speaks of a place called the Arbor Sanctum," Cyrus said. He scooted forward. "When I asked around the village, no one seemed to have heard of it before. Have you?"
Myrel shook his head. "I'm afraid not. This arbor sanctum, whatever it is, has never been mentioned in any of my books."
"I see," Cyrus said. Myrel handed back the amulet, and Cyrus slipped it beneath his tunic. "So you can't help me, then?"
"I didn't say that, now did I?" Myrel asked. "Was there anything else? Anything that may help me learn more?"
Cyrus stared at the ground, furrowing his brow. "There is… something. Before, when I lost control of my magic, I heard a whisper. A woman's voice, which sounded like a breeze, telling me to find the ashfolk. I heard her voice once before that as well, the first time I used magic. It was only a few days ago, so I haven't had much time to think about it."
"A woman's voice asked you to find the ashfolk, you say? The name sounds familiar, though I'll need to go through my books to find out why," Myrel said. He frowned. "What about the first time you used magic? What happened then?"
"It- It was while I was on my way here. A wild boar, maddened by a strange disease, attacked me and the person I was traveling with. When I was about to die, the voice spoke, and the forest came alive around me," Cyrus said. He shifted in his seat. "I don't quite remember everything that happened, but when we checked on the boar in the morning, it had turned to stone, and was wrapped in roots."
"It sounds like the boar was affected by the stone plague. I've heard rumors about similar cases across the thirteen kingdoms," Myrel said. He rose from his seat. "However, your magic is not something I'm familiar with. You've given me quite a lot to think about, and I hope I can gather some information from my books. While I'm doing that, why don't you rest, or go downstairs and find something to eat. Sylven, my apprentice, should be back soon, with news of the kingdom. We can talk more then."
Myrel paused, and studied Cyrus. "Of course. You're also free to leave if you wish, though I warn you to be careful. The whole kingdom of Galeden is looking for you right now, and I doubt they'll be as inclined to help you."
"I'll- I'll stay, for now. I doubt the tavern would allow me to sleep there anymore anyway," Cyrus said. He glanced out the window, towards the pine tree towering over the kingdom. "I also have quite a bit to think about."
"I understand. Please, take your time. I'll be at the desk, if you need anything." Myrel turned and scanned the books. He grabbed a few off of a shelf, then went and sat down at the desk beneath the window.
As the wizard flipped open the first book, Cyrus hesitantly returned to the room, and gazed out the window. His shoulders shook as he recalled the people running away, screaming and crying. The blood of the old man still dyed his tunic, turning it stiff and dark.
Gritting his teeth, Cyrus made his way back to the cot, and laid back, staring blankly up at the wooden rafters. Tears streamed down his face, hot and wet. 'What do I do now?'