Chapter III: Dal’coler – Part III

Lorian leaned over the cold and seemingly lifeless body of Rells’kol Ol’Dal.

The fourth son of the King of the Shee looked like made of marble – and blood. His veins were visible through almost transparent skin, crimson and terrifying in their finality. Lorian’s fingers ran over the glass-like skin, like wanting to pass a spark of life – but quickly were withdrawn, like the youngest Dal prince just realized how futile it was.

“You were right, brother” Ain’Dal whispered, observing the dance of light over Rells; a touch of sun where only darkness reigned. “The gods are waking from their slumber. And I have less options than I thought.”

Silence was his reply. But of course Lorian didn’t expect anything over that.

“The prophecy was always the last resort. You would not approve of my methods. You would probably not approve of me. But we always were like the sun and the moon – like water and fire.”

The silence spoke more than words. Rells was not dead, but was equal to it, and nothing could take that burden from Lorian’s soul.

“The day when you closed your eyes, was the hardest day in the life of my father. My brothers. And mine. Do not think that I didn’t mourn you, just because we despised each other. That I didn’t feel guilt and didn’t weep. Because I knew that deep down in your bright heart, you liked my night. It comforted you when you were falling; a deep well filled with familiar monstrosities, childhood friends who were scaring away your demons.”

“But our power grew. We hated each other because we always competed and wanted to prove that we are better, stronger. I was just a naive fool. Young, much younger than you and much more hot-headed. You would hate what I have become even more, probably. Maybe though, just maybe, you would be proud of me.”

Lorian’s dark eyes landed on the stale face of Rells’kol. The light, the same who embraced him during his life, now left his features. Even the beaming gleams that were always present in the chamber, seemed to not touch the inner frigidity that reigned under his skin.

“The spell was not meant for you. Lerrel never forgave me. Maybe it would be better if you died, brother. That way it would be a closed book, a finished chapter of a long tale.”

He stood from the small chair that was in the center of the room, a small supplication seat, where Dal family prayed to the gods, so they returned Rells back.

“But I am not done with you, yet” he said, like saying goodbye was too much for him, too final and too meaningful. “I am sorry I’ve killed you, brother.”

A dark smile crept on his lips, the darker because of bitterness and pain it was drenched with..

“But I will do everything to bring you back, even if I had to fight the god.”

Forest is where I belong. My gods live there.

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