Diemond and the Revenge of Blood

The anonymous cry for help whispered faintly by his ears, violently dragging Orvar from sleep and hurling him into a mysterious, pitch-black void. In an instant, Orvar was swallowed by the darkness. His entire body felt weightless, as though an invisible force was pulling him down into a bottomless abyss. Orvar screamed, but no sound came out. His eyes strained, trying to pull himself awake.

Wake up! Wake up! Orvar's heart pounded in his chest. His hands flailed instinctively in the air. Normally, it only took a few tries for him to force his eyes open and escape this nightmare, but tonight, the pull of this sinister darkness was far more aggressive.

Sensing the situation was dire, Orvar decided to fight back another way. He swung his arms forcefully and shouted a spell, “Ya suk-am su-i qal-a beh ab ya suk-d’a.”

Nothing happened.

Orvar’s upper body remained tense under an invisible pressure, like a punch to the gut, pulling him down into the deep pit. The young wizard clawed at the air, desperate to grab onto something, but all that responded to his efforts was a bone-chilling wind howling around him. The pull beneath him grew stronger by the second. The sensation of impact loomed closer. Orvar curled into a ball, his veins felt like they were about to burst. What was at the bottom of this abyss? The ground, lava, or a pit of bones? He held his breath, clenched his teeth, and tightly shut his eyes, waiting.

Then everything suddenly stopped.

The wind stilled.

In place of the rapid pull from earlier, there was now a feeling of floating, as though Orvar had just fallen through the throat of a monster made of darkness and was now swimming in its stomach. The thought unsettled the young wizard. His heart beat rapidly in his chest. Trembling, he cautiously tried to stand. His feet pressed against a strange, buoyant space—uncertain whether it was water or smoke. Orvar strained his eyes, trying to pierce the darkness and make out his surroundings.

“S’a-lak ab hiik.” Orvar slowly extended his hand, casting a spell. But as expected, the dreamscape swallowed all sound, rendering his efforts useless. Even his own heavy breathing was consumed by this void, leaving no trace behind.

“Orvar, help…”

Still disoriented and unsure what to do next, the plea for help from earlier suddenly sliced through the air, startling the wizard. He spun around in panic, but all that surrounded him was endless darkness.

“Who? Who’s speaking?” Orvar screamed silently. “Show yourself!”

But, apparently, no one answered. The broken whisper from before vanished, like a cruel joke.

A feeling of dread stirred in Orvar’s heart. This wasn’t the first time he’d fallen into this strange black hole. Less than three days after his mother had secretly left their island nation, the vivid nightmare had begun to haunt him every night. At first, it was just a sensation of falling, jolting him awake. But after that, the fall grew longer. And tonight, Orvar had reached the bottom. What greeted him here was a nameless cry for help.

Was it really nameless? Orvar shook his head, trying to dispel the bad feeling. Though he didn’t recognize the voice calling for help in the dream, it could very well be someone close to him. It could be my mother, in danger…

“Orvar… Help!”

The chilling plea, like a cold gust of wind, once again grazed his ear, and in an instant, all his senses suddenly returned. Images, sounds, smells—all of them rushed in, clear and vivid as if he were awake. The ground suddenly rose up beneath him, slamming Orvar onto the cold, damp stone floor littered with withered weeds.

The wizard scrambled to his feet. His eyes blinked, adjusting to the faint, flickering light from a feeble torch on the stone wall. He looked around. The sound of water droplets echoed as they dripped into puddles. It seemed like an underground tunnel, he thought. This was the first time the dreamscape had solidified into such a concrete space. Orvar cautiously observed his surroundings. His body remained curled up in a defensive posture. His fingers spread out, ready to cast a spell, but then he remembered magic couldn’t be used here, so he clenched them into fists instead.

While Orvar was still busy sorting out the chaotic thoughts in his mind, he suddenly heard a noise in the distance—like metal clanging together. More specifically, the sound of chains being dragged across stone. Curious, he cautiously inched toward the source of the suspicious sound. The freezing ground groaned under his tentative steps.

In front of him, the outline of a dark cell gradually came into view. The weak torchlight on the wall flickered, swaying in the icy winds blowing from some unknown source, making the space seem as though it were tilting.

Orvar pressed himself against the left wall of the cell, barely able to breathe from the tension. He swallowed hard and cautiously peered through the iron bars, trying to pierce the murky darkness to see who was imprisoned inside. The tiny flame on the wall flickered as if it were about to die. The scene blinked in and out of view, hazy like an illusion. The only thing that felt real was the icy chill seeping into his skin as he pressed his cheek against the cell’s bars. He strained his eyes, staring into the pitch-black void before him. Something seemed to be moving…

“HELP!!!”

Suddenly, a pair of pale, skeletal hands tore through the darkness, reaching out between the iron bars and gripping Orvar’s face, accompanied by a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the shadows—sharp and cold as a blade scraping against stone. It was a deathly sound that made anyone shiver. The icy touch of those fingers spread across his skin, jolting him awake. Orvar’s eyes shot open, desperately clinging to the familiar sight before him, trying to banish the fading nightmare.

He gasped for breath, his mouth agape. The room was still as empty and quiet as it had been before he went to sleep. His long, black hair stuck to his pale cheeks, and his back was drenched in cold sweat. Orvar blinked repeatedly, trying to dispel the darkness lingering behind his eyelids. After a while, he finally rested his sight on a small framed painting still sitting neatly on the dresser opposite the bed. The old, worn-out canvas depicted a young Orvar curled up, peacefully asleep in his mother's arms. Her smile and gaze were so serene and gentle. Orvar furrowed his brow slightly, took a deep breath, and slowly surveyed the room around him.

The scene remained just as it did every day. There were the glass jars containing ingredients for potions, tidily arranged on the shelf by Orvar himself, the thick books stacked in orderly piles on the study table, and the staff leaning gently against the wall. Next to it stood a rack with a perfectly pressed, pristine white robe. The blue flames in the fireplace danced calmly, giving soft warmth. Nearby, a faint beam of light streamed in through the window onto the floor.

That light seemed to be trying to sneak further into the room. Orvar waved his hand. The sunlight instantly burst through the window forcefully, stinging his eyes. He swallowed hard, gripping the bedsheet tightly. He sat quietly for a moment, deep in thought, before finally standing up. However, his legs wobbled, weakened from the exhausting night. Orvar leaned against the window sill, stretching out to catch the cold rays of sunlight. Today is the Spring equinox... and a heavy sense of unease stirred deep within him.

"Orvar, help…"

Suddenly, the faint whisper from the earlier dream cut through his mind like a sharp blade, as if it echoed from deep within his skull. Orvar hastily clutched his aching head. He gritted his teeth, letting out a low groan. His hand pressed against the window ledge to steady himself. The vast sky and sea beyond suddenly blurred. At that moment, under the thick clouds, Orvar thought he could see the faint silhouette of a ship bobbing on the horizon to the south. But when he squinted to get a clearer look, there was nothing but the endless ocean.

Frustrated, he shut his eyes tightly, trying to regain his normal breathing. Am I still dreaming? But no matter how much he tried to reassure himself, Orvar knew he couldn't hang on a lie. The young wizard slipped on his white robe and firmly gripped his staff.

Somewhere out there on the distant sea, they are coming.