That night Harahel paced back and forth in her room, trying to figure out how to find Taliesin, but all her efforts seemed to be in vain. The young balladeer's song awakens something inside her. Her mind kept returning to her Antioch.

As Harahel fell asleep that night, her mind drifted back to the day she met Antioch. It was a warm summer evening, and Harahel was running one of her bardic art shows in a grand hall. The room was filled with artwork of all kinds, and people from all walks of life gathered to admire the pieces and enjoy the entertainment.

Harahel was busy making her rounds, greeting guests, and answering questions about the artwork. As she was walking, a particular painting caught her attention, it was called “The Fall of the Adversary”. Based on a prophecy believed by those who follow Soter, the painting reminded her of her childhood, growing up in a family of devoted disciples of Soter. She remembered the joy and sense of community that came with the faith, but also the strict rules and expectations that came with it. When her mother walked away from the faith, Harahel felt liberated but also lost. She spent years searching for a new purpose until she found Taliesin. Taliesin's teachings of freedom, creativity, and self-expression resonated with her, and she became a loyal follower.

As she looked at the painting, a stranger approached her. He was dressed like a wealthy patron. The stranger's outfit was opulent, but it was clear that it was not his usual attire. His tunic was made of fine silk, the color of the sky at dawn, embroidered with intricate gold filigree that seemed to shimmer in the light. Over the tunic, he wore a black leather jerkin adorned with silver studs, which gave him a rugged edge. His pants were made of black wool, tightly fitted to his muscular legs, and tucked into polished leather boots. Around his waist, he wore a thick leather belt, studded with silver, and a longsword hung from it on his left side. His cloak was made of deep crimson velvet, lined with black fur, and held together by a silver clasp that resembled a raven’s head. He wore a hood that cast a shadow over his face, adding to the mystery surrounding him. 

Despite his attire, there was something wild and untamed about him, as if he was not fully at ease in the grand hall surrounded by refined art and decor. Harahel could sense that there was something different about him. His eyes seemed to glint mischievously, and his smile was sly. 

The stranger leaned in closer to the painting, studying it intently. "The brushwork here is quite impressive," he remarked, his eyes flickering with amusement. "But it's the symbolism that really speaks to me. The fall of the adversary, huh?” The stranger raised an eyebrow. "Ah, I see. So it's a metaphorical interpretation of good triumphing over evil. How... quaint?"

Harahel felt a surge of anger at his dismissive tone. "What do you mean 'quaint'?" she demanded, her hands clenching into fists. "Faith and hope are powerful things, and this painting captures that perfectly."

Harahel's response seemed to amuse the stranger even more. He turned to her, the sly smile still playing on his lips. "Oh, my apologies if I've offended your delicate sensibilities," he said in a tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm just not accustomed to the whole 'good versus evil' narrative. It's all a bit predictable, don't you think?"

Harahel's frustration deepened at his condescending attitude. She wasn't one to back down from a challenge, and this stranger had certainly sparked her ire. "Predictable? Perhaps you're just too jaded to appreciate the beauty in it," she retorted, her voice laced with defiance.

The stranger chuckled softly, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Ah, a fiery spirit, I see. How refreshing." He leaned closer, his hooded gaze locking onto hers. "But forgive me for not sharing your enthusiasm for art that depicts such... simplistic ideals."

Harahel felt her annoyance grow, but there was something oddly intriguing about the stranger's demeanor. Despite his mockery, she couldn't deny that his presence exuded a certain charisma that drew her attention. "Well, not everyone can appreciate the depth of meaning that art can convey," she retorted, her irritation evident in her tone.

The stranger's grin widened, and he leaned even closer, his eyes gleaming with an almost sinister playfulness. "You certainly have a way with words," he said, his tone dripping with innuendo. "Tell me, my fiery bard, what's your story?"

His question left Harahel feeling both irritated and intrigued. She wasn't used to being on the receiving end of such blatant flirtation, and she wasn't entirely sure how to respond. "My story is my own," she replied, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.

The stranger's eyes held hers, his gaze unyielding. "Ah, a mystery then," he mused. "Well, mysteries have a way of drawing me in."

Harahel's frustration was tinged with a strange fascination. The stranger's boldness was both irritating and oddly attractive, and she found herself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She clenched her fists, determined not to let his charm get the best of her. "Well, you'll have to find your mysteries elsewhere," she said, her tone cool and dismissive.

The stranger's grin never wavered. "We will see about that, won’t we? " he said, his gaze sweeping over the artwork around them.

Harahel's patience was wearing thin, but before she could respond, a commotion erupted from another corner of the hall, drawing their attention. She saw a group of guests gathered around a new arrival, and her heart skipped a beat when she recognized the face that had just entered the room. It was Taliesin, the god of inspiration and creativity, and the figure she had devoted her faith to.

Taliesin's arrival sent a ripple of excitement through the grand hall. As he approached, Harahel's heart raced, her attention torn between the enigmatic stranger and the god she revered. The stranger's gaze, however, remained fixed on Taliesin, his amusement apparent.

Taliesin's eyes twinkled as he addressed Harahel. "Harahel, my devoted disciple, I see you've made a new acquaintance," he said, his voice rich and melodious.

Harahel's cheeks flushed with a mix of emotions as she tried to find her words. "Yes, Lord. This is a stranger I encountered while admiring the art," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

The stranger's lips curled into a knowing smile as he nodded in acknowledgment. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said with a respectful nod.

Taliesin's gaze shifted between the two of them, his expression thoughtful. "Indeed, the threads of fate often weave interesting connections," he mused, his eyes dancing with a knowing glint. "But allow me to introduce you properly. Harahel, this is Antioch, the god of mischief."

Harahel's heart skipped a beat as she looked from Taliesin to the stranger, her mind racing to make sense of the revelation. "Antioch?" she echoed, her voice a mix of surprise and realization.

Antioch inclined his head with a faint smile. "Yes, the same Antioch who finds himself intrigued by mysteries and complexities," he said. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Harahel's gaze shifted from Antioch to the painting.  "The Fall of the Adversary." what an ominous title for such a beautiful piece of art. The vibrant colors of the painting seemed to pulse with otherworldly energy, drawing her in despite herself.

But then, everything changed. The colors faded, replaced by a bleak, desolate landscape of grays and blacks. The air grew heavy and oppressive as if the very atmosphere had been drained of life.

Harahel looked up to see Antioch holding Taliesin. His wicked grin twisted with malice. Harahel felt a surge of fear and anger rise within her, but she was powerless to help. She could only watch in horror as Antioch plunged his blade into Taliesin's side, causing him to cry out in pain.

Harahel's eyes snap open as she gasps for air. She sits up in bed, heart pounding and sweat trickling down her forehead. She looks around her room, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. The room is quiet and still, and everything looks familiar and normal.

Harahel takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. She runs a hand through her hair, feeling the dampness from her sweat. She reminds herself that it was just a nightmare, a product of her overactive imagination.

Gradually, Harahel begins to feel more grounded in reality. She notices the soft glow of the moonlight filtering in through the window and the sound of crickets chirping outside. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, trying to release the tension that has built up in her body.

Harahel gets up from her bed and walks over to the window. She looks out at the night sky and lets out a sigh of relief. The nightmare is over, but what did it reveal about her ex-lover, Antioch? She couldn't shake the feeling that he might be involved. Harahel remembered their passionate love affair, the gifts, the adoration, and the mischievous nature of Antioch. She knew he had harbored a grudge against Taliesin since their breakup, but she never thought he would stoop so low as to kidnap him. Determined to uncover the truth, Harahel knew what she had to do, find Antioch, and demanded answers.