Oh gods, what is happening to me? What is going to happen to me? Christol watched as Haldore, who already had a hand resting upon his shoulder, winked at him, and they were suddenly somewhere else.

The room they were standing in looked to be some lavish bedroom. A majestic bedspread lay in the center of the room. The bed itself was larger than any bed Christol had ever seen, and just looking at the bed made Christol relax. There was an exquisite wardrobe sitting opposite the bed, resting against the cobblestone wall. Around the room were bookshelves full of books, a desk with a comfortable looking chair, both of which sat next to the bed, but closer to the door. Above the desk sat an oil lamp, and Christol watched as the small flames flickered in the dark room.

On the opposite side of the bed was a mirror, tall enough to where Christol could see himself, from his head down to his feet. Boy, I could use a wash. I’ll take care of that later… hopefully. Beyond the bed, and opposite the door, sat an archway that led to a balcony. From where Christol stood, he could see the edges of a forest just beyond a lake that this place was built on. Geez, I must be stories up! Everything looks so small!

Haldore let go of Christol’s shoulder and took a step back, bringing his arms up as if to show off the room.

“This, my dear boy, is where you shall be staying! I will teach you the ways of magic, and bring you up as my own apprentice! You will forget all about your troubles, and I shall finally have my heir!” Haldore looked towards Christol, who simply gave him a confused look. Am I not dying? I thought he was going to kill me. Haldore suddenly nodded his head as he rolled his eyes. 

“Ah, it seems I may have gotten ahead of myself again. I will not kill you, dear boy. I, instead, will show you the true power of your abilities, of your prowess, and you shall prosper under my guidance. Do not think of old times. Do not dwell on what was, for the future holds more than you could possibly imagine.” Haldore smiled at Christol, a gentle smile.

“O-okay,” Christol stuttered. Haldore ushered to the bed, where Christol sat down. 

“Enjoy your room, Christol. I shall be back later. Get yourself some rest, and we’ll get started when I return.” With that, Haldore smiled at Christol and turned on his heel and walked out of the room, his cloak billowing dramatically as he left. The doors then slammed shut, and a soft click could be heard as the door shut.

“Wait!” Christol shouted through the door, but there came no response. Christol pounded his fists on the door, hoping for some answer, but there came none, except for the echoes of his desperation

Christol stopped and rested his head against the large oaken door, and let out a sigh. Ugh… I can’t get out of here. There’s no other doors, and the balcony is too high up for me to survive that fall. Man, what to do, what to do. I’ll figure something out. For now, though, resting is probably the best.

Christol walked over to the bed and flopped face first onto it, letting out a soft groan as he did so. No sooner had he hit the soft, comfortable sheets than he fell asleep.

___

“Mom!” Christol yelled, running towards her. Christol’s voice was higher, and he felt shorter. Looking down, he realized he was his younger self. His mother was being dragged away by three Black Army soldiers, their armor glimmering in the soft moonlight.

“Mom!” Christol yelled as he ran towards her, only for a tall soldier to step in Christol’s path.

“If you wanna live, boy, I suggest you return home,” the soldier’s scruffy voice said, Christol now knowing that it was Malrik who had spoken those words.

Christol simply turned around and began to walk away, though every fiber of his being was telling him to pursue his mother and her captors. Why can’t I do anything? Am I just rewitnessing these events? Why am I just a simple passenger in this memory?

Christol returned to a hiding Flim, who was sitting behind a barrel, simply watching the scene unfold.

“Well, Christol, let’s go. There’s nothing more for us here.” Flim stood up and began to walk away, leading Christol by the hand.

As they rounded a corner, they heard a voice boom.

“Witness all! Witness this! The ones who rebelled shall be punished!” Flim’s eyes widened and began to run towards the source, still clutching Christol’s small hand.

They soon found themselves in Halden’s square, looking at a massive crowd gathered around a small platform in the center, as if built for this occasion. On the platform stood Christol’s mother and father, bound and held by three soldiers, one of whom was Malrik, another a tall, scaleless dragonborn, and the other a tall, shadowy figure. In front of them stood Haldore, his arms outstretched as he addressed the crowd.

“As per my request, the treacherous subordinates have been apprehended. Now, shall I put an end to this defiance? To this threat against the peace of Alteran?” The crowd roared with cheers, and some even yelled profanities at Christol’s parents.

“Seeing your delight, I shall handle this case myself!” Haldore turned towards the two bound people and raised a hand. Christol knew what was coming, and hid his face in Flim’s tunic, and Christol’s parents screamed. A scream that has haunted Christol since. A scream he knew was one of pure terror, a scream so violent it tore into Christol’s soul.

___

“Wake up, dear boy! It’s time!” Haldore shook Christol awake, and Christol sat up as quickly as he could and out of reflex, or perhaps rage from his dream, Christol slapped Haldore across the face, the smack echoing out of the room and down the hall. Haldore turned his head to look back at Christol, the side of face bearing a red hand mark, from where Christol had slapped him.

“Get up, boy.” Haldore, who was previously smiling, was now frowning at him, and rubbed the side of his face where he had been hit, and as he removed the hand from his face, the mark was gone.