There was a certain chill in the air that Nielthan could not understand.
The tender afternoon sunlight leaked through the wide windows of his small shop, marble and woodwork beautifully co-existing and blending into something beautiful. To form such an atmosphere had not been kind for his budget, yet the outcome was pleasing to the customers. Now brilliant pieces of jewellery were displayed openly, adorning branches that encompassed the walls. The interior of the chamber in which business was concluded almost looked like a forest, but instead of fruit and flowers, one could collect necklaces and rings for the right price. How daring to display his goods, but the artisan was pleased. His masterpieces deserved it.
At the moment, he was not without customers. Two young women were inspecting the goods, choosing gold over other metals; it was hardly a surprise. They had a good eye, well aware what would compliment their sunkissed comlexions. Laughter echoed from the room, complimented by his daughter's soft voice as the customers were being assisted. In every account, the day was a pleasant one, a reminder of how blessed the jewelcrafter's life had managed to become for once more after the tragic Fall. Warmth, reputation, happiness and good health were all his.
So why was he feeling so cold?
Nielthan Sunrider inspected the room from his desk, unable to tell what was bothering him. An ill feeling, a terrible hunch. He had not felt it for so long. Since the dreaded day of the Fall perhaps, when the stench of corpses reached the walls of the city, before the undead armies had emerged? Or perhaps since the day that the planet ravaged by fel had appeared like a false moon on the sky? No, it was not so. He remembered that sense of wrongness from that stone he had been asked to work with a year ago, or perhaps too. A curious feeling he could never place.
Coins rang, laughter. The artisan shivered. It all felt so far away. He was cold, why was he so cold?
"Father?"
His neck snapped back at the sound of his daughter's voice, soon followed by the bell attached at the door as the two women, most likely having completed their purchase, opened it to step outside. Nielthan's green eyes found his offspring, his pride. Oh, how greatly he resembled her mother, whom they had lost to the Scourge. Anyela Sunrider was the future of this shop, the greatest blessing in his life. But now, he could not even smile at her.
So cold. He just felt so cold.
She did not seem to notice. Coins of gold and silver alike rolled from her fingers to rest on the polished surface of the oaken desk. It was a substantial amount. "I do love nobles." she said with a wide smile on her lips. Her fingers rested on a few on the coins, pulling them close. "And I believe that's my share."
Nielthan nodded numbly. Anyela tilted her head to the side.
"Do I get no lecture?" she asked, casually leaning against the desk. Tresses of caramel brown danced at her side. "Waiting for my share and all?"
"You can have it." was all that he said, feeling unsettled by the very sound of his voice. Was this wrongness another kind of anxiety? Yet what for? He began to collect the remaining payment in order to occupy himself and not look at his daughter. She did not need to worry over nothing. "Will you be seeing Ilmian tonight?"
He did not need to look up at her in order to know that she would blush. The boy had grown up with her and there was no doubt that he would one day make a fine match. To deliver lectures and be an overprotective father would serve no purpose.
"We have been invited to a gathering in Fairbreeze tonight." she answered. Her tone was hesitant, but a smile was betrayed in it. "I was thinking... Well. But I can still stay and help for a couple of more hours."
"Go." The single word echoed from his mouth before he could even realise it. That tingling feeling of foulness made him want to shiver. He cleared his throat with difficulty. "Go now. Doesn't it take ages for you women to get ready?"
Anyela seemed to hesitate. "Are you sure? I can still-"
"You deserve it." he interrupted her. Eventually, his gaze rose. Past the odd feelings toying with his head at that moment, a small smile was forced on his lips. "You did a good job with the last batch. You can have the rest of the day off."
Her smile to the announcement was nothing like his. It was wide and brilliant, warmer than Belore. "Fine, I mean-... I mean, I suppose!" She clapped her hands and leaned in close, bestowing a kiss on his forehead.
At least her joy was mildly contagious. A small chuckle was all he could manage. Arcane trembled at the edge of his fingertips as the small, metallic safe next to him where money was being kept opened. He crouched in order to reach it, as Anyela skipped towards the door.
"Do not let her go!" A voice demanded.
"What?"
Nielthan raised his head in order to see who had spoken just as the bell of the door rang and the girl closed it behind her.
And then the world went dark.
Sunlight faded instantly, as if someone had smothered it with ease, like a candle's flame being blown out. Thick, purple mist devoured everything, clashing against the windows. Arcane lamps trembled and gave in, light emitted no longer. Yet somehow, a faint, silver light spread evenly into the room, granting the artisan dim vision.
He quickly rose to his feet, coins slithering from his grasp. It was not appropriate to understand now that the growing sense of wrongness of before had now been replaced by that of dread. What was this? How could it be?
Screaming was suddenly heard from outside. Female. Nielthan's eyes widened. He knew that voice.
"Anyela!"
His own scream was that of a cornered, wounded beast as the cries of his daughter kept piercing his ears. He bolted to the door, tripped over his desk and bringing it down with him. A sharp ache claimed his leg, for it had been the bone of his knee that he had struck, but that hardly mattered. The jewelcrafter rose from the floor and reached the door, ears twitching.
It would not open.
It was as if it had been locked, or perhaps blocked from the outside. With a roar, Nielthan reached into his pockets, recovering the keys, but the attempts were futile. "Anyela!" the man cried again. He kicked and he screamed, punched and struggled, yet the door would not open. Until eventually, the screaming stopped.
A tendril lashed against the windows. Bloodied.
"No, NO!"
The father belowed, his attempts against the door growing more vigorous. "Anyela!" he demanded. "Anyela, answer me, speak to me!" But his daughter's voice would not come.
Something latched onto his left arm, tugging. Nielthan turned. The ornate branches of his shops woodwork were no more, now replaced by stuff of nightmares. Tumours, disorted fleshy things were clinging on the walls, sprouting out solid tendrils of all sizes. They were wriggling, flailing, spasming and pulsating in a manner unnatural, disgusting, wrong. And they were reaching for him.
A scream filled the room as Nielthan tried to break free from the one holding onto him. It had an almost wet, slimy sensation about it, like goo. As he pulled away, it retracted, only to attempt to take a hold of him again. He dodged, just to fall into the mercy of another, wrapped around his thigh. Falling back on the door, the craftsman reached for the broom by it. It was not a weapon. It would have to do.
"Anyela!" He kept crying out his daughter's name as the tendrils came for him. The wooden rod pushed them away, yet in spite of their frail-looking forms, they would not break. Instead, the broom splintered with every strike, as if being constantly sent in an uneven battle against metal.
Until eventually, one of the tendrils wrapped itself around the pole, trying to yank it away. Nielthan could not resist the unnatural strength of shadow's creation. force pulled him forward, sending him straight into the rest of the flailing evils. They took advantage opening, eagerly wrapping themselves around the artisan.
"No, no!"
But they did not heed his cries. Squeezing, spreading, they brought him to the ground, seeking to encompass him completely. Cold, how cold. Hopeless. The growing feeling of despair claimed Nielthan's soul, devouring and merciless. It was perhaps his punishment. A prison of shadow for the creator of prisons.
It was not until the very late hours of the morning that Anyela Sunrider, concerned for the absence of her father, sought him out in the shop. She found him still there, curled onto the floor, weeping and raving for a battle which had never happened and a daughter that had never died.
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