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IX.Somnium Lumen
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The rhythmic thud of a hammer meeting wood echoed across the open field as Johanus drove a post into the ground, securing what would soon be the fence for a new stable. The sun was high and it's golden light was casting long shadows over the farmhouse and stretching fields.
Young Quintin knelt beside his father, holding a wooden post steady as Johanus worked. Sweat dripped down Johanus’s brow, but his movements were sure. Each strike precise and controlled just like every lesson he ever gave. As always, he used moments like this to teach.
“You know, I’ve been all over this world,” Johanus said, adjusting his grip on the hammer, “Born up north in Illios, spent years in the west, and traveled all the way east.”
Quintin looked up curiously, “Is there someplace you’ve never been?”
Johanus paused mid-swing, thinking for a moment before lowering the hammer slightly, “Mount Scion,” he admitted, “Once you’re far enough east, it’s impossible not to see the mountain from any distance, but I never got close to it. It always fascinated me.”
Quintin furrowed his brow, “Really? That big splotch on the map in the kitchen? Why would a mountain be interesting?”
Johanus grinned as he lifted the hammer again, “Well, because of the stories. The legend of the spite.”
Quintin tilted his head, confused, “The what?”
Johanus let out a chuckle as he hammered another post into the dirt, “It’s a tall tale, except… every so often, the story goes around again because of another sighting of this apparent creature that's been dubbed the spite.”
Quintin’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “A creature?”
“They say a grotesque half-man,” Johanus explained, leaning on the fence post, “With pointed ears, slimy-looking skin, and a hunched frame. Some say it looks like a goblin out of fantasy tales.”
Quintin leaned forward, “And it lives on the mountain?”
Johanus nodded. “Supposedly. People have spotted it there over the years. Decades, even. Every now and then, someone swears up and down they’ve seen the creature. That it's always alone. Always in the shadows.”
Quintin’s mind raced with questions, “What does it want? What does it wear? Why does everyone fear it?”
Johanus laughed at the boy’s excitement, “That’s the thing,” he said, leaning on the next post, “It’s always described as gathering something or dragging a bag behind it. Some say it’s carrying body parts. Others think it steals trinkets in the night, fascinated by anything shiny.”
Quintin’s wondered himself, “But those are just rumors and stories, right?”
Johanus shrugged, “Maybe. But I’ll tell you why I’m curious,” he added, gripping the hammer tightly.
Quintin’s young face lit up with anticipation, “Why?”
Johanus met his son’s gaze, his eyes serious, “Because if all the stories are true, and if they’ve been told as long as they have,” his voice lowered as he leaned in, becoming almost reverent, “Then that means this creature is old. Very old. Who knows what kind of knowledge something like that possesses?” Johanus mused.
Quintin’s mouth parted slightly, entranced by the thought.
Johanus grinned, gripping the hammer again, “And what do I always say?”
Quintin beamed, nodding with certainty, “Knowledge is just as good as any weapon.”
Johanus swung the hammer one last time, driving the final post into the dirt, “That’s right.”
He exhaled, dusting his hands off, “But it’s time for you to wake up, Quintin.”
Quintin blinked in confusion, “What?”
His young voice wavered as he became his older self. The warm sunlight dimmed. Then, his body burned. A sharp pain twisted in Quintin’s side, a deep, searing agony. He let out a guttural scream, his body convulsing as his hand instinctively clutched his wound.
⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆
Quintin’s eyes snapped open. His breath came ragged, vision blurred, and muscles trembled from exhaustion and fever. The scent of burning wood filled his nostrils. The flickering light of a fire danced beside him. He was leaning against a tree, his leather armor removed and his torso wrapped in fresh bandages.
The fire crackled softly, the only sound filling the thick, quiet forest. Quintin’s breath was still ragged, his body aching from the deep wound in his side. His mind swam with half-remembered pain and fevered dreams, his thoughts hazy. Then came rustling from in front of him. His body tensed instinctively, and his hand reached for a weapon he no longer had.
From the dense brush, Selena emerged, carrying an armful of firewood. Her hair was messy, twigs caught in loose strands, and dirt smudged her exposed arms.
She looked worse for wear, like she had been fighting the forest itself.
Quintin eased back seeing the familiar face and weakly asked, “What… happened?”
Selena dropped the firewood into a small pile near the fire, dusting off her hands with an exasperated sigh, “I followed after you,” she said flatly, “After you decided to fall off a damn cliff, I didn’t have much of a choice.”
Quintin stared, trying to process her words, “But… you followed me?”
Selena huffed, “More soldiers and ravangers were coming. I used your horse as a distraction, sent them in the wrong direction before I made my way here,” she said as she sat down, rubbing her temples, “Tracking you wasn’t easy, but I managed.”
Quintin looked in wonder, “Oh?”
She lifted her head, looking directly at him now, “Yeah. Wasn't hard with broken branches and blood at first. But then… I started seeing drag marks.”
Quintin’s shook his head slightly, not understanding.
Selena’s voice was stale, annoyed, “If the ravangers decide to come looking, they won’t find anything. The forest is too dense. Not even the smoke from the fire can escape these trees,” she said as she ran a hand through her hair, looking irritated, “Either way, I covered your trail as I followed. Just in case.”
Quintin shifted slightly, wincing at the pain in his side. He caught something off in her words, “…You said, drag marks?” he muttered, voice hoarse.
Selena looked at him, arms crossed.
“I only remember falling,” Quintin admitted.
Selena exhaled sharply through her nose, “Yeah? Well, I didn’t carry you here. And I sure as hell didn’t wrap your wound.”
Quintin’s expression hardened. His gaze flickered around the camp, searching for any sign of another presence, but there was nothing to be seen.
Selena leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, staring into the fire. She was quiet for a long time. Quintin watched her, studying her expression, trying to read her. He thought he knew what was on her mind.
“…The Lion,” he said finally, voice low, “I didn’t know what he did, or where he went after his time as a revenant.”
Selena didn’t respond. Instead, she reached behind her, gripping something out of Quintin’s field of vision. Then, in one sharp movement, she pulled out his sword and threw it at his feet as it made a small clink rolling over.
Quintin’s breath caught as he stared at it. The black wrapping around the hilt had come loose. It was likely damaged and torn in the fight with Olan. And now, it was fully exposed. A distinctive fox head staring back at him.
Selena’s eyes blazed, “What is this?” she asked, her voice sharp.
Quintin swallowed hard.
“Are you a Revenant?” she demanded answers as she started to turn red with fury, “Are you one of them?!”
Quintin’s hands lifted slightly, shaking back and forth, though the motion agitated his wound, “No, no!” he gasped, pressing his palm to his side, “My… my father was. A long time ago.”
Selena’s jaw tightened. Her fingers curled into fists, but she didn’t move. She took a deep breath, her expression a mix of anger and wariness, “It makes too much sense now.”
Quintin said nothing, still catching his breath.
“The way you fight,” she said bitterly, “The way you move. It’s unnatural.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “So you’re not a revenant? Seem pretty close to me. The only thing you don’t have is that true death nonsense they go on about. That's why they're so feared right? Beings that beat death? At least once.”
Silence stretched between them as Selena was clearly thinking of Olan now. Quintin could see it in her eyes that she was wrestling with the truth, trying to decide if she had fought alongside an ally or an enemy.
He exhaled, slowly leaning his head back against the tree, “Since I’m not going anywhere, I might as well explain. If you're willing to listen…”
Selena sat across from Quintin, arms crossed, watching him closely. She was annoyed, but she gave in. They had come this far together, she could at least hear him out.
“…Alright,” she said, shifting slightly, “Talk.”
Quintin exhaled, his body still aching from the fight with Olan and the fall. He leaned his head back against the tree, eyes distant as he reached into the past, “My mother, Aerowyn, died when I was eight cycles old.”
Selena’s expression remained impassive, but Quintin saw the slight twitch of her fingers as she clenched them tighter around her arms.
“My father was still the same stoic man then,” Quintin continued, “Bottled up his feelings. He could express love openly for my mother, but it was rare. Until she got sick. Until she was in bed, unable to move.”
Quintin’s mind drifted back to that time, the memory crystal clear, “My father Johanus rode out to find a practitioner of medicine. He brought him back, hoping that this man could fix her, or at the very least come up with a solution.”
Selena watched Quintin intently.
“But the man… he had never seen an illness like hers before. He ran every test he could, but the only thing he could say was that her blood was unusual. That something was… off.”
Selena’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.
“The man left in the end,” Quintin said passively, “And me? I watched as my father just stood there, helpless, as my mother finally died.”
He clenched his hands into fists, his nails pressing into his palms, “At least… that’s how I felt at eight cycles.”
Selena remained still, listening.
“I remember the night she died well,” Quintin continued, “She looked at me, said she loved me… like she knew it was time.”
His throat tightened slightly, but he pressed on, “My father just stood there,” he said, voice quieter now, “Defeated. And then… she was gone.”
Quintin shut his eyes for a moment, exhaling, “I screamed,” he admitted. “I cried… Begged her not to go. I was a child. I thought if I screamed loud enough, it would wake her up. Bring her back.”
Selena shifted slightly, looking down, but said nothing.
Quintin’s voice hardened, “My father finally snapped. He told me to stop. To shut the hell up boy.”
Quintin looked at her then, his silver eyes reflecting the firelight, “I yelled back at him,” he said, bitterness seeping into his words, “For not saving her. For being some great soldier, some protector, but he couldn’t even save his own wife.”
Quintin let out a breath through his nose, shaking his head, “Then I ran,” he nodded slowly, looking down, “I ran into the woods, ignoring his voice as he called after me.”
Selena’s gaze flickered back to Quintin wanting to know what the story was building to, but she stayed silent.
Quintin continued, “I kept running, crying, not paying attention to where I was going. I got close to the creek, and my foot slipped. I fell down the embankment and I hit my head on the way down. I fell into the creek, unconscious.”
His voice dropped to a whisper, “And, I drowned.”
Selena’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak. Quintin’s mind was already there, back in that moment.
“I woke up to my father,” he said, voice distant, “Pounding on my chest. Giving me compressions. His hands were shaking. When I coughed up blood and water, he broke down crying.”
Selena blinked, watching him closely while trying to understand.
“I had never seen my father cry before,” Quintin murmured, “Not once. But that night? He fell back on the ground, staring at me like he had seen a ghost.”
He looked at Selena again, “Because he had.”
She didn’t understand. Not at first. Until Quintin said the words, “My mother and I both died that night.”
Selena’s let out a small gasp in shock as Quintin swallowed and continued, “When he revived me, something had changed. My eyes… they weren’t blue anymore.”
Selena’s gaze shot to his silver irises, realization dawning on her.
“My father saw them in the moonlight,” Quintin whispered, “And he knew.”
Selena exhaled slowly, “You died a true death. So, you actually died, but came back.”
Quintin nodded once, “That’s when my father changed. He told me I was all he had left. After that night, he never raised his voice at me in anger again. He showed patience in everything, taught me everything he knew, and only showed love.”
Selena didn’t speak.
Quintin looked at his hands, turning them over, as if expecting to see something different. He hadn't thought about his father in such a way since he died and realized how much he missed him.
“But after that night… after I had gone through that change, my father knew I wouldn’t be better off as just a farm boy,” his voice steadied, “That’s when he started training me in the ways of the revenant. All the way up until…”
His voice trailed off. Selena’s throat bobbed slightly as she spoke up, “Until he died,” she said, finishing for him.
Quintin nodded. Selena was quiet for a long time after that. She didn’t have parents. She never knew what it was like to lose them. But she understood loss. She understood what it was like to have someone you love taken from you.
Her harshness softened, even if only slightly, “So,” she finally said, her voice quieter. “Technically, you are a revenant.”
Quintin hesitated, “Well, I don't know about that,” he admitted, “But my father and I’s eyes changed color after our true deaths. I think that's why he chose to pass on his training. The Lion saw who I was without even knowing me because of it. But all the revenants have some weird thing. You know, besides the death and swords.”
Selena nodded in confusion, “Wait, what do you mean?”
“Like my father,” he said carefully, “He was choked to death. On purpose. By his mentor.”
Selena blinked, “What?”
Quintin met her gaze, “He was choked to death by the revenant known as the Owl, under King Ghaldre's orders.”
Selena’s eyes widened in disbelief, “What the hell?”
Quintin gave a bitter chuckle, “But that’s a whole other story, I suppose.”
She didn’t press anymore as Quintin sighed, leaning back against the tree, “I am the youngest fully trained revenant to ever exist. Yes,” he admitted.
Selena tensed slightly, but he held up a hand, “But I’m not one of them,” he said firmly, “I wouldn’t want to be. Hell, they're the only people I have killed.”
Selena studied him, searching his face for any deception, but there was none. She exhaled, rubbing her face and scuffing off some dirt, “Well, good. Although, I technically killed the Lion.”
The fire cracked softly between them, its warmth staving off the creeping cold of the Scion woods as Selena went quiet again, but not with the same hardness she carried before.
Quintin shifted, adjusting against the tree again, with a tired breath, “Well, you should know it was the Wolf. His real name Elyas. He’s the one who,” Selena looked over, as he nodded his head in acceptance of the past, “He’s the one who killed my father. And in return, I killed him.”
Selena’s jaw opened slightly. So, the pair had both dispatched a revenant.
Quintin thought for a moment about that as he continued on, “And now, with you taking out the Lion, only ten named revenants are still out there.”
Selena blinked, “Only ten? I figured there would be more by now.”
Quintin nodded slowly, “Well, thirteen named revenants. The Wolf, the Fox, the Lion, and the others. Each recruited under the Kingslayer’s rule.”
“But now three of them are dead,” Selena said. “Surely, they won’t be happy about that, or at least, it won't go unnoticed.”
Quintin gave a grim smirk. “Maybe. It depends I think. On the Council of Seven.”
Selena tensed, “Wait what?”
Quintin nodded again. “The Lion was one of them. My father had no idea what they were up to, besides becoming the new power in the land. So, I really only knew what he did and I've found a lot of that to be outdated. Like the ravangers.”
Selena cursed under her breath, running a hand through her hair, “So now with multiple of the revenants gone.”
“Yeah, I think it will be a problem,” Quintin shook his head staving off thoughts of the future, “But not an immediate one. For now, Scion’s forest will hide us. We’ll have time to figure something…”
Selena didn’t look reassured as Quintin winced, a sharp bolt of pain lancing through his side. She leaned forward, “Alright, alright. That’s enough talking for the night. One problem at a time for now.”
Quintin nodded in agreement, barely keeping his eyes open. He leaned his head back and slipped into unconsciousness as sleep took him.
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Quintin awoke with a faint hiss of wind curling through the trees. The fire beside him had faded to glowing embers, casting weak shadows on the bark around them. Selena lay curled beneath her cloak nearby, breathing peacefully. But something was off. There was another light in the darkness of the forest.
It was golden, soft, and unnatural, glimmering through the thicket of trees, like sunlight piercing through storm clouds, though the sky above was still midnight black. Quintin blinked and rubbed his eyes in case he was seeing things, but it was still there. A pulsing glow, further into the woods.
Quintin stood slowly, ignoring his wounded side, unable to stop himself. The forest around him felt different, as though the air was waiting. He stepped through the underbrush, making a little noise, but noticing the rest of the forest was dead silent. The light grew brighter.
Thenn in front of Quintin came a shadow, small and hunched, moving toward the light. The glow revealed its form. It was a half-sized creature with olive-green skin, slick and almost slime-like, even at a distance. It wore tattered rags over it's midsection with a hunched back as it dragged a sack, worn and misshapen, bouncing on the ground with every step.
The creature's smaller features came into focus as Quintin slowly walked forward unnoticed. It had pointed ears, yellow eyes, and a sharp fang jutting from beneath its upper lip over it's bottom lip. Quintin’s breath caught in his throat. The Spite.
Quintin’s dream seemed to mean something now as his father’s story came flooding back. The tales of a creature never aging, always watching, and said to haunt the mountain like a myth come alive. It was real.
The creature walked unbothered, directly toward the glowing rift in the forest. It was like a doorway suspended in midair. It shimmered as the spite reached the edge and stepped through the light disappearing.
Without thinking, Quintin broke into a run. Pain flared through his side, not as bad as before, while he pushed past low-hanging branches, snapping some off with the force of his run.
The light began to fade, but Quintin threw himself forward, diving through the doorway where the golden shimmer swallowed him whole. It was gone. He was gone. And the forest went back to darkness.
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End Part 9 and Act 1.
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