[Fsh] Book 2 Epilogue: Waking Nightmares

Saravagan Dreamer, the Highlord of Dreams, sat in a quaint café in the Town of Eleric, watching his daughter tend to her flowers.

Rose Flora.

He had vehemently opposed the name when his wife had suggested it. There was such a thing as leaning too heavily into a theme.

As usual, he hadn’t gotten his way.

Saravagan sipped his tea as his wife sat at the table, joining him.

Solastra Flora smiled as she regarded her daughter tending to the very objects of her Fear, in the quaint florist’s shop in the humble Town of Eleric.

A Dreadwalker of flowers, under the influence of Tranquillity, which sealed away her Fearshaping and kept her Fears at bay.

“You knew Vetrian’s undead have been on the move.”

Solastra just nodded, bringing her teacup of winterlily tea to her lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Saravagan’s golden irises bore into Solastra’s own, of bright yellow.

“What would you have done, Dreamy? Heralded the Fearshapers under your corruption to stop him? After Berevan passed?”

Solastra’s gaze, which betrayed her care for her daughter hardened as she turned to face him.

“Vetrian was always our weakest link. If it comes to it, you could free the Fearshapers under your influence, and we would stem the tide of undead. Our plans for a peaceful future would be shattered. But you know as well as I do that you can’t bring all of them under your control.”

Saravagan sighed. He had suspected that Solastra was reluctant to end the peace they had fought for.

Killed for.

“Vetrian told me that you knew what his ambitions are.”

“Ah. You spoke to him.”

“Solastra, enough of your games.”

Solastra Flora just smiled, as infuriatingly casually as per usual.

“But I do love my games. Rest assured, that if I could have told you, I would have. After all, you know that there is no one else I would have trusted with the role of the benevolent tyrant.”

Solastra drew his hand into hers.

“If I, no, we, trusted you with Elucidor’s future, knowing you wouldn’t abuse your power, with your control over the Fearshapers, there is no reason why I wouldn’t have disclosed what I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because I can’t.”

Saravagan hesitated, then withdrew his hand in a sigh. He stood up from where he was seated, casting a final gaze towards his daughter.

“Sol, I’m done with your games.”

“Vetrian Revenant aims to-“

Idriel screamed.

The Singer’s voice burgeoned, resonating within his Fearcore and tearing through his mind, filling his head with agony. His vision swam as he struggled to perceive the scene before him.

Even from where he stood, at the very pinnacle of his Fear, in Serenity.

As sound gradually returned, he saw the café in disarray. Solastra had uttered the words under her breath, such that only he could perceive them. He saw people collapse on the ground, bleeding from their ears. The crowd around them, seated so peacefully now, a throng of chaos and confusion, clutching napkins to catch the blood trailing from their orifices.

Saravagan raised a finger to his own ear and felt the trickle over his fingers.

He shook his head as he met his wife’s eyes.

He wasn’t convinced.

“Forbidden knowledge. There would be ways around the protections, Solastra, you know that as well as I do. Speaking around the issue. We have dealt with Fearshapers of Mysteries before. Trying different modalities of communication, writing for one. Symbols, ways to pierc-“

Solastra interrupted him with a smile.  

“Of course. You were always systematic and thorough. If we tried for long enough, I am sure we would find a way around the… countermeasures.”

Saravagan watched in horror as Solastra flinched as she said the word.

“The knowledge can be imparted; that is not the obstacle. You only have to pay the price for it. Are you willing, Dreamy?”

Then he watched as Solastra Flora – one of, if the most powerful Fearshapers that walked Elucidor-

Began to bleed from her eyes.

But the droplets of blood did not originate from within her eye sockets.

 The surface of Solastra’s eyes began to tear, as she uttered the words.  

For a moment, Saravagan thought that his Fear of corruption had returned to him. Twisting his reality, everything that he knew and loved, against him.

Saravagan eased his grip on the table within his grip, trying in vain to steady his breath. He let out a huge sigh of frustration and motioned to the woman standing next to him, her gaze a brilliant gold. She was invisible to the patrons around them, their perceptions under his influence.

Solastra’s wounds that bled, halted in their tracks.

Frozen still.

“Sol… What have you gotten involved with now.”

For a moment, they sat in silence. Solastra’s usual glib smile, nowhere to be found, as the chaos around them began to quieten.

Saravagan sighed.

“We’re busy enough creating a world that accommodates Fearshapers in Berevan’s absence. Now Vetrian, Feardamn the man, is holding the Archcities hostage for a price.”

Solastra raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh? What’s his price?”

“To allow his daughter entry into my school.”

For a moment, Solastra paused, astounded, before her laughs rang out, prompting onlookers to cast errant glances that way.

“Cheeky bastard.”

“Solastra. Berevan is dead.”

Finally, she sobered and let out a sigh of her own.

“And we will have Vetrian’s head for it. Trust that I am taking my own precautions against him.”

“Oh, I’m aware. Nurturing Berevan’s son, who likely blames me for his father’s death. Vetrian’s daughter, who, for some reason, you have taken under your wing. Finally, the girl.”

Saravagan paused and cast a glance towards Ilaria Icewing, the Fearshaper of ice that stood at his side.

“Taking care of a friend’s daughter. That’s the least we could do, right, Dreamy?”

Solastra interlinked her fingers.

“You are afraid that another Fearshaper of corruption has awakened. You know the tyranny that your Fearshaping lends itself to. Do you purport to know the character of Caledon Brimstone, Dreamy? I dare say, he may even be a man of equal character to yourself.”

Saravagan flinched.

“You cannot deny, however. That Fearshapers of corruption are crucial to this world of… Insanity that we live in. To the civilisation that we seek to build. The boy acquired the invocations, you know? From Sale.”

Saravagan’s eyes widened.

“Sale? Solastra, Berevan trusted you with his guide? Why? Sale has… passed?”

“He was apprised of the same information, as I am. Berevan trusted me, Dreamy. Sale… fell to Insanity.”

Saravagan stared wordlessly at Solastra, whose expression was downcast. He never would have believed her words if she had told him that she possessed Berevan’s confidence. That Berevan had entrusted her with his own guide spoke volumes about his honourable friend’s belief in Solastra.

Again, with this forbidden knowledge.

“The invocations?”

“[Purification of the phoenix].”

Saravagan’s gaze widened, then it softened, and part of the tension that filled him fled his body.

“Ah.”

“Now, he will be capable of easing the symptoms of others’ Fears. An invaluable boon, in this world of Insanity. But that is not where the boy’s true value lies. At least as it relates to our vision of the future. He gained a dimension to his Fear, that you yourself overlooked in your Trepidation.”

Solastra smiled, infuriatingly as ever, as she delivered her answer.

“[Infusion of the phoenix].”

Saravagan froze.

Then he stood with such alarm that his chair went flying back from his sudden ascension. The domain he had never broached in his Trepidation. He had come across it, too late, reading the works of Fearshapers of corruption long past. The dimension of corruption that birthed infinite possibilities…

A dimension that allowed them to take just a few more steps towards their impossible dream.

“I am pleased for him. The boy took after his father, you know? In his descent through the Dreadwood, he reviled violence. In that regard, his Sale bestowed him with hope, in the very final moments of her life. A life spent just as honourably as her Fearshaper. Saravagan?”

He stood frozen, staring at Solastra.

“We will have relics once more.”

Saravagan let out a shuddering breath. This was how Solastra did it. Enticing them with beautiful words, the promises of impossible dreams. Solastra was as terrifying as she was, because she knew how to speak to the very essence of their desires.

“Now, as for the others. Vale Revenant. If I had killed her, I would be removing one of the scant few people capable of killing our favourite little rat.”

Saravagan’s eyes widened.

“Oh yes, little Vale Revenant is a Fearshaper of souls. That twisted man actually succeeded in his perverted goals. Fostering children, just to instil in them a Fear of death by stealing away their mothers from them. To root such a horrible, sickening Fear in them. He finally succeeded. If the intelligence we received is right, I suspect he succeeded, twice.”

“The other girl… the daughter he wishes to admit into my Academy?”

“Do not hesitate to oblige Vetrian his desires. We have our own pawn.”

Solastra smiled, her bright yellow eyes burning as she smiled.

Saravagan was reminded of how ruthless and terrifying his wife could be.

After all, who better to understand her terror than a fellow unassuming pawn of her schemes.

“Finally, Shiver. So much like her mother. The key to all of this.”

Saravagan hesitated and turned to frown. That was the last thing he expected Solastra to say. The Icewings were a powerful noble family. Their descendants always produced terrifying Fearshapers of frost. At their heights, their Dreadwalkers had been capable of wreaking damage to sections of the Feardamned continent, destroying cities. Not that any of the Icewings had ever done so.

But how did Shiver play into anything?

“More information that you can’t disclose. Your forbidden knowledge.”

Saravagan heaved a sigh.

“So, all of them have their role to play.”

“Indeed, and they have almost completed their journey through Trepidation. I believe that they are descending to Delirium as we speak. I have a favour to ask, Dreamy.”

His wife fluttered her eyelashes at him, and Saravgan was instilled with Dread the likes of which had not returned, since his descent to Serenity.

“I would like them to attend your academy as well. Besides, I think you’ll get along swimmingly with dear Caledon Brimstone once he gets to know you. I certainly did.”  

His Dread returned as he considered the boy that he had assumed posed the greatest threat to their dream.

I will judge Caledon Brimstone for myself.  

“Alright. I suppose… it is the least I can do for… well, all of them. But Sol?”

Solsatra nodded in response, waiting for him to continue.  

“If Caledon shows any marks of becoming a tyrant. Of following in the footsteps of his grandparents, I will end the boy, no matter how valuable he is to our… “dream”.”

“Of course.”

They paused for a moment, their gazes falling back onto their daughter, who tended to her flowers, greeting passerbys with her beautiful smile.

Even if she glimpsed them, she would not recognise her parents.

Sacrifices had been made by all of them to make their dream into a reality.

“Then, I have one final question for you. Idriel’s return.”

Solastra stiffened.

What?

Saravagan felt his heart begin to thunder in his chest at his wife’s reaction. Throughout the entirety of their conversation, she had masterfully navigated around the traps and pitfalls, making him look like a dunce for posing those questions to her.

There was nothing that phased her.

She was stalwart, even in the face of the threat that Vetrian posed to their peace, the threat of a second Rampage pouring across the land, which would force him to relinquish his hold over the Fearshapers.

There’s something here.

“You told me that Idriel was unnecessary. That she deceives Fearshapers, stifling their growth in instances where they believe her “lies”, as you call them. Vetrian told me he returned her voice.”

From the café that they sat in, the view of the Dreadwood swept out before him.

His eyes were fixed on the Dawntree.

“You descended to Serenity after you shut off Idriel. What you didn’t tell me was that you destroyed her pedestals.”

Solastra shifted, avoiding his gaze.

“Vetrian’s words, I assume?”

“Yes. He said he returned her and destroyed the final pedestal that he used to do so. The Singer is back for good, never to be silenced again.”

Solastra’s expression darkened, and Saravagan felt his heart thump in his chest.

“I thought you descended to Serenity after the Rampage. After you shut off the final pedestal. Was that not actually the case?”

For an imperceptible moment, Solastra froze before returning to her normal, relaxed posture.

“Yes… I did.”

“A lie.”

Saravagan’s golden irises burned into her own, and he watched as his wife retreated where she sat.

“Have you forgotten Sol? I’m a Fearshaper of corruption. Lies are my domain.”

“I know.”

He stared at her.

In all of the Insanity of the past weeks. Vetrian’s betrayal. Berevan Brimstone, dying at his former friend’s own hand. The return of Idriel, when he had thought it a thing of the past.

There had been a single thing that troubled Saravagan Dreamer, the Highlord of Dreams.

Fearshapers in Serenity were freed from their Fears and their guides.

Having overcome their Fear, having reached the depths of their descent, the bond with their guides was no longer necessary to assist them in weathering their Fears.

As for what happened during the descent from Dread to Serenity?

The moment of descension was carved from every elf’s minds who completed their Fearshaping journey.

What was for certain was that guides returned to the receptacle, to be reassigned again, to assist other budding Fearshapers.

“Why do I see Turkle’s name in my vision, when the Singer resonates with my Fearcore… “Madame T?” Your guide… is still around. Has he bonded to another Fearshaper? I doubt it, as he is.”

Saravagan turned to regard the Dawntree in the distance. 

Solastra Flora clutched at her chest, as if incapable of breathing for a moment. Then he watched as she disappeared into a mess of root and vine at his feet.

Before she had left ,however, Saravagan had glimpsed something hanging over her head.

Still there, where he had last placed it.

Something she should have had no need for, having descended to Serenity… or so she claimed.

A gift of a naïve young man to the woman he loved.

A woman whom he continued to love, despite all of her shortcomings.

Despite her madness.

---

Dawn Revenant strode through Soulhaven’s empty halls.

Her heart was racing, having been summoned by her father to his quarters.

The last time he had called upon her, he had directed her to reclaim the body of Berevan Brimstone.

Dawn had seen her sister.

Vale was still alive.

She opened the doors to his quarters and descended a set of stairs concealed within his room. Few of Vetrian’s attendants and confidants even knew of the passageway that it led to. Herself, Safnir, and ,somewhat surprisingly, Somnolence, were the only ones that she knew of.

She walked through the dark hallway, eventually reaching her destination.

At the end of the hallway was her father’s true office. Where he spent most of his time, the other being a front. It was somewhat unnecessary, given Soulhaven’s lack of… guests.

Still, Vetrian Reveannt was a careful, cautious man, for all the power that he wielded as the Deathbringer, who had heralded the Rampage of Undeath.

Beside his office was a plain door.

That, was a mystery that none of her siblings had uncovered. Vetrian had not trusted its contents to any of them.

Her heart continued to throb and thunder in her chest as her hand drew closer to its handle.

Then it opened, and Vetrian Revenant strode out. Dawn’s eyes widened as they fell onto… something contained within.

Then she fixed her eyes on her father, as she curtseyed to him.

If Vetrian had noticed her wandering gaze, he said nothing at all. Instead, the Deathbringer greeted her with a warm smile.

“Are you ready to depart for Somnolence, Dawn?”

“Yes, father. I’ve packed all of my provisions.”

“Say your final goodbyes, the ship will be here to take you there shortly.”

Dawn visibly hesitated, as her father’s eyes lingered on her.

Vetrian Revenant’s eyes were pinpricks of the void, the trait passed down from their original patriarch, Rael Revenant.

“Yes, Dawn?”

“You don’t suppose… I’ll see my sister there, will you?”

Vetrian Revenant gave her a warm smile that chilled her to the very core.

“Oh, my dear Dawn. That is the entire reason why I called you here. I am certain, that you will see our beloved Vale…”

Before Dawn’s very eyes, she watched as her father’s flesh and clothing… flickered.

Dawn Revenant was greeted with a black skeleton’s grin of ivory.

“In the Archcity of Dreams.”

---

“Come in, Silas.”

Silas strode into Highlady Solastra Flora’s room. His eyes widened, imperceptibly when he saw that the Highlady looked pale. Throughout his entire stay in the Dreadwood, he had never once seen Solastra out of sorts or not in control of her bearing and emotions.

It terrified him that something had thrown her off-balance.

“Please, sit. Sit. You requested to see me. How could I deny Berevan’s second son an audience?”

Silas invoked his Fear.

[Mask of the puppeteer]

He stared back at her impassively. To any lay observer, not a single break in his composure could be observed.

“Oh? I see that you are putting my invocation to good use, then?”

Solastra smiled, her bright yellow eyes gleaming, as she sipped winterlily tea from her cup.

“Come, join me on the veranda.”

Silas strode outside to join the Highlady on her Veranda, which gave them an excellent view of both the Dawntree bordering her city and a sweeping view of her Dreadwood that spanned outwards to the horizon, as far as his eyes could see.

Silas relinquished his Fearshaping and let his [mask of the puppeteer] drop. It would do him no favours in the Highlady’s presence. She had instantly seen through him.

“I want you to help me… understand.”

“To help you understand why I made you lie to Caledon Brimstone?”

Solastra gave him a warm, commiserating smile that chilled him to the very bone.

“Oh, Silas. Perhaps… the explanation is best delivered through a treatise on manipulation.”

At Solastra’s feet, roots and vines emerged to form a chair that effortlessly conformed to the curve of her body.

Even though there was another chair right next to her.

Silas yelped as a root tripped him, sending him tumbling into his own. He noticed that it perfectly conformed to his own body as well.

“Which chair would have suited you better?”

“Hmm?”

He stared at her, confused by her question.

“I suppose… the one that you conjured conforms to me better than the other?”

“Exactly. Sometimes, Silas, all you need are little trips. Nudges. Like the one that I imposed on you, to make you conform to my wishes. Which also just so happens to be in your best interests, no matter how reluctant you initially were to comply.”

Solastra laughed, the discomfort he had glimpsed on her face when entering her office, having disappeared.

“You are concerned that I am sending Caledon into an even deeper despair with my actions.”

Solastra’s voice softened, and she did not turn to look at him.

“If there was one thing that I admired about Berevan Brimstone, it was how he attracted to him the most honourable of people. Kind, unassuming and pure in their intentions. Do you know the reason why I gave you the dream marble, Silas?”

“No, Highlady.”

“Because you are one such person. Kind and honourable. A man who cares deeply for the family that took you in, as one of their own. A man who cares for his brother. In spite of the pain we have caused you. The only reason you trust me as much as you do, is because you know one thing for certain. Isn’t that right?”

Solastra smiled.

“Berevan Brimstone trusted me.”

“He trusted Sale to you, Highlady.”

“Yes, he did. You wish to know the purpose for which he did so?”

Silas just stared at her, the invocation from his Delirium, tempting him at his very fingertips. Even given how quickly it would fall apart under Solastra’s scrutiny.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t.”

Solastra smiled.

“Resolve. It is the key to every Fearshaper’s descent. Serenity bears with it the promise to a freedom from one’s Fears. In this world of lies and mysteries, that is the truth. However, the journey to reach it is fraught with terror, misery, and…”

“Insanity.”

Silas nodded, feeling the sweat trace down from his temple.

“Know that our actions are necessary for Caledon’s resolve, Silas. Know that for how much suffering he will endure for your lies, he will be better for it. Do you know how many Fearshapers succumb to their Trepidation?”

“No, Highlady.”

“Most of them. The vast majority fall to their Trepidation. I am determined to ensure that Caledon Brimstone would not be one of them. Neither would Vale Revenant or…”

Solastra smiled fondly.

“Dalaria Icewing.”

Silas choked on the sip of tea that he took, his head whipping towards Solastra.

“Let’s continue to call her Shiver. Her mother would be so amused at the name her daughter chose for herself.”

For a moment, Solastra’s laughter erupted like bells, and he glimpsed the Highlady as few had.

“If your resolve wanes, Silas Brimstone... Know that with every deception, you are realising your former Highlord’s wishes for his son.”

Silas swallowed, struggling to subdue the lump that had emerged in his throat.

“Caledon Brimstone walks a path more terrifying than any of us will face. A Fear of corruption, is not trivial to overcome. I would know, for the man that I love the most in this world of Insanity was cursed with it as well.”

Solastra Flora, the Highlady of Life, turned to Silas. She regarded him without a hint of mockery in her expression.

“He will overcome his Trepidation. They all will. They will have each other, in their journey into the depths of their Fear.”

Solastra rose and walked over to the Brimstone’s butler. Another victim of Vetrian Revenant’s Rampage of undead. A victim of the machinations of the woman who now laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

In spite of it all, a woman whose wishes he still chose to respect and obey.

“You know what awaits him now, having surmounted it yourself, don’t you?”

As Solastra Flora strode away, leaving him alone on the veranda, Silas considered the Highlady’s words.  

The tribulations that awaited Caledon and his companions.

Anhedonia was the stage of reflection. Where a Fearshaper confronted their Fears, acknowledging them, then embracing them. Relinquishing the happiness derived from the relative absence of their Fear, prior to awakening as a Fearshaper.

Trepidation was the stage of learning. Where a Fearshaper derived power from mimicry. Expanding the dimensions – the bounds –  of their Fear, the closer they danced with Insanity.

Delirium?

The descent from Trepidation to Delirium, involved a return to the nightmare.

It required a Fearshaper to triumph over a single nightmare, which marked their arrival to the third realm of Fear.

The catch?

It was not the Fearshaper’s own nightmares that they faced during their trial.

Silas’ guide, Tremelo, appeared on the table before him. The wooden puppet with eyes of the void walked up to Silas and laid a reassuring hand on his Fearshaper’s shoulder.

“You are a brave man. A better brother. Trust him.”

None of the crass words – no – lies that Tremello had greeted Caledon with were present.

Silas Brimstone had realised his full potential, just as Berevan Brimstone had intended for him. An honest man with a need for someone that he could trust.

To bear his dishonesty for him.

For Berevan Brimstone, who had taken him in as his own son, Silas walked his Fearpath without hesitation.

For his former Highlord, he walked the [Fearpath of the puppet of a hundred faces].

Just as he would, for his son, after him.

----

When Vale Revenant delved into the nightmare to overcome her Trepidation, she was met by a curious scene.

An unfamiliar sky.

She awoke on a throne.

Vale’s attention did not linger on the resplendent hall laid out before her. Lined with the regal colours of black and gold, which adorned the furniture or fixtures. Nor did it linger on the bustling attendants and advisors that shouted at one another, their voices carrying vitriol and angst in a language that she initially failed to comprehend. Nor did she fixate on the appearances of those who filled the hall.

The walking dead.

Skeletons, all of them.

Her eyes were drawn to the view beyond the hall in which she sat.

Peering through the rectangular vertical cut in the room’s entrance, which spanned the length of the wall opposite the throne, Vale peered into the world beyond.

Vale Revenant’s eyes of flame of the darkest green were fixed on chains.

Chains, the size of continents, encircled the alien world around her, hanging in its atmosphere.

A Tombworld.

---

Caledon Brimstone awoke blind in his nightmare.

Only to find that he was without his other senses as well.

Sight.

Tough.

Hearing.

Smell.

Taste.

He was left with a single aspect that burned within him, denied and deprived of every other simple luxury that he had enjoyed from the benefit of his mere existence.

What lurked beneath the agony of his existence was the promise of restoring all that he had been denied.

His wrath.

Wrath and hunger.

----

Shiver strode out into a world of frost.

“Terrors are encroaching upon the Archcity of Hope. My lady, we need your assistance to route them.”

She turned to regard elves that stood around her.

Dreadwalkers, all of them. Elves more powerful than any she had glimpsed, if their auras were anything to go by.

All of them pleading to her for assistance.

Shiver ignored them all. She left them behind as she exited the command room in which she stood, deaf to their protests.

She peered out into a familiar sky, with a single, curious difference.  

Her eyes traced the heavens.

“Idriel, yep. Shining silver. Valefor, yep. As gold as ever. Now…”

She raised her fingers to stroke her chin, regarding the object in the far distance that hung alongside Elucidor’s twin moons.

Shiver’s eyes gleamed the hue of a brilliant sea of dark cerulean.

Of frost that spanned the darkest reaches.

Of desolation, unending.

“Who are you?”

---

In the grand temple of Insanity, sat a smaller temple that resided within it.

It had been the site of a battle of tragedy and necessity, as guides and Fearshapers stemmed the tide of madness that flowed through its halls.

Within was a crystal.

A gift to a race of wayward elves tormented by their Fears.

The crystal had withstood physical, psychic, elemental and any other attack one could put their mind to – which was a significant amount, given the sheer variety of Fears that elves had the misfortune of fixating on.

Each and every time it withstood such an attack, it came away unharmed, utterly impervious to the damage that had been inflicted upon it.

The crystal…

Cracked.

END: Book 2: Dreadwalker