Cirvedui sat down with his back against the rock face, took in a deep breath, and then looked over to the redheaded woman that had accompanied him here. "If you think this is the right place..... I'm ready."
Cat held up her finger to correct him. "I don't 'think'... I know." She flashed him a quick grin before her expression turned more serious, and her head tilted to the side as she silently evaluated if he were truly ready. After nodding to herself, she held out a small vial containing a greenish liquid. "Once you drink this, the fragments of dreams that you remember will weave together into a full picture, one that you’ll clearly remember after wakin’… That's why this place is perfect; it's near enough to those cursed red skies for you to sense the power of that place and make the connection with your dreams, but these waters shall protect you so that you won't be overwhelmed by the forces that reside within while you are under the influence of the potion.”
Cirv’s eyes squinted as he looked into hers. "I'm trusting you, Cat,” he said as he held out his hand to accept the vial. “I hope this will bring some clarity to the images I've seen."
"Bah... There's that 'H' word again...” she replied with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes.
Her response was not unexpected, but it still caused him to chuckle, "Still afraid to admit your heart still holds hope?" he asked as he winked at her when he said the word ‘heart’. "I can see I've still some work to do."
“Yeah, yeah…” she answered back with a wave of her hand, quick to dismiss any talk of hope or of her having a heart. “But don’t worry, the potion will do as it should; however, we also need to make sure that you are focused on the right fragment in order to trigger the visions you're wantin' to explore more… In other words, no thinkin’ of anythin’ else.”
Cirv nodded as he uncorked the vile and held it up to his nose, and an amused grin curled on Cat’s lips as she watched him sniff at the potion. "It tastes bad...” she casually stated. “Fair warnin’…” Her eyes remained locked on him as he lifted the vile up and downed its contents in one quick motion; then, he replaced the cork and handed it back to her.
"No going back now, is there?"
Cat shook her head as she took the vial back from him and pocketed it. After a few minutes, Cirv’s pupils seemed to enlarge and a blank look came across his face; it was then that she motioned with her hands for him to lean his head back against the rock wall and relax. "Now, close your eyes,” she instructed, “and try to think of the image you remember... Focus on the red skies that you’ve seen in your dreams."
His head tilted back and his eyes closed, and his mind drifted back to the flames he had seen in his previous dreams. “Focus on that image…” he could hear her say one last time before her voice faded from his hearing as he slipped away into the realm of dreams.
______________________________________________________________________
At first, all that Cirv could see was bright flames all around him and a reflection of them off the walls of the large structure he was inside. He could hear laughter in the background, an evil and taunting sort of laughter. Then, the flames began to fade and everything around turned dark, black as night. A light flashed and he was now standing in a large room with banners on the walls; no flames were present, but he could smell a faint scent of smoke in the air. Around him were several men, all standing behind a tall, well-dressed man and a few paces back from a round table in the center of the room which had been crafted to hold a large, round stone in its center.
The well-dressed man stood directly in front of the stone and looked intently into the object; he appeared to be seeing something beneath the stone surface, but whatever image had been revealed to him wasn’t shown to the others in the room. He turned to face the others, wearing a grim look on his face, but when he saw them looking back at him, his expression quickly changed to one of resolve and determination. The man looked at Cirv and commanded, "Valion, send for Araphor at once."
Cirv attempted to respond so that he could tell this man that he wasn’t this Valion that he spoke of, but the words that came out of his mouth weren’t his own; instead, he heard himself say, “Yes, my King.” It was then that he realized that he was merely seeing this tale unfold through another’s eyes, this Valion’s eyes.
The room faded to black once more and after another flash of light, there were now four more men standing in the room next to him; one of them appeared to be very young and was also dressed in what looked to be royal garments, similar to the well-dressed man, and the other three were arrayed in armor of some sort, bearing the symbol of seven stars. The younger man approached the well-dressed man and said, "Father, I refuse to run away like a coward in the night. I will stay with you and fight to the end! The men, they say there is hope for victory! Why would we flee now?"
The elder man took his son’s hand and led him toward the round object; after waving his hand in front of it, he motioned for him to look. The younger man’s face turned from an expression of hope to one of worry and despair. "But…” he stammered out, “that cannot be! How can they thin the very blood that runs through our veins! And those legions! Our scouts have said nothing of them!"
The elder man held up his finger to quiet the youth. "I have not given up hope yet, my son. I am Arveleg, king of Arthedain and rightful king of all of Arnor; I will not let this fortress fall to such evil." Despite his bold words, he sighed; and his voice lowered as he continued, "But only a fool would not be prepared should things go ill, and that is why must ask you to return safely to Fornost with the palantír. We must preserve the line of the kings.” He gestured to the object on the table. “This device must not be allowed to fall into their hands. Such evil could they do with it, I cannot even imagine. You will depart in secret, Araphor, and take these men with you; they are my most trusted. Their captain, Valion, will remain with me to defend this fortress."
After sparing his father one last look, Araphor nodded and motioned to two of the armed men to pick up the palantír.
Arveleg looked around the room, wearing a grim expression on his face once more. "None of you are to speak a word of any of this outside of this company,” he calmly ordered. “For such tidings of despair to spread through the ranks of our armies would be disastrous. Their will already falters from whatever evil poisons their blood." The men all voiced their obedient agreement and then continued with the preparations to depart.
While this was going on, one of the three armored men approached Cirv. "Father,” he said, speaking to this Valion person whose body Civ was currently inhabiting, “I would not be parted from you if the king did not command it himself. I am sorry."
Words proceeded from his lips again without his thinking and beyond his control; Cirv was just a spectator in this realm and couldn’t influence this Valion person’s thoughts or actions. "Berethor,” Valion replied, “I would have you at my side as well, but I can think of none more suited for this task. As for me, I am bound to remain with the King, to the death if that's what it must be." He paused for a moment to look around. Upon seeing that the others were talking amongst themselves and not listening to the two, he passed Berethor his shield, a shield as black as night with seven stars upon it and without scratch or blemish. Then, he unclasped his sword- one adorned with eagle wings upon the hilt- and briefly lifted it from its sheath to reveal its bright glow before handing it over as well. Cirv recognized both of these items that this man was handing over; they were the same items that he had discovered in his own father's belongings.
"Take these with you and remember what I told you," Valion said in a lowered voice as he leaned in closely to Berethor. "Remember, you must strike quickly. Once the curse has been invoked then it will be too late. These weapons have power against their dark magic, but only if the hands that hold them are able." He then stepped back and put his hand on Berethor's shoulder. "We will meet again, my son. Amon Sûl will not fall; not today."
Berethor nodded and stepped back to join Araphor and the other two guards who were now holding the palantír. Arveleg kissed his son's head and bid him goodbye before walking toward a statue of one of the Kings in the back of the room; once there, he motioned for Valion to assist him in pushing the statue away from the wall, revealing a hidden stairway. After the four had descended down the passage and disappeared from sight, Arveleg turned to Valion. "I know that was not any easier for you to do than it was for me, old friend. May we see both of our sons again, and very soon."
The image faded to black before Cirv’s eyes once more; when it came back into focus, he was still in the same room, but this time he and Arveleg were waiting in front of the door with a small group of heavily armed men, their weapons drawn. The stench of fire and smoke had grown thick in the air, and he could hear the sound of distant screams and war drums, but it was the pounding of something smashing against the door with a thunderous force that made his heart race in his chest.
Arveleg motioned for two of the men to open the secret passageway to prepare for their escape, but it was at that moment that the door gave way. A few trolls and several orcs began to stream into the room; with great bravery, the remaining men moved to engage them. Arveleg also drew his sword to join the fight, but Valion stood in front of him. "Make for the passageway quickly!” he said to the King. “We will cover your escape!"
The King hesitated, determined to stand with his men to the bitter end; it was in that moment that several hooded figures entered the room. Though their faces were mostly obscured by their cloaks, they appeared to be very pale, and they were walking very slowly, seeming to pay no heed to the chaos around them. Valion immediately moved to cut off their approach, but as he raised his sword to strike the one that appeared to be their leader, his body froze and he stood still with his sword still raised and shield at his side. The hooded man appeared to be chanting something, his lips moving in a steady, silent rhythm.
The other guards watched the scene in confusion and dismay, leaving enough of an opening for the orcs and trolls to overtake Arveleg and cut off his escape. A violent fight then ensued with the King and his guards cutting down wave after wave of orcs and trolls while the cloaked men just stood to the side and watched the scene unfold. One by one, the guards began to fall until only Arveleg and Valion were left, both of them now on their knees with many wounds.
All was still as the leader of the cloaked men appeared to be considering Arveleg's fate. "One of the king's bloodline is too dangerous to leave alive," he declared with an evil grin as he gave the signal for him to be beheaded. The King looked toward Valion as an uruk's sword met his neck and hewed his head from his shoulders. Cirv could feel Valion’s shock and grief as well as his own emotions at witnessing the scene.
After that deed was done, the leader walked over to Valion and crouched down to look closely at his face, revealing the man's full hideous appearance to Cirv. As he got a good look at Valion’s grey eyes, he grinned in wicked delight, displaying the silver markings on his front teeth. “Yes, I was told one of your line would likely be here… And now you have failed, just like your forefathers."
His satisfied expression soon turned to one of outrage as another hooded man approached and whispered something into his ear. "He's not here!?” the leader hissed out as he straightened up and spun around to face the other. “And the palantír is missing as well!? They must be found, at once!" The second cloaked man seemed to tremble as he somewhat bowed to the first; then, he turned to hurry off. Once he was gone, the leader turned to what appeared to be a captain of some sort of the orcs and motioned him forward. "Give this one to Isra,” he commanded as he flippantly gestured back toward Valion, “she will know what to do with him."
______________________________________________________________________
Cirv’s eyes slowly blinked open and for a moment he thought that he might be waking from this potion induced living nightmare; however, as the blurry image of his surroundings started to come into focus, he could see that he was lying on the cold, stone floor of a room that was very dimly lit by candlelight- or rather, Valion was lying on the floor of this room. Though this appeared to be a dungeon of some sort, he wasn’t bound by any shackles, but he had been stripped of his weapons and armor and was now only wearing torn rags. His arms and face had been bruised and cut from the cruel treatment of the orcs, and his hair was matted with dried blood which had trickled down upon his face.
The smell of death and decay was strong in this place, and screams could be heard from elsewhere in the structure. As he sat up to look around, he immediately took note of the swirling, dark red sky that could be seen though the small, barred windows; whether Valion knew where he was or not, Cirv was certain, upon seeing that sky, that this place was somewhere in Angmar. The focus wasn’t kept on the windows for long, as Valion continued to look around the room and his attention was drawn to the flickering flames of a burning hearth, in front of which the figure of a woman stood with her back turned toward him.
She was dressed in a long, black robe with golden trim and appeared to be on the shorter side as well as very slender; her raven hair extended down to her lower back and shimmered somewhat as the light from the fire reflected off its shiny tresses. Valion attempted to stand so that he could hobble his way toward the woman, but he struggled for a moment due to being in a great deal of pain. He watched her as she leaned toward a large cauldron above the fire and crushed some item with her fingers to let the crumbling pieces fall down into the pot; a loud sizzling sound could be heard as the pieces hit the boiling liquid, and a fine, purplish haze began to drift up from the cauldron and started to fill the room.
Seeing the vapor stopped him in his tracks and he moved no closer to her; instead, he called out, "What is this place? Who are you?" The woman remained still and silent, with her back still turned to him as the cauldron bubbled on and the fine mist continued to disperse throughout the room; slowly it drifted toward him and enveloped him; however, it didn’t seem to harm him as he had expected, but almost felt comforting and soothing in a way.
Now the woman turned. The flames danced for a moment in her pale green eyes as she offered him a kindly smile; her alluring beauty was far beyond compare to many that he had come across in his lifetime. As she stepped toward him, she reached out to place her hand on his arm in an attempt to guide him back down to sitting. "You are seriously injured,” she said with some concern in her voice, “and you need to reserve what strength you have left. I have been sent to tend to your wounds..."
His expression betrayed how he was instantly struck by her beauty, but as his eyes met hers, he could perceive something within that piercing gaze of hers, something that he would be able to feel in his soul which caused his eyes to widen and his body to tremble before he was able to wrest his gaze from hers, though not without some struggle. The kindly smile remained on her lips and she patiently waited to assist him in sitting down. "Thank you,” he said to her as he lowered his aching form to the floor with her help. “Are you a healer?"
She nodded as she turned to take a washbowl from the stone hearth. "That is my main responsibility, yes; to tend to the prisoners." That piercing gaze once again locked on to his eyes as she turned to walk back toward him. She pulled on the skirt of her robe with one hand so that she could sit down on the floor next to him, and then she dipped the rag into the washbowl. "Your captors seem to think you a prized trophy...” As she spoke, she moved the rag toward the wounds on his face. “They have tasked me with getting you back to peak health. You must be a King or leader?"
Her words had confirmed his situation and he shook his head as he looked down. "Then I am indeed a prisoner… If only I could have fought to the death defending my king, but such is my fate." Looking back up at her, he was once again struck by her gaze, but this time was able to hold it as he continued "A king?" he chuckled out, bitterly. "The cruel masters of Angmar are many things, but fools they are not. I'm but a humble soldier. You can throw me back in with the other prisoners, or kill me now if you will."
She gently washed his face, dabbing delicately at the cuts, and Valion exhaled in relief as the warm rag grazed his skin and soothed his bruised face. "If you truly were just a humble solider and nothing more, they would not have brought you here.” she replied. “You see, once prisoners have been nursed back to health, a fate far worse than death waits; you will be turned." A look of sympathy was offered over, though the change in demeanor did nothing to lessen the sharp gaze of those pale green orbs. "You must have some power if they wish to use you."
His eyes were still fixed on hers, unable break away, but the misty grey color began to appear increasingly opaque, as though it were a shroud obscuring the window to his soul from her. He chuckled again as he responded, "Power? I've no power, save the strength to wield a weapon in combat; and now my injuries may rob me of even that. No, I'm afraid your masters have somehow mistaken me for another." One corner of his lips almost began to smile as he took note of her look of sympathy. "Don't think I'm ungrateful for your tending to my wounds, good healer; even if the reason be only to throw me into the pits to be turned, as you say."
The woman offered him a warm smile once more as she took his left hand in hers to turn it over so that she could start to wipe down the wounds on his hands. "I think you will find that they are never mistaken... And seeing the extent of your injuries, something helped you survive when your King could not."
Valion shook his head and sighed in grief. "It should not be this way. I would have gladly given my life if my king could yet live. Now I have failed and he is lost." Feeling the soft touch of her fingers on his hand, he briefly looked down, then, back up at her, his posture appearing slightly more relaxed now. "Those people in the robes, whom you claim are never mistaken, who are they?"
As he spoke, she placed the rag back into the washbowl so that she could have both hands to gently roll up his sleeves; once that was done, she continued her work of tending every cut and scratch on his arms. "They are my masters and now yours, but you shall know them soon enough."
His eyes narrowed toward her at her response. "My allegiance is to the throne of Arnor and no other master. Though I have failed in my service and deserve whatever cruel fate awaits me, I will never betray my oath."
The smile that graced her lips this time appeared to be one of pity, but even so, her countenance still held an air of kindness. "That might have been so when you still had a choice, but your oath you shall break when you turn to serve your new masters." She paused and turned her head toward the steel door, seeming to be listening for a moment, and Valion also turned his head, quickly, remaining silent as he, too, listened. With her voice lowered to a breathy whisper, she leaned in to say, "They are not without reason... If you did have something that they desired, be it information even, you might find them to be most generous."
Valion turned back toward her and he attempted a chuckle at her statement, but as his grey eyes once again met hers, his breath was stopped short by her intense, piercing green eyes. "Information?” he finally brought himself to ask. “And what could they ever offer in exchange for me betraying my people and all I believe in?"
While he asked his questions, her gaze pulled away from his so that she could focus on her work; but when it was her turn to answer, she looked back once more. "I suppose it would depend on what information you have to offer them. Surely it must be something important for them to have commanded this treatment. Just who are you and what was your service?"
A flash of confidence could be seen in his eyes as he responded. "But we all have a choice, don't we? Though the penalty be severe for resistance, there is still a choice…" He then took her hand in his and leaned in toward her, looking directly into her eyes as he spoke in a low voice. "Even for you."
Her expression softened for a moment upon seeing that burst of confidence, but then she looked down at the washbowl and sighed. "There's no choice here... not for you, and not for me... but I have long since accepted that." When she glanced back up, her smile was weak as though she was now struggling to keep it in place.
As he listened to her speak of accepting them as her masters, Valion’s expression shifted to one slight surprise then to that of sadness and almost pity. He released her hand and looked back toward the steel door "I would wager they already know who I am and what information they seek. Have they not told you these things?"
It was unclear to him if she had noticed his empathy or not, as she had now moved on to the wounds and sores on his legs and feet. "And why should they tell me who you are? This is all I shall know of you, unless you speak more... Once I leave this room, you are theirs and I shall prepare the next of your brethren that were captured."
"And what do you have to offer that they do not?"
The woman shook her head. "I am in no position to offer anything, but this service; however, I do know of exchanges that have been made with other prisoners and I could offer you advice on how to bargain with them if I were to know what you had to offer." A soft sigh escaped her lips after those words and she stopped to lock eyes with him once more. "I know that it doesn't sound like much of an offer since I am still in their service, but my chains are unbreakable."
His eyelids squinted slightly as he contemplated her offer, and his gaze followed her as he extended his legs, one at a time, for her to treat them. "I will consider your generous offer, good healer." He glanced over at the fire and cauldron for a moment, deep in thought as he watched the vapors continue to roll from the pot. "Though my heart warns me against it, I will tell you who I am. In exchange, I would ask you tell me who you are and what binds you to the service of these evil men." The look in his eyes intensified, now more piercing itself as he looked back down at her. "Speak the truth. Lies may be easily concealed on one's lips, but there are other ways of knowing if one is telling the truth."
Her brows furrowed in confusion and she appeared to be taken aback. "Why do you wish to know who I am? I assure you that I am no one worth knowing... I have been told since I was a child that your kin believes that nothing good or of value could ever come from this place; in fact, when I was treating your brethren before you, he spat at me and kicked over the basin, refusing to be touched by a 'vile wretch' as he called me."
The look on his face again turned to one of pity and almost of wonder as he shook his head. "Deceit and lies. Look at what they have done to us all! I wish I could tell you none of those words would ever be uttered by my brethren, but that in itself would be a lie." He took her hand again and looked into her eyes. "But listen to me when I tell you not all of my kin are this way. There are those who see past the lies and see the good in the people of this land. I hope one day you will see this and understand."
"I do wish that I could believe your words,” she replied with a weak smile, “the ones about your people; but I am afraid that we must ever be at war."
"Perhaps you are right, but I have not given up hope.”
She turned her head away and her gaze drifted back toward the door. "If you are truly that curious about me... my name is Isra and I am in service as payment for my father's sins; they took me for the debt that he owed."
He sighed as he heard of her fate. "I'm honored to meet you, Isra. I don't know what debt your father owed these evil men, but service to them for even a short time seems it would be enough to pay for a lifetime of sins." He released her hand and looked at her gravely. "As for me, my name is Valion and I am the captain of the personal guard to the king. My oath is to protect he who holds the great scepter, to my death if that be the cost." A sigh escaped his lips as he looked away. "And as you can see, I have failed."
Isra’s head tilted slightly to one side as a puzzled expression formed on her face. "I do not understand... Does this scepter hold that great of a power? If so, were you responsible for its safe keeping before your King was slain?"
“The scepter?” he asked with some puzzlement of his own. “The scepter of the king is well known throughout my kingdom and I would be surprised if it were not known to those in Angmar as well. It is an heirloom of the kings and as such I was responsible for protecting the life of the king and all he holds dear. If it were to contain some power, that was not revealed to me." He then looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "And if I knew its location I could never reveal it."
Isra nodded. “If you did have the information for where an object of such great power could be found, that would grant you quite the barter.”
"Perhaps, but I am bound my my oath and it cannot be broken." Valion took a deep breath and paused before continuing, "And if I were to barter with your masters, do you truly believe they would honor their word?"
No hint of doubt was seen in Isra’s face as she confidently nodded. "They would… But did you not just say that you wouldn't have such information?"
He shook his head, not believing her words. “No, once they have the information they seek they would have no more use for me and take pleasure in watching me die; I saw what they did in the citadel at Amon Sûl. Whether I have or don't have such information makes no difference, I am bound by my oath and by my honor never to betray my king."
Isra let the rag fall into the basin as she sighed heavily and stood. "You still do not understand; your previous oath means nothing now... And in refusing to make a deal, you not only doom yourself, but those you love.”
Valion looked up at her as she stood, his eyes clearly beholding her full beauty once again. "You are right; I do not understand how such an oath can become meaningless. Though I accept that my own doom will be a grim one in this evil place, I am prepared to fulfill my oath nonetheless."
“Shall I show you what fate awaits you?"
"Show me?” He inquired with raised brow. “How?”
Isra motioned for him to follow her over toward a full-length mirror that was hanging on one of the walls, and she stood next to it as she waited for him to approach. "The masters offer each prisoner a glimpse into their own fate... It's another method they use to break the spirit of those captive here."
Valion again struggled to stand, but finally made it to his feet and slowly limped toward the mirror to look closely at it. As the man peered into the mirror, Cirv would now be able to see his appearance; he was a tall, broad-shouldered man, though hunched over at the moment due to his injuries, with grey eyes and dark hair holding faint flecks of grey that rested upon his shoulders. He had no beard and appeared to be a man in his forties.
As Cirv studied the man’s features closely, noting every bruise, every cut, and even the make of the ragged prison garb that he wore, the smooth, silver surface of the mirror began to swirl and turn dark; after it has gone completely black, another image would appear. "What sorcery is this?" Valion asked as he was now seeing a cloaked figure within the frame. The figure stumbled up a long, stone ramp, one that was surrounded on each side by thick, stone columns which held up a stone ceiling over the walkway.
The person in the image appeared to be malnourished and weak, and as Valion looked closer, he recognized the clothes as the very same ones he had been wearing in the previous battle; in fact, this was him, but not so- he appeared lifeless, soulless. As he watched the scene unfold, this version of him approached the guards at the top of the path. They looked shocked upon seeing him, and though he couldn't hear the words that they were saying on the other side of the mirror, he could tell that they were calling for someone and likely demanding for healing aid.
Moments later, another person came running to greet the man in the mirror, his son, Berethor. The image began to fade as Valion watched Berethor put this version of his father's arm around his neck to help him inside, and the last thing that was seen was the sinister grin on the other Valion's lips as he held on to the younger man and entered the fortress.
A look of horror washed over the real Valion’s face and he turned toward Isra, completely in shock "What?... How?..." His eyes narrowed toward her as realization began to set in. "You're no simple healer, are you? How can you know who my son is?" Clearly agitated, he looked away and staggered away from the mirror. "It doesn't matter, I would never betray him! There is no power that could ever do this. Never!"
She shook her head. "It shall come to pass, but you can prevent it... if you just tell them what they want to know."
Valion took a deep breath and turned back to her to respond, his eyes narrow and fixed on her face. "You would have me break my oath to save my son?" His head shook. "Again, I don't believe you would keep your word, any of you! And one thing perhaps you didn't consider, my son has sworn the same oath as I; he is prepared to die just as I am."
Isra smiled, but it was no longer a warm smile; instead, it was one filled with great malice. "Then so be it… you will still have enough presence of mind to know when you are killing him with your own hands." As she spoke, the purple haze suddenly dissipated and a very different woman was standing before him; it was still her, but she now appeared much more advanced in age with silver threaded through her long, raven locks and her once beautiful face marred by many scars.
Valion appeared to be dumbstruck for a moment as he took in her transformation. The laugh that now proceeded from her mouth sent shivers through his bones and it was then that he realized just how much pain he was in. Every cut that she had “treated” burned as though he were on fire, and as he looked down he could see that black streaks ran the length of his arms and legs. His gaze immediately turned toward the washbasin and to his horror he now saw that the “clear water” she had been using was actually a murky, black liquid.
Isra smirked as he began to piece together just what had happened and then she waved her left hand toward him, dismissively; as she did, he could see a golden symbol on her wrist that was glowing faintly. "Your betrayal has already begun as you can see, but I have the power to stop it.” She turned and started for the door, calling over her shoulder as she walked away. “I shall return tomorrow to inquire again… By then, the pain that you are feeling will have magnified tenfold, but you shall not be able to rest or faint to escape it... It shall be this way for ten days, after which, if we still have no answer and I have not stopped the poison... Your soul will be ours."
As he responded, his voice clearly reflected the pain his body was feeling; even so, a look of rage and determination formed on his face. "For all your deceit and lies, I do pity you Isra! You may think yourself clever, but all you are is an obedient slave to your cruel masters. The men of Númenor are not broken quite so easily. You may kill me, but my descendants and my kin will not rest until you and your evil kin are cleansed from this world."
Isra's laugh echoed throughout the room as she continued toward the door. "Save your pity for yourself and your son... You might have been important where you're from, but here, you're nothing more than an obedient pet... one that failed its previous master and reeks with the stench of his blood… His death is on your hands." Her taunting words ended with the slamming and clicking lock of the door to which, Cirv’s dream now faded to black again. No more ghosts of the past were to be seen as Cirvedui continued on in his slumber.
