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Vera sat next to the small stream that passed near their cottage, the snow cushioning the seat of her dress. She closed her eyes, the gentle lapping of the water under the thick layer of ice telling her the story of its path to the ocean. She smiled, following its winding way in her mind. It joined a larger river after a few leagues, and together they carved a road to Land's End and fell hundreds of feet to the warm ocean below.
"My high queen?"
Vera snapped back to herself with a sharp intake of breath and smiled at her guardian. "It's wonderful, Wizzy. Everything speaks to me."
"What do you mean?" He eyed her warily, offering up a cloak. She waved it away, absently, content and comfortable in her icy element.
"The kingdom, Wizzy. It's waking up. Like us, Faiden was sleeping. I can hear it now, in everything."
Wizkand tossed aside the garment and put a hand on her shoulder. "What is it telling you to do?"
"Nothing. It's just telling me about itself. It's telling me of its simple, peaceful ways, of its longing for the order and protection of the High King or Queen of Faiden. It tells me of its pain." She frowned at her guardian. "I have to grow stronger so that I can heal it, Wizzy."
"Why you?" he lamented. "Why can't you live in peace?"
She smiled, placing her hand over his. "You look so scared, Wizzy. All things happen for a purpose, right? If I alone can hear the kingdom's cry for help, then I must go to help it. It is my kingdom."
Wizkand withdrew his hand and walked away. Vera watched him go, her heart aching at the pain she saw in the slump of his shoulders. She had come to realize he hadn't just sheltered her from the threat of death, but from the horrors he still remembered. He'd kept secrets from her, and still did, but she felt it was out of love. She wished she could stay in their cabin and be happy, live her life as simply as Wizzy wished. But she couldn't feel the pain of her kingdom every day and know joy. She couldn't hear its call and ignore it.
"I'm so sorry, Wizzy," she whispered to the trees where he had gone.
* * *
The dark lord stood on his balcony, the ruined landscape stretching as far as the eye could see. His gaze, however, was still on the south. Beyond the jagged spires of the mountains and the lifeless expanse of the Desolate Plain, the High Kingdom of Faiden had stirred. Was it Jellen's doing, the great battle that had just transpired, or something else that roused it?
The orb had been vicious, punishing him for hours, and he was weary from the ordeal. It had not succeeded in quelling his dissidence, though, and it continued to punish him swiftly and savagely with every errant thought that did not align with its wishes.
The dark lord cried out, clutching his head. "No! No matter what you do, I'm not leaving this fortress!" He jerked and screamed again, falling to his knees as searing pain stabbed through his mind. "No! Kill me if you wish. I have nothing left to lose!" The pain ebbed, and he sobbed with relief, but it was only moments before the whispering started anew. The dark lord blinked back tears of pain, and sat back on his heels. Had the orb changed tactics? It no longer wished him to tap the kingdom, nor did it wish him to travel there.
"Why? What is in my dungeon?" He rubbed his throbbing temples, listening to the inhuman whispers of the Power. "What do you mean, 'eight centuries idle'?" It was speaking in riddles, of keys lost and doors opening. It was excited, vibrating with an intensity he hadn't sensed in many centuries. It believed the Oracle had made a mistake, and it finally had the missing piece of its grand plan. "What key? What have you been waiting for?"
It flooded his mind with nightmares of his past, horrible images that were the truth of how he'd come to be what he was. His gaze fell to the ruined violet stone encased in glass. "Oh, I remember," he whispered. "I remember your lessons well." He pulled himself to his feet, turning his back on the purple stone. "I will send for the prisoner, and we shall see if he is a key to any door."