Teclis tossed and turned beneath his bedsheets fully immersed in one of his prophetic dreams, his head drenched in sweat from the heat of the nearby volcano as his visions produced glimpses of a terrible future… an abduction… a vampire wielding a grand halberd… an elven baby… the screams only a mother could produce… and the rise of a Dark God. Teclis couldn’t see their faces or put names to the people in his dream but instinctively, he knew to fear this vision nonetheless.

Suddenly, a creaking floorboard in his quarters forced him out of his slumber, emerging in terror as he caught sight of a shadow moving across the walls of his room. He looked around, nothing at the window, no rustling of nearby palm trees, nothing to openly account for the shade’s movement. Nevertheless, it continued to twist and shape as it moved across the walls almost as if it was studying him in return, trying to mimic his proportions.

Teclis sat up and reached for the Moon Staff of Lileath, holding it up as he challenged the shadaw, loudly threatening it with his long list of titles and feats. The shadow took no notice, moving horizontally around the room’s walls. It was then Teclis realised this shadow even had the outline of feet… clawed feet. The High Loremaster made his final threat before casting an arcane spell but he was interrupted by a door knock.

Teclis turned his gaze toward the door. “Yes?”

“Is everything alright, sir? I heard noises.”

“Oh it’s you, Ba’Bu’Shar.” Teclis replied, relieved. He cast his eyes around the room again, the moving shadow was nowhere to be seen. A trick of the light perhaps.

“Are you safe, my Lord?”

“Hm? Oh yes fine, just a nightmare I suppose.” the High Loremaster dismissed.

“Do you wish to talk about it, sir?”

“Hmm? Oh I doubt that will be necessary. It appears one never truly evades their fear of the dark no matter how old they grow… a walk. Yes, I think a walk will place me in good stead.”

“I’ll alert the guards.”

“No, no point in that. Let them rest, I’ll take my sword just to be sure. Sleep well, Loremaster.”

“And you, High Loremaster.” Ba’Bu’Shar bowed before walking away, leaving Teclis to get up out of bed and wrap a robe around his body.

The magical twin circled the Star Tower for a few laps lost in his thoughts until he noticed a still lit campfire on the outskirts of the jungle. He proceeded to investigate, finding none other than the swordmistress Izaraa sat alone in silence. He asked why she was here.

“Couldn’t sleep… what about you?”

“The same.” He replied before sitting down but he noticed a slight deflection in her expression as he sat. “What’s wrong?”

“Seriously?” she responded half-heartedly.

“Yes?”

“Eltharion’s dead.” she exclaimed, the light of the campfire revealing the residue of earlier tears around her eyes. “Eltharion is dead and I am to blame.”

“No… no I don’t believe that.” Teclis countered.

“How can you not? Three hundred years I trained in the art of the blades-waltz and in the end I couldn’t keep a rat with a lead pipe at bay. I should have stopped that bullet, I should have cut straight through it and he would be alive today. It is my fault.”

“And how will claiming blame resolve your pain? Will it bring Eltharion back from the abyss? Will it restore the lives of the thousands of elves and lizard-folk that died from our pointless conflict? Besides, it’s not your fault Izaraa, it’s mine. I should have seen the Skaven ambush coming, I should never have agreed to that ridiculous game of Blood Bowl. The truth is that I saw an opportunity for peace with the Children of the Old Ones and I took it. All else be damned, I thought. I could handle it.” Teclis sighed as he looked down toward the steel face emblazoned on his torso. “Do you feel safe here by my side, Izaraa?”

“One can’t pick and choose their commanders, my lord.”

“No… I am a stubborn, vain man … have been that way longer than I can remember. I should have turned you away the moment I laid eyes on you as opposed to inviting you into this madness.”

“For a man who recognises his vanity, it’s ironic you think that decision was up to you alone. I’m a soldier. I trained for this war and you would have held no right to keep me anywhere other than where my duty took me. You may be my superior in rank, but don’t think I bow to orders without first delegating to my own reason. That said, I think it is important you know you are allowed to make mistakes, Teclis. Nobody is perfect, not even the Warden of the White Tower can save everyone.”

“I would call the death of one of my oldest and dearest friends more than a mere mistake, Izaraa. My actions put people who believed in me in danger and when all is considered it wasn’t for some great plan. It was because I was looking for a quick solution. I wanted a chance to impress the Court back home. I wanted to show them I could get this right, that interfering in affairs beyond Ulthuan’s borders can yield results, that there was a point to this expedition. I wanted to impress them, I wanted to impress you.”

“Me? Why me?” Izaraa replied confused.

“I…. ah… maybe not you specifically.” Teclis retreated “but people like you. You were there at the White Tower when I was still in training. As a crippled student barely keeping sickness at bay I always admired the dexterity of Swordmasters… often resented the fact I would never amount to their strength, their poise, their beauty… I’ve always longed to prove myself to people like you in that way.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She countered. “Your magic could dazzle any one of us if not all of us at once.”

“I thought you were the most beautiful one there, too.” Teclis muttered as he nervously turned his head away.

“What was that?” she responded, feigning to have misheard.

“I said don’t you think the stars look beautiful against the crescent moon?” Teclis deflected, returning his gaze to hers.

“Oh… Yes, I suppose they do” Izaraa responded looking up toward the night sky. “Not as beautiful as back home though.”

“Well of course not, no sight in all the world rivals the skies over the White Tower. I remember the first time the Everqueen visited there, she told me she could hear celestial bodies calling to her, that the memories of Phoenix Kings and Everqueens of the past sang to her in the language of the stars.”

“Do you… do you think Eltharion is up there somewhere, watching over us now?”

“Given that there were no waystones around to guide his way when he died, I imagine Belannaer would say he’s suffering in Morai-Heg’s purgatory by now… I’d certainly prefer Alarielle’s version though.”

“Definitely.” Izaraa agreed with a faint smile.

“Well then.” Teclis remarked as a bottle of wine and two glasses materialised in his hands. “I propose a toast. To Eltharion, Warden of Yvresse and Bringer of the Peace. May your soul sing cheerfully evermore.”

“To a good friend.” Izaraa smiled as she took a glass. “May your light always guide us through the darkness so we might find the way home, together.”

The High Loremaster and his Swordmistress ally clinked their glasses and took a sip of their elven dreamwine, content they would support each other through this time of grieving. However, as they drank and told each other stories around the campfire, darkness always lingered close-by. Ba’bu’shar lurked hidden among the trees, watching, learning and planning to mimic his master.