Ashes. Black fakes fell to the ground like dead moths. The heat was intense: searing, scorching. Winged death took fight. Darker than midnight, heart of an abyss, it roared and rose to swallow the sky.
Lightning arced across the air, only it came from the ground up. A dark figure skirted across the field. Their blades reflected a hellish red.
The air around his became impossibly hotter; the whole world seemed to become an inferno. An armored figure screamed his name—
"Struthio, we're here!" His sister, Arum, shoved him so hard he thought the carriage lurched. He growled a nonsensical insult under his breath and rubbed his eyes. The dream had been so vivid that the dim lighting of their carriage gave him a shock. His skin still felt hot past the point of feverish, as if he'd been touched by flame.
"Arum," Their mother, Myvera, scolded as she placed her hand on her swollen abdomen. He could feel his her crimson eyes on him, though he couldn't meet them. For all she appeared to be concerned, he might as well have been an oil lantern over a fire pit.
"By Mephala, Mother, he's fine." Arum huffed. Struthio appreciated the comment, but doubted anyone was convinced.
"No one is fond of rude awakenings, my dear." Remaryn said. Decades spent owning an inn had made their father an effective peace-keeper.
Struthio exhaled, wishing his family still spoke to him instead of about him. "It's alright, she didn't scare me enough to burn us all to bits." He cringed when he realized what he said and loathed the silence that followed.
"Right, then," Remaryn clasped his hands together, "shall we see our new home?"
Struthio had never been so cold in his entire life. The cold he thought he'd known in Cheydinhal was only the faintest of chills by comparison. Bruma—his new home—laughed in the face of cold and crushed chilly underfoot. Freezing hardly did Bruma's bitter winds justice.
He hated the frigid city from the moment he stepped out of the carriage.
Arum wasn't faring any better. Her usual scowl had deepened to a topographical map of supreme discomfort.
"I wonder how Gram can stand to live here." He said.
"Because we Dunmer just adore freezing the tips of our ears off, little brother." If her words were any heavier with sarcasm, they would have clattered to the frozen ground.
Remaryn laughed, "True, but she stayed her for your grandfather, not the weather." He said as he helped their mother out of the carriage.
"Even worse," Thio mumbled. Arum smirked.
Myvera shot them each sharp looks. "Enough yappin, we've plenty of bags to carry and I'm already pulling more than my own weight."
With that they grabbed the few bags they had and made for their grandmother's home.
Her home was larger than many of the others surrounding it, but still smaller than the Flaming Blade Inn, where he'd lived nearly all his life. It hugged one of Burma's frozen city walls and its windows were shuttered. Thick grey smoke rose from the chimney.
Just the smell of smoke left Thio uneasy. It made him remember their Inn, full of smoke thick enough to blind and choke. Sometimes, he thought he could still feel the heat against this skin…
An ice-cold gust of wind snapped him back to the present. He was glad for it, otherwise he would have slammed into his sister. They stood before the door, Remaryn reached out to knock—
"Just open it!" Shouted a voice from inside. Their father looked shocked, but Myvera just sighed and turned the handle. "Hello, mother."
Myvera had never told them much about Drolsa, her mother. Struthio had often imagined her to be like the grandmothers of the few friends he had: warm and kindly. Yet part of him had always wondered why his mother had never said much. Was she a cruel hag, like the twisted she-beasts he'd read about as a child?
Naturally, no one in the house met his expectations.
Two people sat at a small wooden table in front of a crackling fireplace. The youngest could not have been much older than Thio himself at one-and-six. He'd guess she was at least partly a Breton, given her short stature and the slight points of her ears but the sharp angles of her face hinted at Nordic blood. Her dark brown hair that fell to her jawline, and her grey eyes looked bright with anger.
The woman seated across from her was obviously a Dunmer, with her grey skin and silver-streaked red hair, the colors of fire and ash. Her body was hard and lean, unlike both the plump matron and gnarled crone he'd imagined. Her expression was neutral, despite the young woman's vicious snarl. She regarded them all as if they were devoid of interest to her. Thio had seen plenty of liars and gamblers so he knew a trained expression when he saw one. If she ever decided to gamble, he wouldn't bet against her.
Her blood-red eyes flickered over to the human girl. "Would you excuse us, my dear young Montclair?"
"Gladly," The girl spat. She snatched a satchel off the table with one hand and slammed a coin purse down with the other and rushed to the door before Thio could get out of her way. Her shoulder slammed into his and nearly knocked him off his feet.
"Hey!" He shouted, but she'd already slammed the door behind her.
Remaryn's brows nearly touched his hairline. Arum looked ready to laugh. His mother simply shook her head.
"Chaos walks with that girl. It will make her life interesting, if not enjoyable." Drolsa sounded amused by the fact.
"Don't just linger by the door, go meet your grandmother." Myvera grabbed her children's shoulders. Thio glanced at Arum, feeling ten years younger. She rolled her eyes and walked over to the woman.
"Hello-"
"You're a scrawny thing, aren't you? You take more after those Iethanis, I see," She cocked her head to the side, "Your narrow hips wouldn't be any good for birthing, but I sense you will be otherwise occupied. You have a great many grave worms to feed."
"Umm…" His sister was rarely without a scowl and never speechless, so Thio would have relished it if he wasn't so terrified.
"Help your parents with the bags, child."
Arum blinked and scampered away from their grandmother.
"It's lovely to see you again, Drolsa."
She waved him off. "Save your strength, Remaryn. You'll be needing it."
He watched as his father and sister grabbed all they could and hurried out of the room.
Myvera walked over to her mother. Warmth crept into Drolsa's eyes "My prodigal daughter, returned."
"Mother, I'm-"
"Rest, my child. We shall find the time to speak later."
His mother looked back at him, and then made for the other rooms.
For an instant, Drolsa looked forlorn. "You wouldn't make an old woman get up, now would you?"
"No, I'm sorry-"
"Don't apologize!" She snapped, "Just act."
And so he did. He sat in the chair across from her and willed himself to meet her eyes. His pulse pounded. He felt like a match was being held under his skin.
"Good lad, you a take after our Vinateri blood. Tell me, child, what have you seen?"
Grass is green, the sky is blue, was what he wanted to say but he knew this was a test of sorts. He panted his palms on his thighs, and hopped they wouldn't cause his pants to smolder. "Do you mean what I've dreamt?"
"More than dream, they are. Much, much more." She might have said more, but she suddenly looked like she'd been struck.
"Are you o-?"
A scream cut his sentence short.