Awakening

Lost. Forgotten. Surrounded by darkness.

What's… happening? Where am I…?

Everything felt small, enclosed. My thoughts pooled together in a frantic attempt to understand what was happening. Were my eyes open? Everything was too dark to be sure. I tried to open my mouth, but my lips felt cemented shut. Panic bubbled within me. Where am I? Why can't I move? Again and again, these questions rattled about my head, as if I could break them apart and find the answers within.

Surely… surely someone must be keeping me here. The very idea resurfaced terrifying memories, painful reminders of another life. That small, dusty room. The candle wax burned to the bottom of the wick. The dark, hopelessness that hung in the air. The inescapable chain I had felt, but was never really there. Or was it…?

Stop. Following that train of thought would only drive me insane. There had to be something I could latch on to; something to still my jumbled thoughts as they swirled about aimlessly in my psyche. I was awake but not entirely. I was lingering in that brief moment of awake-ness just before slipping asleep. A sound, a touch, anything. I strained my murky mind to settle as I tried to intensify my other senses. Surely they would give me something to focus on.

Then I felt it. A wisp of a touch. It trembled at the edge of my senses, and I launched every bit of attention on it. Fighting the current of my sleeping cognizance, I grasped onto the new feeling. The longer I held onto it, the more it trembled, a soft sensation that now resembled a sort of tickling. What was it? A touch? A taste? There was no way to tell, but regardless I continued to force it into clarity. Again, it increased in intensity, and for a second, I could almost feel the tickling firsthand. If only I could reach out and make it real…

"Gruaaghhh!"

My voice was nearly unrecognizable, a mixture of a weak groan and a primal cry. The tickling had exploded into a burst of agony, and in a matter of seconds, I had broken through the deep waters of my unconsciousness. The jolt of pain came from my palm, but I could feel the stings of it lingering up in my shoulder and almost up to the back of my neck. Cold stone pressed against my back as I writhed, as well as the sting of metal pulling at my wrists. My eyes fluttered open and I instinctively raised my throbbing palm into my vision.

What in the Maker's name…?

Magic. It was there, I could see it sparking in my palm like tiny bolts of lighting, but slower. In tandem with the pain fading away, the sparks slowed and dissipated, revealing the new marks in my palm. Like scars, but flat. Jagged lines of white flesh crawling outward from the very center of my palm. That… wasn't there before, right? Magic was nothing new to me, but I wasn't willing this. Was that possible? How strange it was to witness magic activating through me without my active will. Strange, and terrifying. I was frozen for a long second, staring at my palm like one of those foolish palm fortunetellers I'd seen one time. My lungs heaved in a breath, and I realized that I had stopped breathing for a good moment.

"Hey." The rough call of a young man trying to sound strong, that's what I heard, "You awake, then?" My head snapped toward him. The man couldn't have been older than 19, but they had dressed him like a regular soldier. His nose and ears glowed red from the cold. He was no Templar, just a boy playing dress up.

I couldn't answer. No words formed, my mouth refused to move outside of the loose slack it already had. I stared at him a breath longer, before my gaze wandered aimlessly about my cell. Yes, it was a cell. A quick look around without my brain all fogged up and the stone walls locked in by a thick metal grating were proof enough. The soldier-boy stepped away.

"Send word to the spymaster; she's awake." His words, albeit low, bounced around the walls and reached me.

A spymaster? Where in the hell was I? Footsteps echoed as one of the other guards hurried off. At last, my mind was beginning to work and my survival instincts kicked in. I pushed myself upright, feeling a soft groan escape through my nostrils. The air was so chill, fog billowed from my nose like a dragon. Again, I heard the rattling of chains. I felt them the entire time, but never really seemed to notice. I gave them a quick once over. Lyrium-infused shackles: a common tool used by Templars. A new chill ran down my spine, but not from the cold.

More puzzle pieces began to fall into place and dots began to connect. This was it, I had been caught. Years of fighting and hiding and scraping by and I finally got locked up, but how? Wasn't it more likely that they would have just killed me? I scoured my memories of the last few days.

Nothing… Again, I closed my eyes and I focused. I had been… not alone. I had friends. That much was true, but… but no faces came up. Figures erupted, vague ideas of locations surrounded them, but their faces were vacant. Just faceless, genderless blobs. I couldn't even clearly remember the last place I had been. Everything was so… mixed up.

My head jerked upwards and I honed in on a cracked stone crevice. The air felt stale, suffocating. Each breath only demanded another. I don't know where I was, or where I had been. I must have hit my head. Some village militia must have finally got the jump on me and are keeping me here until some real Templars come by to take care of me. How much would they get for turning in a rogue mage? Despite the icy chill, sweat dripped down my temple. What would they do to me now? The numerous horror stories I'd heard were enough to flash rudimentary images of the idea.

As if in response, the young guard approached once more and unlocked my cell. I turned to him, pulling my limbs closer subconsciously. His eyes were hard, too hard for a person his age. He was my junior, but fear still laced about me, tightening my throat and turning my stomach. A single question managed to squeeze out of me.

"Where am I?"

The boy only raised his chin, "The spymaster will want to speak with you."