Dust. Smoke. Clouds. Light. All of it smothering, choking, swirling like they were angry at the sky. In the distance there was a scream. And it was the scream that made the elf stir. She cracked her eyes open, utterly disoriented.
She slowly sat up and looked around her. Where . . . was she? All around her, she saw an eerie light that reflected off the dust that was hanging in the air. She suddenly started coughing as the dust got sucked into her lungs and belatedly, she realized the air was strange. The air was dense and it made her skin tingle and her hairs to stand on end. This wasn't—she wasn't supposed to be here. Everything felt wrong and . . .
The Conclave.
She had been at the Conclave at behest of her clan. But that's as far as her knowledge went. What was a Conclave? And what clan was she from . . .? She couldn't even recall what her name was. Suddenly, there was a different light. Brighter, cleaner, and washing away the eerie, sickly light. She quickly turned and there it was. The source of the light. She had to shield her eyes from fear of going blind. Was it . . . moving?
A chittering sound made her look behind her shoulder. She gasped and scrambled back as—demons! The ground moved with them! Terrified, she turned and ran for the light, scrambling and sliding to reach it. They were getting closer—she could hear them closing in. A scream caught itself in her throat and she turned her face back to the light. For a moment she was stunned to see that the light had taken a shape, the shape of a woman who was now reaching for her. The elf cried out and lunged forward. The moment her hand touched the woman made of light, her surroundings changed and she fell, slamming into the ground. No more eerie light, no more dust, or choking air or demons. Pure energy crackled throughout her body, making it go stiff. And in the next second, she was being surrounded by men and frantic shouting and then she was once again unconscious.
Her name was Tahlia or at least that felt right. She had been sitting there for hours trying to figure out at least that much. Her mind was a jumble with too many images and noise to really extract anything that could help. Even if she did remember something, it was only a piece to the whole and she had no idea how it fit in with anything let along how it related to her. And they were mostly in fragments, pieces. She would remember a smiling mouth, a soothing voice that was neither man nor woman. She saw how light and shadow from the canopy above would mottle the ground. But that was it.
And it was damn confusing.
She cried out as, once again, her hand flared, green light illuminating the room, making her four guards shift nervously. She didn't know what the thing on her hand was, but it kept flaring more and more often and each time it did, the pain increased. It would race up her arm like lightening and render her numb and breathes before the pain would make her muscles tense and spasm. She just wanted answers and yet all she got were questions or silent glares.
Tahlia looked at the door as she suddenly heard raised voices. Women, by the tone of them. The door slammed open and she winced. She had been correct—women stepped through as they heatedly argued about something. Both were humans. One wore mostly leather armor and sported short, black hair that had a braid for a crown—this one was like a storm. The other wore robes, a hood pulled up and over her head, but red hair peeked out anyway. They were contrasting, complementing, like day and night. But they both wore a symbol on their clothing, an eye that had a sword through it and rays shooting from the center. A spark of familiarity hit Tahlia, but that was all. She knew she knew the symbol, but not how or why or what significance it held.
"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now!" The dark one demanded. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead!" She pointed an accusing finger at the restrained elf. "Except for you."
Her mind raced with this new information. She had survived something, but what? And that word again—Conclave. Names and faces flashed to the forefront of her mind, too rapid for her to make any sense of them besides the fact that she once knew them. Had they been there? Were they dead?
She flinched as the storm grasped her tied together wrists, jerking her forward a bit. "Explain this." As if on cue, the mark on Tahlia's hand flared green once again and this time the pain that followed was so intense, she cried out.
Confusion and fear collided and made her angry. Tahlia tore her arm away and bit out, "I can't. I don't even know what this is."
However, this answer only seemed to outrage her tormentor more. "What do you mean you can't?" The other one, the one in robes, stepped forward. "Well?"
Tahlia was growing progressively more annoyed with the storm. "I already told you. I don't know what's going on or what this is! I don't remember anything! I don't even remember who I am!"
She lunged forward but the other one, the red head stepped in and pushed her back. "We need her, Cassandra."
The one named Cassandra took a few steps back, her fists clench, visibly trying to calm down. Need her? What could they possibly need her—then Tahlia opened her palm and eyed the mark on her hand. It must have something to do with the ghastly thing.
"Do you remember what happened? Do remember anything?" The redhead asked.
Tahlia clenched her jaw and shook her head, her fear and confusion almost completely consumed with anger and frustration, both at herself and her situation. She dug for images, sights, smells, anything. Maybe if she talked it out, pieces and fragments would start fitting together. . "I remember . . . running. Things were chasing me, and then . . ." as clear as day she remembered that moment. A shining light, so bright it was almost blinding, in the shape of, "A woman?"
"A woman?" This seemed to catch her attention.
What happened next? "She reached out to me . . . but then . . ." But then what? What happened? All she saw was blackness, a confusing blur of sounds and sights that made no sense. She gave a frustrated sigh. "That's all I remember."
Cassandra stepped up again, but she was too focused on untangling the messed up memories and trying to piece them together to really catch what she said. She was startled back to reality as Cassandra bent down and proceeded to unshackle her. "What . . . what did happen?"
She glanced at the elf and then helped her to her feet, suspicion and . . . hurt? plain on her face. "It . . . will be easier to show you." It seemed she was starting to believe that Tahlia really didn't know much.
But nothing could have prepared Talia for what she saw when they left the prison.
There was a hole, a hole in the sky. The exact same eerie green that her hand flashed. She was too in awe and shock to do much but stare as Cassandra explained that they called it a Breach. She said something about rifts—what were those?—and about demons coming into our world. "All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."
Explosion! She briefly remembered a deafening sound, a blinding light, heat burning her skin. Was that what that was? She . . . survived an explosion? That caused this?
"But that's impossible." Tahlia finally said. Cassandra turned to look at her. "An explosion can't cause this!"
"This one did. And unless we act, this Breach may grow until it swallows the world." Suddenly, the Breach made a cracking sound and flashed green, tendrils like lightening clinging to the sky. And at the same time that this happened, Tahlia's hand flared yet again, making her drop to her knees, cradling her hand to her stomach. Cassandra was suddenly knelt in front of her. "Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads . . . and it is killing you too. It's may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."
Everything, all of this, was incredibly terrifying and overwhelming. Her? They thought she could do something about that tear in the sky? And the thing on her hand, it was killing her? She suddenly realized that Cassandra was waiting for her to say something, but she was at a complete loss. What did the warrior expect her to say, to do, when she could barely remember her name? But somehow, the steely resolve Tahlia saw in her captor's gaze made her sit up straighter. As far as Tahlia was concerned, she was a newborn in this world and she needed allies. And if trying to help would gain this woman's gratitude, then it was worth trying. Maybe, if everything worked out how the warrior believed it would, she would help Tahlia regain her memories, regain herself.
"If I help . . . will you help me in return?"
Cassandra was suddenly on guard. "What do you mean?"
"I . . . I just want to remember. Who I am and where I came from."
Cassandra hesitated, then slowly said, "I will help as much as I am capable of."
It wasn't much and Tahlia was well aware that Cassandra could easily renege on it, but it was better than nothing. "Alright. I don't know what I can do, but . . . I'll help you."