Hello everyone. So this is the first chapter of my newest story and I re-wrote and edited this chapter a bunch of times before I was somewhat satisfied with it. But I'm fairly happy with it now, so I present to you the beginning!
Closing his eyes was always a gamble; he never knew what he would get. Sometimes they were wondrous scenes, sometimes fantastic battles, other times they would be so scary he would wake in the middle of the night, hair plastered to his head in a cold sweat, heart racing a mile a minute. His dreams were all too real. The sights, sounds, smells…
Whoever said that you could not feel pain in your dreams clearly had no idea what they were talking about.
This dream: it was like nothing he had ever seen before. At first he was surrounded by a brilliant, blinding white. The boy blinked several times, wondering if it was just the glare from his glasses that made everything look like that or if he was disoriented by the light. He pulled the lenses off his face, wiping them gently with his shirt before slipping them back on, blinking again for added measure.
The light settled some, granting him the first real glimpse of his new surroundings. He stood frozen in his spot, ocean blue orbs scanning everything in sight. He didn't dare take a step in case the scene decided to shift without warning, as dreams could occasionally do. He had learned that the hard way once, trekking through what appeared to be just an ordinary forest when all of a sudden the ground gave way beneath his feet, sending him tumbling through seemingly endless blackness until he landed face-first on the ground with a whimper and the sound of something cracking.
When he finally forced himself up, warm blood trickling from his most likely broken nose, he found himself staring into a pair of bloodthirsty ruby eyes. As the blond's eyes widened, the glowing ruby orbs narrowed into thin slits and a low, guttural growl filled the space around him. The blond's heart raced, the slick sheen of sweat that covered his forehead and trembling hands reflecting that ominous red back at the shadowed beast, lighting up the blackness with the colour of blood.
A fierce blast of cold air hit him in the face, the wind mercilessly knocked out of his lungs as he was brought back to his senses. The memory faded back into nothing and he shivered, rubbing his hands together as his glasses frosted over. The wind howled around him as if to laugh as he blew short breaths of warm air into his freezing hands, wishing he had a pair of gloves or even just a heavier jacket to protect him from the cold.
There was something about the way the wind swirled around him, the way it howled with mocking laughter that made it seem…alive. But that was impossible; he had never heard of an entity like that and certainly his professor would have mentioned an entity that was that powerful. And then there was that constant feeling of being watched, of an invisible gaze that bore into his flesh, scrutinizing his every move. It set him on edge, but he continued forward through the snow anyway. He was here for a reason; there was always a meaning behind these dreams he visited.
What exactly was so important about a snowfield was beyond him, but his curiosity wouldn't let him quit now.
Come on, Alfred. There's probably something really awesome just over that hill. It's just a little cold; this is nothing!
Alfred stuffed his hands in his pockets, a new wave of determination flowing through him, putting the spring back in his step. With just a few long strides, he had reached the top of the hill, staring in awe at the scene that unfurled before him.
Standing proudly in the distance was a large town unlike any he had ever seen before. The snow settled artfully around the town, falling lightly over the streets in comparison to the snow coming down on the field around him. Everything looked like it was made of ice, even the large palace that stood behind the rest of the town. Alfred mouthed a silent "Wow," wondering just how anybody could design something like this. He felt like he was standing in a scene from one of those sappy Christmas cards with the beautiful snowy town behind him and suddenly somebody would come by and take his picture to plaster on this year's batch of cards.
Before he could take the first step closer, another strong wind barreled into him from behind, sending him unceremoniously rolling down the hill with a yelp. His glasses flew from his face, landing in a small snowbank a few feet away from the stunned boy. The chilly, howling laughter swirled around him, throwing snow at the blinded Alfred as he tried to regain his bearings, groping around in the snow for his glasses.
No, this is so not cool… I can't see a damn thing without them and all this cold and snow isn't helping at all! Is it even possible for it to snow this much?
The joyful cry of "Aha!" echoed into the distance as his hands brushed over the thin frames and Alfred couldn't slip his glasses on fast enough. Seeing the world as one white blur disoriented him and he could've sworn he saw the outline of something floating in front of him. But as his glasses sat once again where they should have been and clarity returned to the world, he decided it must have been his eyes playing tricks on him since there was nothing there.
Alfred constantly wondered why he still needed his glasses even in dreams, but no matter what he did to try and change it, his eyesight never got any better. He remembered a particularly frightening time he lost his glasses; he was in a dangerous city he had never been in before, joined with a supernatural task force whose job it was to deal with the threats of the underworld. He and his teammates were fighting a pack of werewolves when one of them knocked the lenses clean off his face, leaving Alfred defenseless. Blindly he tried to continue the fight, desperately focusing on the rapidly moving blurs, only to awake moments later with a strangled scream, clutching his chest tightly and heaving.
If dreams were supposed to be worlds in which anything was possible, it made no sense to him why his eyesight had to be as bad as it was in the real world.
The memories disappeared immediately as he gaped at the buildings. His legs had already started moving him forward before his brain could even consider the option, ensuring that the city before him had Alfred's undivided attention.
The first thing he stared at was the strange design of the large palace. There were several large towers, each of different heights, but each had that strange dome shape on the top. Onion shaped was the best term he could use to describe it, having never seen architecture like that before. The walls of the smaller towers were lined with windows near the top; high enough for the occupants to have a full view of the city and keep their privacy from any nosy onlookers. Two of the towers had the appearance of scale mail, red and golden plates overlapping from the base to the very top. The other two towers had a strange zig-zag pattern running horizontally up the pillar, each layer alternating between red and white. Three-quarters of the way up the towers rested a collection of fanlight windows that caught the sunlight just right, mimicking tiny beacons. There was a small balcony under each dome, a thin black railing serving as the only protection from a free-fall to certain death. Why that shape? He wondered, walking further into the city.
And the colours… The palace sparkled and shined in the sunlight, throwing its brilliant colours every which way. Every surface seemed to reflect the light back at the nearby buildings, but as Alfred squinted his eyes, it didn't appear to be made of glass or ice or any kind of reflective material. The blond was left with more questions than answers as he walked onto one of the many roads, glancing around for anything that could give him an idea of where he was.
A grin spread out over his face as he found a sign, but was quickly replaced by a frown and furrowing of his brows when he realized it was written in some alien language he had never seen before. And no amount of squinting or tilting his head or wishing for a translation made it any better.
Alright, looks like there's no help there… Is everything written with these weird symbols? How the hell am I supposed to figure out what's going on?! I'll have to remember these and ask about them later…
Each building seemed to try and outdo the next. If one was taller, the next one would have more embellishments. He would walk past a few stores and end up standing by a decently sized park, the swings and jungle gyms coated in a layer of shimmering ice and snow. There was a sign standing by the entrance of the park that Alfred chanced a glance at, but it proved as helpful as the squiggles that were above what he assumed to be the stores.
The closer he got to the palace, the larger it got. He paused just outside the large doors, pleasantly surprised to find them open and inviting, looking up at the building. He could see just how intricate the designs on the domes really were, the swirled and tiled patterns varying from each dome.
Alfred blinked as he saw something moving just under one of those domes, jumping to try and get a closer looked. The figure paused and Alfred tensed, holding his breath as it bent over the side of the tower, brown locks falling over its face. He was sure that he'd be discovered and captured and then from there it was a mystery what they would try to do to him. The only thing he was sure of was that it would hurt, whatever it was.
Alfred could feel the eyes on him for a brief second, but something stopped the blond from looking away; he stared back, transfixed. While the face of the other was too far away for him to get a real good look at him, he could make out a thick coat and what appeared to be a forest green uniform. The mysterious man brushed his brown bangs behind his ear and straightened himself up again, doing a quick sweep of the area before resuming his pacing.
With that near miss, Alfred exhaled, running through the large doors and out of sight from the unknown guard. He whistled as he walked through the corridor, the ornate walls making it look bigger than it was. Red, gold, silver, even blue designs snaked along the walls, twisting and creating intricate old-style patterns.
He paused in front of a collection of portraits, each one larger than him and probably weighing more, too. Every portrait had a golden frame around it and he backed up to the opposite side of the wall to see them all. There weren't very many of them—five or six, maybe—and it was the same few people in each one. His eyes immediately flew to a portrait of a man; a man unlike he had ever seen before.
He looked young standing there, no older than Alfred or maybe a year or two at most. But the silvery hair that fell in his eyes made him wonder if he could really be that young. There was the faint hint of a smile on the man's face, even though those piercing violet orbs seemed to hold a different emotion Alfred couldn't quite place. Fear? Regret? Anger? It was impossible to tell from the picture. His eyes moved down, tracing the shape of the thick scarf that covered the man's neck, following it over his shoulders and across…
Alfred shook his head.
Get it together, man! This isn't even real!
Just like these buildings, the man in the portrait was wearing traditional looking clothing that Alfred had never seen before. The clothes were as colourful as the walls of the great palace, and they suited the man very well. A small golden plaque sat underneath the portrait and Alfred squinted, hoping it would tell him the name of this royal-looking mystery man.
He sighed and hung his head. Nothing but the strange alien language. It was the same for the rest of the pictures and not being able to understand anything was starting to annoy the blond. He was more than a little interested in the name of the man who looked like he ruled over this land, but staring at the words was getting him nowhere fast.
Deciding to leave the silver-haired man's portrait alone, his eyes wandered to the one next to it. His eyes widened as he took in the two figures and he clamped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming. There was the silver-haired man again, only he was wearing a much less formal looking outfit: a simple beige jacket that fell to his knees and the same light coloured scarf from his other portrait. But that wasn't what surprised Alfred.
Standing next to the man was him. Or at least somebody who looked a hell of a lot like him. The blond's hair in the picture was a little longer, coming down to his shoulders. It had a slight wave to it, and where Alfred had a cowlick that refused to stay down no matter what he did to it, the boy in the portrait had a curl that hung down separate from the rest of his blond locks. His eyes were a lighter version of the taller man's next to him, much more expressive than the other's. He smiled softly, looking more at the man next to him than straight ahead.
Alfred's eyes widened even more.
Does he like him?! Is that supposed to be me?!
He backed up until he hit the wall, unable to peel his eyes away from the portrait. Alfred's mind raced, trying to figure out just why somebody who looked so much like him was in this dream, looking so friendly with the ruler of this land.
When he finally could take his eyes off it, his mind screaming at him to remember that this was a dream and nothing more, he only briefly scanned the remaining portraits, afraid of what he might find next. The most interesting, in his opinion, was the large portrait that must have been of everybody who lived here with him. The silver haired man was standing in the centre while the boy who looked too much like Alfred for comfort stood at his right side. A brunet with his hair tied back into a neat ponytail stood at the man's left, sword on his hip and was clad in the same coloured uniform as the man he caught a glimpse of on the tower. His emerald eyes were hard and focused despite the small smile his lips were turned up in. One and the same, he figured, moving his eyes to the next group.
Off to the side stood a tall man with a short, neat hairstyle and black rimmed glasses, blue eyes focused towards the floor instead of straight ahead. His hand rested lightly on the shoulder of boy with honey coloured curls wearing a deep red uniform with short golden tassels hanging from his shoulders. He was a nervous kid, Alfred figured; that much was evident from his expression in the picture. The child's eyes were the same colour as the silver-haired man's, but Alfred didn't quite feel like they were related. No matter which way he looked at them, he couldn't reach the conclusion that they had any kind of familial ties. Nothing outside of their eye colour was the same: completely different hair and hairstyles, different build, but it was mostly the height difference that was the obvious giveaway for him.
The rest of the portraits were just different combinations of the men from the group photo and Alfred was still freaked out—although he wouldn't admit it—about the boy who looked like it could have been him if he grew his hair out. Alfred appreciated a good game and a good joke, but this was taking it way too far. When he figured out the reason behind this dream or just who was behind this dream, he would make sure they got hell for it.
Alfred grumbled to himself about how weird this was getting and followed the red carpet to the end of the hall, stopping just before a grand arch. Perched at the top of the arch was the golden statue of a large bird, wings outstretched, ready to take flight. He marveled at it for a moment; he had a love for birds, especially birds of prey, and this bird looked incredibly proud and majestic. But unlike any bird he had ever seen before, this one had two heads, one looking East and the other, West.
There were more hallways to the left and right, the red carpet stretching until he couldn't see it anymore. While he was more than curious to see what was hiding deeper in the palace, the twisting arch before him was even more alluring. Something that big at the entrance had to mean that the room held significant importance.
Eagerly he strode into the room, expecting to find some huge royal chamber or maybe even a dungeon. There was a spring in his step as he stepped between the parallel rows of porcelain white columns, feeling like a kid in a candy store. The large room opened up before him and he paused, spinning around for a full view of the room.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched out for most of the length of the walls, sunlight relentlessly beating down on the columns. Each column seemed to sparkle brilliantly in the sunlight, lighting up the room even more. Deep red velvet curtains adorned the windows, tied back on each side with a golden braided rope. Alfred felt so small standing in this room that could probably hold at least two hundred people easily, wanting to either shrink back or grow in size to compensate.
He was about to take another step forward when he heard footsteps on the opposite side of the room, quickly dashing behind one of the columns. Alfred held his breath as he heard the footsteps getting closer and then receding, peeking out from behind the column ever so slightly to steal a glance. Taking a breath could very well be the end of him; he didn't dare risk giving away his position, especially not in unknown territory.
There was the silver-haired man from the portrait, pacing back and forth in front of a large bright red throne. Even at a distance, Alfred could see just how tall he was, towering over the small table and statues that surrounded the throne. If he squinted, he could make out the same two-headed eagle from the arch emblazoned on the throne in black and gold, but his focus lie on the man as he continued pacing, oblivious to the young blond in the room. Alfred watched intently as his scarf tails flared up every time he made a sharp turn, watched him stick his hands in his coat pocket and mumble something in that strange language. The blond couldn't take his eyes off the man; he watched every move he made, focusing only on him.
Alfred didn't notice the wind howl or the lights in the room flicker. The ornate chandelier began to sway overhead and the blond was none the wiser.
The mysterious man's voice was soft, but Alfred could sense that there was something on his mind even if he couldn't understand. He wanted to help more than anything; he was always driven by his desire to protect others, to be somebody's hero. It didn't matter if this was only a dream; somebody needed his help and he would be the one to give it to him.
He drew in a breath and stared at the man to make sure his position was not compromised, grinning at his ability to remain inconspicuous. Alfred had to think of the best course of action. Running right up to the man and announcing his presence could only get him so far; what if he didn't speak English or was deemed a threat and possibly executed? He was in no mood to be attacked. An attack now would put a damper on his possible rescue plan.
All the plans he concocted were quickly shattered as he realized how dark everything around him was getting. Out the window he saw the sun which was just shining brightly moments ago covered by a thick layer of dark clouds. The columns he was hiding behind lost their brilliant white glow and the room was plunged into near darkness save for the flickering chandeliers above. The wind howled angrily and slammed into the window panes, causing them to rattle and shake violently. Alfred bit back a surprised shout, turning his attention back to the man who had now paused his pacing and stood straight, staring at the ceiling.
That scarf of his whipped around as the wind penetrated the barrier of the windows, causing Alfred to shiver and hug himself. The room slowly began to freeze over, the windows being hidden under a thick layer of ice and frost. Alfred tried to scream something, anything to the man on the opposite side of the room, but his voice was lost to the chattering of his teeth.
D-Damn it! W-Why did it get so c-cold?!
Alfred rubbed his arms in an attempt to generate any kind of heat; freezing to death was not the ideal way to go. Alfred always imagined a more heroic and exciting death and this certainly did not fit the bill. He ground his teeth, watching the violet eyes of the man widen and for the first time, Alfred could make out the emotion in those orbs: fear.
Before he could race for the man, a large grey figure appeared before them, blocking Alfred's view. His breath caught in his throat and his entire body froze in fear; he had to fight just to swallow. The figure kept his back to Alfred, tattered cloak flaring up in the harsh wind, engulfing most of the room.
Alfred tried screaming again, only to end up with the same result as before. He repeatedly kicked himself mentally, hating the fact he was being so weak, so helpless. Trying to force his body forward was a more difficult task than he ever imagined possible; never once in his dreams was he fighting himself and losing. But he refused to give up so easily, opening his mouth to scream again. He would get his voice out one way or another; it just took a few tries.
Ocean orbs widened in fear as his hands flew to his neck. Suddenly his throat was on fire, the burning, icy sting of the cold spreading through his body every time he struggled to draw in a breath. Alfred panicked and began to hyperventilate, trying to will more air into his lungs. The quickened, laboured breathing only served to freeze him faster from the inside out, the burning sensation getting worse and worse until the blond could no longer breathe.
He reached a hand out for the silver-haired man desperately, hoping he would be noticed even with the other figure in the room that commanded attention. He pleaded silently for help, squeezing his throat tighter as if that would open his airway and melt the ice that only spread deeper and deeper into his body no matter how much he silently begged for it to stop.
P-Please… J-Just…this way…
In the blink of an eye, he was staring into the most lifeless pair of eyes he had ever seen. Everything around him went grey and his body reacted like it was shocked; he scrambled backwards only to trip over his own two feet and land unceremoniously on his back. The figure leaned in closer, voice sending a chill up Alfred's already frozen spine.
"Убирайся!" it demanded in that unknown language, the wind whipping around them for emphasis. That tattered cloak flew towards him, wrapping tightly around his neck and body until all he could see was grey. The world got darker and darker, all the sights and sounds around him fading away until his freezing body didn't matter, until the lack of air or that mysterious man didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore...