In the fifth, they walked past each other on the street, and the gods almost took pity on them- almost.
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AN: This chapter is Beta-read by the fabulous Zepuka. Many thanks and bows to her!
I hope you enjoy!
He woke up shuddering, having dreamt of something significant: a shapeless form coated in scarlet and violet. Though the more he tried to recall the meaning of the dream, to attach a distinct feature to the vague image left behind, the more it slipped away. His subconsciousness teasing him with an elusive promise of something important that rapidly drifted off into oblivion.
Sitting up and noting that the first faint, crimson light of dawn had already appeared in the sky, the young man's eyes widened. He had to get to the smithy and start the forge before dawn fully broke, or else his master would surely have his hide. Rushing to clothe himself, he disregarded the tenuous dream in favour of focusing his attention on the chores of the day.
As the day progressed, he soon forgot everything about the dream, and the heavy labour helped shake the uneasy feeling that had haunted him since he woke up. By the end of the day he was sweaty, worn, and longed for nothing more than a warm meal and a pint of ale. Before he could rest though, he had been ordered to run one last errand. His master sent him to the mansion of the local lord with a delivery, an elaborately decorated long-sword. It was a terrifying weapon, sharper than broken glass and gracefully lethal, specially ordered by the lord himself.
Hurrying down the busy streets of the capitol to a part of town he rarely ventured, he manoeuvred himself across the masses and dodged both horses and humans rushing past. Taking a step to the side to avoid being trampled by an impatient rider, he accidentally bumped into a young girl.
She was carrying a basket of laundry and the impact caught her off-guard, making her stumble and drop it all on the dusty ground.
Apologising for accidentally knocking her over, he bent down to help her pick up the now soiled sheets, but stopped halfway, momentarily stunned by the way her hair glowed crimson in the warm afternoon sunlight. While he couldn't pin down why, the striking colour of her hair reminded him of the elusive dream that had startled him out of his slumber that morning.
For a moment their eyes locked.
She had the most striking, lavender eyes, and something screamed inside of him, clawing, and tearing, and demanding something of him that he could not decipher.
He saw it reflected in her eyes, the recognition, the confusion, and the questions.
Then it was gone.
The odd sensation of Deja vu vanished the instant it had appeared, and the meeting left him stumped and perplexed.
She picked up the basket and left, quickly blending in with the crowd in the street, and he didn't follow.