Aaravos wakes slowly, feeling as if he's been run over by a pack of banthers.
It hurts to even open his eyes, so he keeps them closed, trying to think past the pounding in his skull. Whatever magic was affecting was taking its sweet time in wearing off.
Not for the first time, he wonders what exactly he's being prevented from remembering and why.
Well, he thinks, wincing, the why was easy. It's probably something he could use to get out of the tower.
He's tried once, he thinks, with disastrous results. He'd woken to part of the tower smoldering and the sharp sting of glass beneath his palms. He'd suffered a head injury in the blast and the blood has stained the stones closest to the door.
One of his horns had been partially chipped, though the cut had been clean rather than jagged, a mystery he's never managed to solve.
His memories around that time are dulled, hazed in gray mist that he struggles to think through.
What had he been doing before falling asleep...ah, he'd been speaking with that young mage.
Callum, wasn't it?
The name still doesn't fit him. Something more like...Sihr, or magic, in the common tongue. It sings as Aaravos speaks the name aloud.
Yes, that name fits him better.
There's a flicker of sharp pain as something in his memories stirs but Aaravos doesn't dwell long on it. He's already in pain, he doesn't need more.
Sleep would probably help so he closes his eyes and lets the darkness draw him down again.
Callum feels the hair on the back on his neck stand on end as he, Rayla and Zym shelter beneath an outcropping of rock.
It makes him shiver.
"Cold?" Rayla asks.
"Do you ever get the feeling like someone's walking over your grave?" Callum asks.
"Sometimes," Rayla says. "Why? You get that?"
"Yeah," Callum says, rubbing his arms. "Don't know why though."
He eyes the horizon warily.
They'd managed to avoid irritating Sol for the moment thanks to Zym, but getting the prince back to his mom was a long journey as the Queen of Dragons lived deeper inside Xadia.
Rayla had estimated that at their current pace it might take them a month to get to Zym's mom, if all things went according to plan.
Which given how their journey has gone so far, Callum has every expectation of it taking far longer to get there.
And Xadia was a lot hotter than Callum had expected.
Rayla hands her waterskin over as Callum coughs, resting her hands on her knees as she looked out into the dry, dust-filled landscape.
"It's more like jungle further in," Rayla says, "so less dust and more wet."
"That sounds nicer than here," Callum says, taking a drink and sighing as the water trickled down his parched throat.
"Well, the rainstorms will drown you if you're not high up enough," Rayla says nonchalantly. "Runaan says," she pauses, and Callum remembers that she'd been raised by the other elf. He's not the only one who has lost family these past few weeks. "Runaan said that he once lost a whole patrol to a flash flood when I was six. The rainstorms were really bad that year."
"I don't think we ever had rain like that back home," Callum says.
"It's kinda nice," Rayla says, "Nothing but the sound of the rain, and you can hardly see five feet in front of you. You have to wait it out. No one travels in the rainstorms unless you're mad."
They end up staying the night beneath the outcropping and Rayla builds a fire to stave off the cold.
The temperature in Xadia drops sharply during the night in this region apparently and Callum shivers under a blanket, turning the cube over and over in his hands as Rayla sleeps.
He's taken first watch and Zym huddles in his lap, purring quietly.
Callum thinks Zym is rather like a small scaly cat, moods shifting and ever likely to run off and do his own thing.
He wishes that Ezran was here. It's not the same without his little brother.
Callum is so proud of him, but also worried. Being King is hard, and Dad had certainly said so many times before. Ezran is ten, that's hardly old enough to be leading a kingdom.
Callum sighs, turning the cube over so that Star is pointing up.
"Inlustris," he murmurs, and watches in awe as the tiny stars glimmer into being around him, the symbol lighting up.
Sky, he notices is also alight, probably due to Zym's proximity. Callum shifts just a little, leaning towards Rayla, and watches as Moon begins to glow as well. Three sides of the cube are lit up and Callum hears a tiny clink that seems to echo far longer than it should.
He freezes, waiting for something to happen.
"Callum?" Rayla says groggily. "Was happening?"
"Nothing," Callum tells her, "Um, go back to sleep."
Rayla squints at him, suspicious. "I'm watching you," she says before promptly passing out again.
Callum lets out a quiet sigh of relief, eyeing the cube which is no longer glowing. He shoves it back into his satchel, grabbing his sketchbook and charcoal.
It's much safer to draw, he decides.
The mirror is glowing, bright and brilliant in a way that Aaravos has never seen before.
Has someone managed to figure out how to come through?
He doesn't even have time to rise from his chair before someone is falling through the mirror to land with a thump on the floor, groaning quietly.
Behind them the mirror returns to its solid black, the runes fading to soft gold. Aaravos knows instinctively, that wherever this person has come from, there is no going back. The fading echo of shattering glass that still rings in the air is proof enough.
The person lifts their head, and Aaravos can see that it is a woman. Black hair is tied back from her pale face, brown eyes somewhat dazed. There is a small mole beneath her left eye.
A human.
How in the high holy stars had she managed to get in?
She winces, blinking rapidly and gapes at the room, "Wow," she breathes.
Aaravos hasn't heard another voice save his own in centuries. It is as if a spring wind has swept through the room, bringing clarity with it.
Then she turns and sees him.
"Are you an elf?" she asks.
Aaravos laughs. "Is there anything else I would be?" he asks, standing from his chair.
"You could be a dragon," the woman says, staring at him.
Aaravos supposes that he's the first Startouch elf this human has seen and doesn't fault her for staring. His people are rather different looking from the other elven races.
"I'd be a rather small dragon then," Aaravos says, laughing softly.
The woman grins, mischievous, "Or you could shape-shift. I've heard dragons can shape-shift."
Aavaros walks closer, kneeling down beside her.
"I am an elf," he says, extending a hand to pull her to her feet, "not a dragon."
"You're not like any elf I've seen," the woman says, and her grip is firm in his. He can feel a warrior's callouses beneath his palm.
"Perhaps," Aaravos says, "What is your name?"
"Sarai," she says, meeting his gaze squarely, "My name is Sarai."