I'm sorry the dream transitions are confusing for some of you. And that my small mention of Vanyel leaving home for Haven wasn't enough of a clue that the first chapter takes place in the first book. Further more, this story is supposed to be a bit confusing. I'm not going to outright tell you what every thing means. This is a story focusing on Lereath. It's about his beginnings and his creation. Let me give you a clue, these dreams are about Lereath. Vanyel just happens to be there. Ho ho! If I'm being too much of an ass hole and you can't give proper criticism, don't read this story. And no more "this is misspelled" crap. I don't spell check or proof read. I slap my stories on right after I type'em up. Deal with it.
Love Always,
Captain Cutlas
P.S. I shall put dividers in...¬.¬
White Emotions
Each night Vanyel dropped into a hell of not fire, but ice. He had arrived at Haven months ago and everyday he hated it more. The people he associated were mindless zealots. They fawned over his good looks and pretended to care. But Vanyel knew better. So he surrounded himself in frozen solitude every night to fortify his heart against any hurts.
The dreams always became more vivid, more alive. Rolling over in his sleep, Vanyel shivered and pulled his thick blankets up over his shoulder. He was running. Each step through the pristine snow caused his feet to sink until his legs were heavy and numb. The snow grew into sharp outcrops of blue ice. And still Vanyel ran.
While Vanyel slept and dreamt of an endless winter, Lereath too, dreamt. For months a young man who looked much like himself invaded his dreams. When he slipped into his dream world, he always walked the path of his birth place. Lereath had been born of the land centuries before this young man entered his realm. Sometimes, Lereath would reach out to touch him, but then abruptly wake.
This was one of those nights and after watching the lovely boy run, he started awake. Slowly opening his eyes, Lereath breathed deeply. I must know who he is. Slipping out if bed, Lereath settled his feet upon cold stone floors. With a twitch of his wrist, candles flickered to life. Sniffing the air, Lereath smiled.
A storm was coming. If it was blowing in towards Valdamer, he could throw a thought upon the wind to touch the minds of those damn Heralds. The boy in his dream didn't seem like a Herald, but maybe one had seen him and that would mean Lereath would know if the pale, angelic-faced boy was real.
Chuckling, Lereath looked darkly down to his hands. The same hands that fashioned his castle and commanded an army, would one day destroy everything. Especially the Heralds and their cursed Companions. He hated all of them. They were too stupid to even know that he existed.
"What foolish pigs! They don't stand a chance!" Lereath threw back his head, black hair shining against the candle light, and laughed. Bringing a hand to his face he covered one twinkling eye and the other stared crazily out his arched, stone window to the black sky.
"I will kill them all."
-.-.-
Slipping easily into his mask of indifference. Vanyel walked out of his room with his head held high and a confident bounce to each of his steps. He adorned a pair of crimson pants made of soft corduroy and a thin, white blouse. Smirking to himself, he coudln't help but feel like a God. It was important to Vanyel to always look exceptional for his fans. Not ahair was out of place and he particularly liked how corduroy showed off his physique.
Bounding out of his room, Tylendel practically ran into Vanyel. He quickly hid a look of admiration at Vanyel's desirable form and chirped, "Good morning, Vanyel!"
"Hello." Turning on his heel, Vanyel barely gave the blond haired boy a second glance. As soon as he was out of the main room that all Savil's trainees were entitled to share, he pressed his hands to his warming cheeks. Gods! He is so amazing! I can't calm my heart. But I have to! No one can get in. Not even Tylendel.