Chapter 20: Prelude to madness
Antionetta sighed and stared at the bottle containing the white powder. She had always dreamt of climbing through the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood. But now she wasn't so sure if she really wanted it. Not this way. She had been welcomed into the family, when she was barely more than a teen, abused and close to death. She owed Lucien Lachance her life. And she could not deny that Ocheeva had always been like a mother to her. Giving advise and comfort whenever needed, but strict on other occasions. Again she sighed and poured the powder into the bubbling brew. Things had gone sour though, there was no denying it. Lucien was dead and gone and the others have grown cold.
Purification. Such a nice word for such an ugly deed.
She thought, stirring the stew. A lone tear trailed a hot path down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away with her sleeve. She was a trained assassin with no room for feelings. A contract was a contract. That's what she was taught. She should be grateful to be tasked with the contract, grateful to be saved by him. And yet she felt bad about it.
The door opened and closed behind her and a moment later Ghost peaked over her shoulder.
"Damn that smells good. What is it?"
She turned towards the young Dunmer, regarding him with an unsure look. Half of his face was hidden behind his white chin-length hair, but the smile he displayed seemed genuine.
"Shepherd's stew."
She answered shyly, causing Ghost to tilt his head to the side. He leaned on the kitchen counter.
"Something bothering you?"
Antionetta bit her lower lips.
Oh nothing. I'm only about to drug and kill you...
she thought but then took a deep breath forcing her voice to sound stable.
"I'm a little anxious, honestly. I know, I'm not the best cook so I really, really took some effort with the stew."
She paused.
"It would be nice if we all eat together. Like in the old days."
Ghost straightened and scratched the back of his head.
"Yeah. I really felt bad for you. Bellamont is such a mean guy."
He paused and before she could say anything, he smiled.
"I'll get the others. This smells too good to let it go to waste."
As soon as he was out of the door Antionetta looked at the stew again, a deep frown on her face. Was she doing the right thing? She could hear commotion in the hall. It was too late now anyway.
Not far away from the Sanctuary, near the main gate of Cheydinhal stood the Newland's Lodge. An inn that was mostly frequented by Dunmer and had its reputation for quite violent bar fights. And the bar on the ground level was always full. This evening seemed no exception. Around the bar, a crowd of loud, drunken mer had gathered and at the tables, cheerful conversations buzzed through the room. In a dark corner, an Imperial sat, half hidden by shadows. His brown eyes wandered over the crowd in the room with a trained caution, that made clear he was used to observing his surroundings. And while his eyes wandered through the room constantly, they seemed to linger on the door the longest.
Shortly after dusk, a grim looking Dunmer entered the inn. He paused a moment observing the taproom before he made his way over to the dark corner the Imperial sat in. And while the Dunmer carried himself with the dignity of a mage, the Altmer that followed closely behind him, sauntered into the bar, as if he owned the place.
"Verhane!"
A Dunmer with brown windswept hair exclaimed from the counter and jumped up from his seat.
"You!"
Without warning he charged at the warrior, but Caman put his flat hand against the smaller man's forehead holding him on arm length away.
"Sod off, S'wit."
Caman said coolly, shoving the mer back with such force, he fell in front of Sorilkad. Caman bent down a little, giving the young man a glare, that promised pain.
"Os evven'ton ohn ghar ohm alma rath!"
Caman growled, scaring the young mer enough that he tried to scramble away, nearly knocking the mage over. The Dunmer looked up into Sorilkad's face and his eyes widened.
"Sorry."
He mumbled and hurried out of the inn. Caman laughed deeply making his way over to the table.
"I see you have quite the reputation."
Lucien commented dryly, as both mer had finally settled down. The warrior chuckled light heartedly.
"Better a bad one than none at all."
He paused and looked at his companion with a mischievous smile.
"But with Sorilkad... well just look at his face. I would run too."
The Imperial assassin sighed and turned towards the Dunmer.
"How are you feeling Sorilkad?"
The mage smiled and shoved a bundle of black cloth over the table.
"Well rested. Haven't done that kind of spell in ages. Getting to sleep in a nice warm bed helped to restore my magicka as well."
The mage paused with a proud look on his features.
"I guess you have thought about a strategy by now? What are you going to do?"
Lucien nodded slowly.
"Yes I have. But I need the help of you both."
Caman took a sip of his beer.
"Well, who would have thought..."
His amused smile faded as he was regarded with stern looks from both of his friends. He put his mug down and held up his hands, showing them his palms.
"Fine, fine. I'm listening!"
Lucien took a deep breath.
"He scheduled my family for execution this night. I cannot allow that. I will stop him and if it's the last thing I do."
Caman smiled.
"You know, you sound a little like my superior...and if it's the last thing I do. Damn you guys are so dramatic. I'd say we go in there and rip that fucking bastard apart!"
"Caman!"
Sorilkad said sharply, shutting his friend up with an unspoken warning in his voice.
"Let him talk. I'm sure he has something more sophisticated on his mind, than ripping that fucking bastard apart."
Lucien's gaze darkened while he folded his fingertips together in front of his face.
"Caman actually has the right idea. I will go down there and I will take him out. In front of all others if need be."
The Imperial paused a moment before adding with a voice so cold it could freeze Oblivion over.
"And I will kill anyone who dares to interfere."
A moment of silence hung over the three men, while they stared at each other with grim expression. But then a big smile appeared on Caman's face.
"What happened to fucking family all of a sudden? Doesn't daddy like his kids anymore?"
The assassin glared into the Altmer's light green eyes.
"I love them, but only so far. Who sides with the traitor is a traitor. And has to be eliminated!"
"That's harsh!"
Lucien laughed dryly.
"No, Sorilkad. That's how things are."
The warrior nodded.
"Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. I would react the same way. Those who cross me, die. Horribly."
Caman leaned in close, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
"Now. Let's go hunting!"
The Imperial straightened.
"No. I go alone."
"You are fucking kidding me! You promised me blood, assassin!"
Caman's eyes had darkened to almost a mossy green.
"Make no mistake, Altmer! Bellamont is mine!"
The redhead leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"Fuck you, Cyrodiil!"
The Dunmer mage held his hand up, to silence his friend.
"But there is more, right, Lucien. You have planned something for us too."
The assassin nodded.
"Indeed I have."
He stated his tone now all professional. The three men stuck her heads together and discussed their grim tasks, while the life around them continued bustling.
Antionetta pushed one sweaty blond strand of hair out of her face with a shaking hand. In front of her were the still unconscious members of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Her family. Somehow she had imagined that fulfilling the deed would fill her with pride. It was after all a direct contract of the Black Hand, a special contract she had waited for so long now. But it did not fill her with pride at all, not even with satisfaction. No. It was a deep feeling of shame and an odd fear that had filled the young woman. Was it really right? Did she really want them to die? She didn't know. Doubt had filled her the moment she walked out of Bellamont's room. The slight feeling had developed into a growling beast gnawing away on her conscience. She looked around nervously. Bellamont had not yet appeared in the Sanctuary. There was still time to untie them. Still, time to make amends. Another look around. She was alone. The Dark Guardian was locked away in the storage room and the Sanctuary was eerily silent. A cold shiver ran down her spine.
"What have I done?"
She whispered.
"Yes Antionetta. What have you done!"
The young Breton shrieked at the unexpected answer to her question. She turned to stare into the angry, orange eyes of Ocheeva. The mistress of the Sanctuary had come around the sedative and it was only now, that Antionetta noticed that she must have been awake for a while now. Must have studied her and felt her insecurity.
"I... I only..."
The Breton began to stammer, while more family members opened their eyes and glared down at her. Ocheeva's gaze was unrelenting and Antionetta felt like she shrunk back to a little kid under her scrutinizing gaze.
"I'm listening!"
The Argonian hissed. The young woman could feel tears brim up in her eyes and she took an involuntary step backwards. Her gaze wandered frantically from face to face, trying to find something in her friends eyes. Something that would give her the courage to untie them, to apologize and hug them. But all she saw in their eyes was anger and disappointment. Her gaze again found Ocheeva's face. The Argonian female had a sour look on her face.
"Antionetta! You really should...!
"You really should consider gagging your victims."
The young Breton woman jumped and turned around. Behind her, Bellamont slowly made his way over to them. With a cold look in his eyes, that promised pain and suffering he walked past Marie and lifted Ocheeva's chin a bit.
"Don't be angry Ocheeva, poor little Antionetta was only doing what I told her."
Bellamont whispered into the Argonian's ear with a sweet yet emotionless voice. Ocheeva's eyes widened and suddenly she could hear Vicente's voice in her mind again.
"Mark my words, Ocheeva. If Bellamont stays here, we are all doomed. It's just a matter of time until our members here start dying."
With a sudden rush of nervousness her split tongue slipped out of her mouth to taste the air. All she got from Bellamont however was satisfaction and the tinge of arousal
"Vicente was right."
She whispered.
"It was you all along."
A cruel smile appeared on the young man's face, that let his eyes sparkle like blue ice, while he patted her cheek before straightening up. With a bright smile he turned towards Antionetta, who had backed away to a pillar, her face distorted with her inner turmoil. The Breton man walked up to her and gently cupped her face.
"You did good."
He pressed a rough kiss on her lips, which Antionetta did not enjoy. She had craved to get her Speaker's approval and now that she had it, she found that she could not enjoy it. She didn't even want it, instead she just felt miserable. Bellamont pulled her away from the pillar and in front of him.
"Come my Silencer and look at them."
Antionetta's eyes briefly met Ocheeva's gaze, but the young woman quickly cast her eyes down. She could not bear keeping eye contact, could not bear to see the resentment in her eyes and the pain of betrayal. A slight shiver ran down her spine, as she felt Bellamont's presence behind her back. His hands landed heavy on her shoulders, slowly wandering towards her neck. She tried to relax, while his thumbs slowly massaged her tense neck muscles, his body pressed against hers.
"A purification."
He purred, his breath hot against her ear.
"A sacred ritual, only performed twice in the Brotherhood entire history."
A tear escaped her eye and left a hot trail down her cheek. Her gaze was still focused on the ground as if there was something of utmost interest. To kill the only family that ever cared for her, did not feel very sacred. His hands left her shoulders, but he did not move away from her.
"It's really a pity, that you wont stick around to witness the sacred act."
He whispered into her ear. Antionetta's eyes widened in alarm.
Night had fallen over Cheydinhal and a lone figure climbed the steep hill to Castle Cheydinhal. The slender mage dressed in dark robes moved silently like a shadow amongst the shadows, grim red eyes piercing through the veil of darkness. A smirk appeared on Sorilkad's face, while he glanced around the yard. There was no soul in sight making his task so much easier, yet the mage kept close to the wall until he reached the entrance to the castle barracks. With another careful look around, he stepped out of the high wall's shadow. The light of the twin moons hit him and in the pale silvery light, his eyes had an eerie glow, while the red emblem on his robe took on the colour of blood. Sorilkad took a deep breath and cast Cloak, a chameleon spell upon himself, before making his way up the steps to the barrack door. A foreboding silence greeted him upon entering the dimly light hall. He cocked his head to the side and listened intently. To his left, a staircase led to the tower's upper floor and his sensitive ears picked up the light snoring from several men. An evil grin appeared on his face and he climbed the staircase as silent as a ghost. The round room contained several beds, but only in five of them were members of the city guard, sound asleep. The smell of alcohol and body odour met him. Carefully he walked from bed to bed, making sure, that every single man was indeed deeply asleep, before letting go of his spell. He worked better without it, besides he needed as much of his magicka for his later plans. For a brief moment, he stared down at the guard in the first bed, playing with his small golden lip ring, like he so often used to do when thinking things through, while pulling Lourgih, his enchanted glass dagger out of his robes folds. The Imperial was barely a man, surely still eager to go on great adventures. But the young man's adventurous spirit left his body, while Sorilkad's dagger left an angry red line on the boy's throat. He never woke up. Neither did the next three men. The last guard was an older man with already greying hair. He turned around and stirred in his sleep just as the Necromancer stepped up to his bed. He blinked and opened his eyes to a small slit, looking right into Sorilkad's face, who smiled down at him wickedly. But then his eyes snapped fully open and his mind to attention, as a warm hand pressed down on his mouth and nose. Panic shone brightly in the guard's eyes and he tried to fight of the Dunmer, only to find that he had been paralysed. Sorilkad's eyes glinted with a morbid fascination while he watched the light in the Imperial's eyes diminish and finally die out. He straightened and took his sweet time to clean his dagger on the white bed sheet, inhaling deeply the metallic smell of freshly shed blood. He had entered a state of inner calmness, a state of mind that would aid him greatly. Securing his beloved weapon to his belt again, he returned to the veteran. His eyes lit up with a green glow, as did his hands. The green glow that engulfed his slender fingers grew and flowed down over the dead Imperial's body. Sorilkad murmured words under his breath and seconds later the man's eyes snapped open.
The jailor, a middle aged man by the name of Cassius Pupius looked up, as he heard the doorknob rattle. Seconds later an older guard with greyish hair walked into his small room, having a Dunmeri prisoner with him. He smiled, greeting his fellow guard.
"Flavius! Aren't you supposed to be off duty by now?"
The older man turned his gaze towards Cassius but remained silent. He just stared at the man with a blank expression. A slight frown appeared on Cassius face, taking a closer look at the senior guard. He didn't look too well. His complexion was pale and he had reddish circles under his eyes.
"Damn Flavius, you look like you need some rest."
He said, his voice concerned, but earned yet another blank stare. Cassius rose, stepping around his desk to take a closer look at the Dunmer, who had his hands bound behind his back.
"Who do we have here."
He said, more to himself than to the Dunmer. Flavius Concessus gave the Dunmer a hard shove between his shoulder blades, making him stumble forwards.
"Needs to go to the dungeon. Caught him sneaking around upstairs with a drawn dagger."
Cassius narrowed his eyes on the Dunmer. He was a tall and slender elf, with a very grim expression that was only enhanced by the red tattoos adorning the left half of the face. The Imperial's gaze travelled down and over the mages robe. His eyes widened a little in surprise.
"A necromancer? Here in Cheydinhal?"
His gaze met Flavius' blank stare.
"What's your name, criminal scum!"
The Dunmer bowed his head slightly.
"Sorilkad Malur, at your service."
The Imperial huffed.
"I'm sure we don't need your service."
Cassius pulled the heavy keychain from his belt.
"Come, Flavius. There's a nice cell waiting for that guy."
The senior guard nodded and gave Sorilkad another shove, while Cassius turned to open the door, missing the evil grin that tugged on Sorilkad's lips.
Caman looked up at the jagged tower of Fort Farragut, a black shadow against the dark nightsky and let out a deep sigh. He had seen this kind of ruin a lot since he moved to Cyrodiil. Standard hideout for necromancers and bandits, not to forget about the hordes of vampires, zombies and skeletons populating abandoned forts.
"Looks like I can add fucking assassins to the list."
He muttered and drew his twin elven blades. Knowing that he would go into a ruin, he had opted to leave Rokav his big claymore behind. He was a lot more agile with two swords and he had the nagging feeling that he would need them. With a grim expression he pulled the heavy double door open and entered. It fell shut behind him, leaving him in the dark for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit hall. Carefully he followed the hallway, that bend to the left and rolled his eyes.
"Skeletons... sodding stinking skeletons..."
He muttered under his breath as the telltale creaking of bones reached his sensitive ears. Moments later he could hear the shuffling of bony feet over the stone floor as well. Judging from the echo, there was a big hall in front of him. He made his way down a flight of seven stairs and was faced with an iron grit. He found a lever to his right and pulled it, retreating into the shadows, the grip on his swordhandles tight. Nothing happened. The undead did not care about the portcullis going up. Caman edged closer to the entrance and took a look around. The hall was lit by eerie blue fire, but at least he could make out some details. To his right was a closed door, while on the opposite of him was the continuation of the hallway he was in. The middle of the hall was dominated by a high bridge with braziers on each side containing the blue fire. He pulled the stud of his tongue piercing between his teeth. There was one skeleton archer on top of the bridge and one blocking the entrance to the tunnel.
"Fuck! There just had to be a fucking archer!"
He hissed, slowly reaching for the little sharp dagger hidden in his boot. Carefully he took aim and threw the dagger. The sharp blade hissed through the air, rotating around before embedding itself deeply into the archer's skull. The undead crumbled down into a heap of dust and centuries old bones.
"You owe me one, Lucien..."
He thought with a wicked grin while sneaking into the hall. He kept to the wall, walking a great bow around the skeleton hero patrolling near the tunnel. It never knew what hit him, as a sharp elven blade sliced through his vertebrae like they were made out of butter. Caman sheathed his swords and smiled down at his work, noticing the leather armour they undead wore.
"And stay dead assassin."
He said, walking into the tunnel. His gaze fell upon small holes in the wall and he immediately stopped dead in his tracks.
"Ah fuck it!"
He cursed in annoyance while taking a couple of steps back. Taking a deep breath he ran for the tunnel, jumped into a somersault and rolled up on the far end of the tunnel, nearly hitting the wall. He could hear the arrow trap unload its darts into the wall and he straightened his armour out while the dust settled again. The tall Altmer proceeded with more care, following the bending tunnel down. There was another small flight of stairs opening into a little room with one big pillar in the middle. Another archer was moving around that pillar. Caman growled and charged at the undead. It didn't get the chance to put an arrow on the string. Caman's double swords quickly sliced it into three pieces. The room forked into a tunnel to his left. In front of him, he noticed trip wires spanned across the floor about ankle high.
"Looks like someone is a little paranoid."
Caman said with a wide grin plastered over his features, while looting the chest at the foot of the pillar. Despite this being a Dark Brotherhood hideout this ruin was unremarkable so far. Caman had been in worse. He turned left into the tunnel and hopped over a hole with ease, before taking a peek down. Sharp metallic spikes were erected several feet below, causing the mer to shake his head. This seemed to be a lot of trouble to enter and leave on a regular basis.
"Crazy Cyrodiil..."
He muttered, while following the bending natural tunnel until it led him into another hallway, that was filled with the cold light of a blue fire. His vision was obscured by a ghostly glowing mist that reached up to the middle of his thigh. He hadn't noticed the Dark Guardian until it attacked him. Caman raised his defence blade, blocking the skeleton's sword with ease while stabbing the other one forwards. It pierced through the guardian's armour and sternum. With a quick pull and turn, Caman pulled his blade free and decapitated the undead with the other one, before he walked on, coming to another portcullis. This one too was opened by a lever.
Sheathing his swords he entered the dimly light room with caution. To his left was a big desk, made out of oak wood. Scrolls were stagged on it as well as in the shelves lining the walls on either side of the desk. Curious Caman looked around Lucien's private quarters until his gaze fell upon the rope ladder hanging down from a secret entrance high above his head. His hands curled into tight fists.
"Oh fuck off, Lucien you sodding asshole!"
He hissed angrily, realising that the Imperial could have spared him all the trouble of sneaking through the ruin.
The angry glare did not leave his face, while he walked on, passing more shelves filled with books and the occasional skull, a small table with alchemistical tools and a barrel with a big lock on it. Caman rolled his eyes, shaking his head. And then he saw the bed. A sturdy wooden bed with chains attached to each post and a naked woman on top of it. Caman drew his dagger with a smirl.
"Well, well, I smell assassin bitch."
Antionetta wanted to turn around but a leather strap closed around her throat and pulled tight. Panic stricken she grabbed for the thin rope around her neck and tried to suck air in while freeing herself. Behind her Bellamont chuckled evilly. He had the strap in a tight grasp, holding it tight enough to render her helpless but not yet so tight to kill her. Not yet.
"Did you really think I would spare you stupid bitch?"
He said, excitement filling him. Antionetta groaned and coughed but was not able to get a word out. Bellamont straightened a bit, casting his gaze upon the mistress of the Sanctuary.
"Yes Ocheeva. It was me all along. I killed Boudicca and framed your precious Lucien. I killed him. That proud asshole. You should have seen the look on his face, while he was trying to keep his guts from spilling out. I set up Vicente and killed Speaker Uvani. And now I'm going to kill you! All of you!"
He underlined his light spoken words by pulling the strap tighter. Antionetta's face turned red and then purple in a matter of seconds. She still clawed desperately at her throat, drawing blood with her own nails. Mathieu pressed his body against Antionetta's struggling form, her movements rubbing over his erection.
"Aww Ocheeva, don't give me that look. We will have fun soon enough."
He teased. The leather strap creaked softly as he pulled it even tighter, biting into her tender flesh. The young woman's movements started to slow down, her arms dropping to her side.
And then every single torch and candle went out, plunging the room into total darkness.
The smile on Mathieu's face faded and in his surprise he let go of the thin strap. Antionetta collapsed to the floor coughing and sucking air in greedily. With her eyes opened wide she scrambled away from the Breton, crawling over the floor until she bumped into a wall. There she curled herself into a tight ball, crying hysterically.
Bellamont turned around himself listening intently. But the sanctuary was eerily silent, except for Marie's crying and the slow breathing of the others. Yet something felt wrong, felt out of control. A shiver ran down Bellamont's spine as an otherworldly chill entered the room, making the breath visible in front of his mouth. Bellamont tried to summon a light spell but found that he wasn't able to cast anything at all. He had been silenced. A deep chuckle echoed through the darkness, coming from the far end of the hall. Bellamont whirled around in time to see one torch light up, casting its orange glow on empty space.
"Who's there!"
Bellamont roared, angered by being interrupted in what should be a great evening. He received no answer, silence hung heavy in the dark empty space between the lone torch and the Breton. Minutes ticked by and then a candle lit up, a bit closer to him and yet revealing nobody. And then a deep velvety voice echoed heavily through the silence.
"Father prayed and guess who came."
Bellamont paled at the sound of those words.
"The hooded man in Sithis name."
The silence that followed the rhyme was almost overwhelming.
"Who...Where are you?"
Bellamont screamed, his voice a little too shrill for his own taste, but received only a long moment of silence. Then another dark chuckle, from another direction.
"You look scared Mathieu."
There was a cold menace in the disembodied voice, that let the hairs of everyone stand on end. Another torch lit up and again it came from another corner of the vast room. Mathieu pulled his dagger out and strained his eyes to pierce the darkness. But he could pick up no movement.
"Who left but then came back once more,
to pass through window wall and door."
The voice continued with the morbid poem.
"Show yourself!"
Mathieu hissed receiving an evil laugh as response. Again the disembodied voice had changed direction as it continued.
"I lie in fear my mouth agape,
as wicked blade did cleave your nape.
For I was watching..."
At this point Mathieu began to whisper along with the voice, completing the verse.
" 'neath the bed,
to see the falling of your head.
And when you lie upon the floor
our loving eyes did meet once more."
A torch lit up and Mathieu's went wide in shock. There on the wall's ledge well within the shine of the torch sat a mummified head. Mother's head.
The voice had already changed direction.
"Don't you miss your mother?"
"Where are you?"
Mathieu roared, still staring at his mother's head.
"Where did you find her? Show yourself!"
In his rage Bellamont began to slash the air in front of him, just as the torch on the side of the pillar lit up, casting it's orange glow on the group of shocked and bound assassins.
"Why so serious, dear brother? Thought you would be happy to see her again."
The voice teased, before lapsing into a long silence again. Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes and nothing happened. Then all the remaining torches lit up all together, revealing an empty sanctuary. Mathieu turned around himself a couple of times, the dagger so tightly in his fist, that it shook visible. Just as he started to relax a little, the voice started again.
"And when that's done I'll sing and dance."
Bellamont froze on the spot as the voice continued.
"To celebrate a dead..."
Bellamont's breath formed into a thick white cloud in front of his face as he ended the verse in a clear yet toneless voice.
"Lachance."
A shiver ran down Bellamont's spine. He could feel the air behind him solidify. The former Speaker's presence seemed to take up all the space in the wide hall.
"Hello Mathieu."
Lucien said in his cold cruel voice. Bellamont did not dare to turn around just yet. He stared in front of him, stared at Ocheeva's shocked pale face.
"That's impossible! I killed you!"
Bellamont's voice still sounded flat to his own ears. Behind him, Lucien chuckled.
"You did."
At this Bellamont finally turned and paled. Lucien, though dressed in his dark robes, was a transparent figure, his outlines glowing silvery in the torches warm glow. The spectre smiled. A smile that never reached his cold cruel and nearly black eyes.
"You broke my body and send me to the void."
The Breton began to back away from the sinister figure that was Lucien Lachance, dagger raised in a shaking hand.
"What do you want?"
Lucien held his hands out to his sides, empty palms up.
"I am a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood."
He told the young man casually.
"I act with the hands of our Dread Father, Sithis. I'm here to end a contract I started long ago."
The Imperial paused, his gaze turning distant for a second.
"So long ago..."