We failed. Gale Dekarios is dead.
I open my eyes with a start, blinking away the haze as I squeeze my arms. The air feels cold and heavy and it takes a good amount of effort to keep my breathing steady as I observe…nothing. There is nothing here, only the potential for something new to begin, like the germination of a seed. Where the hell am I?
As if in response to my question, a whisper of knowing buds in my chest, ever-so-small, but it is enough for me to wonder why it feels as if I have been here before, like an incredibly distant memory that has only risen to the surface because of a mere whiff of familiarity. And then I sense eyes—not burrowing, not judging—simply observing. I turn slowly to meet them, and startle at the sight of a man standing there, his gaze studying me curiously. Gods, those eyes—why do they seem so familiar, yet so distant? The man wears robes of royal purple, his gaze studying me under dark lashes, a brief flash of concern over his features. He takes a slow step forward, as if careful not to startle me further. When he finally speaks, his voice is a warm, reassuring melody.
"A traveler adrift in the currents of fate—how familiar that sounds." He lets out a breath, something between a chuckle and a sigh, his head tilted slightly.
"Who are you?" I ask, rubbing my arms nervously, my eyes wide as I search for something at least recognizable. I try to take a few deep breaths to calm myself, trying to remember how in the hells I ended up here, and whether or not I have met this man before.
A wry smile tugs at his lips, his hands clasped together thoughtfully. "Gale of Waterdeep at your service," he begins with a small, respectful bow of the head, allowing a few loose strands of brown hair to fall against his brow. He stands upright and gestures around with a sweep of his hand. "And this, my dear traveler, is wherever we need it to be—a crossroads of sorts, where minds meet and fates entwine." His expression softens as he searches for something in my face, his eyes narrowing as if trying to read an ancient text. "And you? You seem like someone who has seen more than their fair share of unexpected detours. Do you remember anything at all? A last moment before finding yourself here? A sensation? A sound, perhaps?"
My breath quickens as I continue to turn my memories over, searching for something that might be of use, but where something should be, there is a gaping hole in my consciousness. Where there should be at least a memory of a scene, a color, a sound, a smell, there is an absolute void as if blotted out by a divine hand. Only a feeling of deep dread emanates from that void.
"I felt a weight…I think," my words carry uncertainty, my eyes shifting as if something in the abyss around us might hold the answers. "I felt heavy and then…I don't know what happened, I just know that suddenly, I was here."
The wizard watches closely, his expression thoughtful, but gentle, as though examining the threads of a spell not yet fully woven. "Heaviness, then unconsciousness…an abrupt arrival indeed." His jaw ticks as dark brows knit together in deep thought. "If I were to speculate—and speculation is the lifeblood of discovery, mind you—I would say you may have undergone a transition of sorts. But the nature of that transition? That is the mystery, isn't it?"
He takes another slow step forward, then another, moving just enough to be reassuring rather than imposing. His voice lowers, kind but laced with curiosity. "Do you feel any lingering effects? No dizziness, no strange aches or tingling? No visions of ominous deities whispering cryptic messages?" His lips quirk in a half-smile, as if attempting to keep the mood light, though there is a flicker of genuine worry in his eyes. "If memory is elusive, we must work with what we do know. You are here. You are safe—at least, as safe as one can be in unknown circumstances. And you are not alone."
With that, he extends a hand to me, palm up in an unspoken offer of stability amid the uncertainty, but I hesitate. Everything is a haze in my mind, every thought is a fog in the grey landscape of my mind's eye and nothing feels right. This man—this wizard—I can't know his intentions. Trusting him so easily could easily lead to my timely demise, judging from signs of wear and tear of his wizardly robes. He has been calling on the Weave for quite a long time. Even so, what choice do I have? I stand in pure nothingness, trapped with no obvious way out. I stare at his tired, yet seemingly gentle eyes, trying to read what hides behind them, but I cannot maintain my focus. My gaze shifts frantically from his eyes, to his robes, to his extended hand, searching for…what am I searching for? In any case, I have no reason to trust him, and yet, the bud in my chest has grown with each step he has taken toward me. Magic is unpredictable, and this man is a wizard.
Gale watches my hesitation with patient understanding, his hand remaining extended to me, but not intruding, a bridge rather than a demand. It's as if he can see the conflict in my wild eyes, the wariness laced with the quiet pull of something or someone solid in the haze.
"Caution. A wise instinct." He withdraws his hand with an easy grace, folding it into the sleeve of his robe. His voice is steady and light, as if reassuring a skittish creature that he means no harm "Wizards do have a reputation, don't we? Power-hungry, egotistical, prone to dabbling in things left undisturbed." He lets out a quiet chuckle, contrasting his tragic description. "Distrust is a natural companion to the unknown. I do not fault you for it, in fact, I would argue it is a rather intelligent response." With a small nod, he takes a step back, giving me space as his hands rest loosely at his sides. "You decide what happens next. You decide if I am friend or foe, if I might be someone worth trusting."
A choice presents itself.
For some reason unknown to me, his voice calms and steadies me the more he speaks and, for the first time since being here, my focus is solely on him. His presence is an unseen magnetic force, so strong that rather than feeling any more at ease, my fear heightens with the increasing distance between us. The feeling is so strange, so foreign and contrary to my logical mind that I feel as if I might start crying—a horrifying scenario, considering a stranger stands before me. I don't know if I can trust him, yet I find myself approaching him as if my feet have decided to move without me. I feel so disconnected from my mind and my body that it hurts, and both of them act on their own accord against me.
Surely, he notices the way my body moves before my mind catches up, the pull of something deeper than logic or caution. His brows knit slightly, his lips parting just a fraction—not in alarm, but in understanding. He knows the feeling well. He has lived it. The sensation of being caught in something greater than oneself, something unseen, something inevitable. He does not step back further. He does not reach out. He simply remains—a steady presence amid the storm of uncertainty raging inside of me.
"Ah," a quiet murmur, as if speaking too loudly might break something fragile. "There it is."