𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐘

Epilogue

Maven awakens when the frigid air hits the back of his throat, it burns, feeling almost acidic.

He lets out quick successive gasps of air, going into an immediate shock.

His body jerks and he topples off the cold cement slab on which he previously lay.

He scrambles into the corner, shivering as goosebumps litter his skin.

He appears like a feral creature, looking around wildly as his vision slowly starts to clarify, the black spots fading.

Several robed figures surround him, men and women alike, melting into blurs of a rich navy.

Most wear an alasho turban, the fine cloth draped across their head and neck in a foreign style not native to Norta.

They dip their heads slightly and briefly before their shining eyes land on Maven again.

"Mortifer."
"Angelus Mortem"

They whisper in a foreign language, it feels familiar, and it bounces around Maven's skull.

One of them steps forward, his turban is edged with with an effervescent gold indicating his importance to the tribe.

He has skin the colour of a rich umber and his eyes are almond shaped, the colour of the gold glow of dawn.

He appears young but the way he moves indicates a wisdom far behind his youthful exterior.

Slowly, he approaches with an ivory cotton shawl and kneels on the tiled floor before Maven.

Maven flinches at his space being intruded, he felt so raw.

The man softens his gaze, before offering it to Maven who takes it and wraps it around himself.

He grips into it, the sensation returning as he feels the fibres on his bare skin.

Maven's eyes look for an exit or any indication of where he is.

He has no sense of time or space.

He spots fine grains of sand dusting the mat where the door to enter was, his natural sharpness already waking up.

The man tilts his head to the side, watching Maven with a keen sense of curiosity, before standing again.

He retreats a few steps, his arms folding into his robes.

"It was not your time. Breathe again, Maven Calore."

Maven blinks.

His eyebrows crease the moment after.

A suspicious red dagger remains placed on the slab, peeking out from a metallic bowl.

The ridges of the blade fit perfectly to the contours of the scar on Maven's chest.

Fully healed but so delicate.

Maven looks down in shock, his fingers tracing the ragged and puckered flesh of the scar.

It was a lethal wound.

A killing one.

He sees a flash, a memory of it buried in him, poking out with the sharp end first.

It spooks Maven and the panic threatens to grab hold of him as he clenches his fists, his heart beginning to thump in his chest.

you can't...please stay with me

A woman's voice, clear as day, rips through Maven's mind. He shakes his head frustratingly.

"Calm."