The smoke from the fire rose slowly, twisting and coiling on its way to the ceiling. Matthias' eyes blinked slowly open and closed as he began to fall into sleep's embrace.
Slowly, the smoke coalesced into a tendril of shadow which began to drift slowly over the room. Matthias half-frowned, but he could not rouse himself enough to act.
Wisps of darkness detached from crevices and shadows throughout the room and floated towards the tendril. When they touched, the tendril consumed the tiny shadows; it grew larger with every one it took up into itself.
Now the shadow was not drifting, but moving with purpose, searching for something. For him.
Matthias' eyes widened with fear as the tendril came closer and closer to touching him. His heart pounded, but his frantic mind could not rouse his still-sleeping body. He tried to move, but his limbs stayed still; tried to yell, to rouse the others, but his lungs were not his own.
The tendril brushed briefly across his face, chilling his skin as it did. Something clenched tight in his test, but the shadow continued across the room, as though it had not felt them. The terrible tension eased somewhat, and his lungs were his again to let out a sigh of relief...
The tendril whipped back towards him. It touched him once and, lightning-fast, wrapped itself around his body. He writhed against its icy grasp and yelled for help, but darkness flooded into his lungs and stifled the scream before it could leave his lungs, suffocating him as it did.
The cocoon of darkness closed around him, shutting him off from the light. He mouthed the name of his god with frozen lips, his mind calling desperately for aid, but none came. He heard the woman's voice whispering in his ear. "Your gods are dead. They have abandoned you."
As the life drained from his body, his mind drifted off and away...
He blinked. Slate roofs and cobbled roads were laid out beneath him like a map. He recognised the layout of the streets. Galden. Home.
But the city was as he had never seen it before. It bustled with life. The cries of vendors in the market echoed in the air; children played in the midday sun.
If that was the market, then...
He turned effortlessly in the air, and saw it. The Silver Throne.
Some called it a cathedral; in truth, the word - and all others - paled before the reality it sought to describe. "Citadel" came close, perhaps. Three towers of white marble rose high above the marble facade, itself towering above the roofs of the houses below. Behind, the vast body of the building stretched across a dozen city blocks. Within, he knew, were offices, dormitories, a hospital, and places of worship that would put any cathedral to shame.
The towers themselves were a more majestic sight than any he had ever seen. Lines of silver woven into the marble spelt out on each tower the name of one of the gods of the Silver Crown; each tower was capped with an icon of a god, cast in silver, looking out benevolently over the city.
As he gazed awe-struck at the Throne, the world... stuttered.
In an instant, darkness fell, the light of the sun snuffed out. A moment later, a sound like nothing he had ever heard roared through the air, sharp and jagged. Below him, he heard people screaming.
A flash of purple light swept through the city from the west, too fast for his eyes to follow it. Every building it struck shuddered, and some collapsed to the ground. Carts, people, livestock, everything was flung forward before the wave and tumbled in its wake. Despite his height, he heard with perfect sharpness the soft, wet thuds of broken bodies thrown against stone walls, and the gurgling final cries of those crushed in the rubble.
The buildings behind the Throne were shielded from the destruction by the building's bulk; a spark of hope flared in his heart. But even as he watched, the walls of the Throne crumbled away and the great towers fractured along their length and fell ponderously but inexorably downwards. Crushing buildings and people alike beneath them, they shattered against the cobbled ground.
His soul was torn to shreds as he felt the keening pain of every dead and dying person and heard the anguished cries of every person still alive. A hundred thousand prayers rose up; not a single answer came.
Suddenly he was wrenched away from his omniscience and thrust into a single moment, totally aware of every detail.
A mother, trapped beneath a fallen wall from the shoulders down.
Her daughter, bruised and bleeding, cradling her mother's head in her arms.
The mother's face, blood spluttering from her mouth as she tried to speak, uttering a last, desperate prayer.
The scene dissolved away, and he heard the words explode into his consciousness. "Your gods are dead. They have abandoned you."
Gasping for breath, Matthias jerked up from the floor. He brought his hand up to his face; his cheeks were wet with tears. He stifled a sob as the dream came rushing back to him, and, squinting through wet eyes, looked around.
The fire burned warm and bright in the fire-pit. The others lay on the ground, asleep.
He stared into the flickering flames, keenly aware of the shadows that lurked in the corners of the room.
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