Next time I opened my eyes, all I could see was haziness and darkness. As if I was locked in some dark room, filled with heavy smoke. I tried to move, with my outstretched arms to reach the fain edges of furniture I thought I could see, but I couldn’t actually touch anything. It was just a mirage, it had to be, because I couldn’t even see my own hands, waving them right in front of my face.

Where was I? The ground on which I awaken and then sat, was in texture like wood. Old wooden floor, creaking whenever I moved. So at least that seemed real enough. But anything other than that… My eyes…

I tried to speak. First in a whisper, then a scream, and at the very least I could hear my own voice. But no one was there to respond to me.

And then it started. A voice, deep but feminine, monotone, with an accent I couldn’t place, but at the same time it felt as if I have hear her before. Somewhere. In a dream? She started quietly, then gradually grew louder and louder, and eventually, it was all I could hear. Looping the same text over and over.

“U'teralas. A tower. Constructs built by Egzuls in the ages before the reason. As elusive to their creators. Each special in its own way, waiting to be fully awoken.”

It was just lore of this land.

“Fen’Teralas. Tower of the Wolf. Incorporate into the Wolven Fort in Nait’nail Mountains in 015, abandoned after Reghad awakening. Restored multiple times, but most importantly taken over in 941 by the Capitulum as part of the Glads Ford complex. Abandoned again in 944.”

But told in a way that it sounded as if the woman was reading from a particularly obnoxious encyclopedia.

“Misean’Teralas. Tower of the Hawke. The ruins of this tower lay on the south of Kolkari Wetlands. Korot people stay far from it during their travels to the south. Falka found it in 935 and in 936 her group of special operatives Group OK unearthed its fundaments and found notes and maps of the Dragoon Division. Group OK destroyed the remains of Misean’Teralas. Misean’Teralas is no longer connected to the network.”

I could understand some of the words and names, but other ones, even after multiple repeats sounded like gibberish.

“Niwl’Teralas. Tower of Mists. The only one built directly in the Mists, seen from every point of the conscious landscape. Can be accessed either by the dreamscape or by the Eternal Battlegrounds. Egzuls’ beloved meeting spot.”

At some point I started to scream, hoping I may be louder than the voice. That maybe there was someone out there, someone who could hear me.

“Smok’Teralas. Tower of the Dragon. Heretical tower built by Shedoth, the Formless One. Inaccessible to Egzuls just like the rest of the Dark City Shedoth created around its own body. In 914 the tower doors opened under the wish of Red Riders. The first floor of the tower was repurposed into the library of the city of Birka…”

Egzuls were mentioned only once or twice in the book, why was any of this even relevant?

There was a sound of the door opening, screeching of unoiled hinges, closing, and a pair of shoes walking across the floor. I could feel and ground trembling faintly under the steps. A click of sorts, the voice stopping abruptly, and then another, something opening. Or closing? A compartment of sorts, maybe, and then scraping. Something was taken out?

Then I heard a fingers snap. And finally, I could open my eyes.

I was in a small room with no windows and a single door leading out. No furniture, other than a pair of chairs and a table. A single candle on the tabletop was illuminating the whole space. The man that joined me sat on one of the chairs. He looked bored out of his mind, with the legs wide spread, and chin resting on his palm, elbow propped by the table. He was half-elven, the tiny points of ears pocked from between the long blonde hair. 

“I’ll give you that,” he eyed me with a sneer. His voice was so deep, I felt like it reverbed in my own chest. “... You are forbearing.”

I wondered who he was or where I was. Was it yet another dream I visited? Nightmare really? But at the same time, somehow I felt this man wouldn’t give me any real answers.

Not unless I offered something in exchange - this seemed to be that kind of situation.

“My name is Hubert Reyc.” A truth, if only partial.

At that the man smiled faintly, surprised. “Are you really?”

I nodded. I believed in this enough at the moment.

“Then it’s only right for me to introduce myself as well. Daernblan the Half-Elf.”

“Really?”

Daernblan shrugged. “That’s what others call me. Not everyone gets to have the last name.”

I raised from the floor, my limbs weirdly rested as if I hadn’t spent weeks, or months sitting on the hardwood floor, and sat more comfortably on the second chair. On the opposite side of the table.

Daernblan tilted his head as he watched me. He was handsome, I suppose, with high cheekbones and arched eyebrows over deep-set, slanted green eyes. But there was something weird to his face, some cat-like quality that seemed to be unnatural in origin. Maybe one of his parents was of the Dominion Elves. Or maybe Daernblan was something entirely else.

“What was it? That voice?”

“A friend of mine. A dear one. Namrevlis yn A´ghaen aep Vherithas. Her voice is all that I have left of her.”

“Is she dead?”

Daernblan smiled a wide predator-like grin. Yes, he had a bit too many teeth even for a half-elf. Too sharp canines. “I suppose yes, in a way.”

There’s that saying, that only a fool would sit across from the devil and expect to win a game. In normal circumstances, I would agree, but in this case, in Seventh Lord of Mindsna, Daernblan was no real devil. And I was no real Hubert Reyc, just someone taking on his role, someone with knowledge beyond what a fictional character would have.

It was convenient that Daernblan’s not-entirely-dead lady friend reminded me of Egzuls existing in the world of this book. They were demons, some cursed beings, malevolent, and way too invested in the works of mortals. And they had names, each their own, like for example Daern'tarth.

Daernblan the Half-Elf. Daern’s Flower. Daern’tarth Flower. Unimaginative alias, but good enough to pass. With just enough truth to it to not be a blatant lie.

Suddenly all the questions, what, where, who, became unimportant. It was a dream, had to be, because Mists, dreams, are the real domain of Egzuls. Just one thing remained, one puzzle I wouldn’t be able to solve on my own. Egzuls were never the main part of the original storyline.

“Why did you take me here? To listen to the lecture on geography?”

Daern'tarth was taken aback, his face more expressive, than I would expect. However, astonishment swiftly left his face and all that was left was deep interest. He leaned towards me, pale fingers almost brushing my face. “You are something else, Reyc… A Dreamwalker…”

“You just wanted to see a Gate?”

“No, I don’t need no gates. There’re plenty of doors as it is. No. You’re more like a rift, a hole punched in the wall. So wide open, there’s no way of ever closing it.”

“You mean Ascendant.” But Reyc was never meant to be one. It was Jacques’ dream.

“Sure if you want to call it that.” Daern'tarth snorted with laughter. “I will keep an eye on you. For now.”

“And later? What happens later?”

“I’ll devour you,” he said with another toothy grin.

And then Daern'tarth flicked me in the forehead.

Annoying, but I take that over getting killed or even just punched to be sent back to the waking world.