The curtains drew back, banishing shadows and permitting light to flood the recesses of Erasitt’s memory. The light found there a broken mind. An injured mind. A mind plagued by doubt, self-loathing, and sorrow. The light did not mend these breaks. It only illuminated shards that had been long separated from their kin, and forgotten. But this was enough.
Lornel walked through the open gate of Harkamel’s prison, eyes glazed as his consciousness shifted elsewhere. His body stumbled, recovering itself of it’s own accord as his mind repeated the woman’s words. “_It is time_”, she said.
He cried as he remembered her sacrifice, and murmured the hallowed words as he walked.
“Look not to the skies, nor to the depths below,
nor even to the distant past or future.
Seek the divine within, for the blood is the life,
and in its call can be heard the promise of eternal life.
One has but to listen.”
Erasitt shed the weight of Niams death. He let go of the prejudice he harbored against his own people. He spared an anxious thought for his children, before putting their memory aside. He purified his faith, and recommited to the Divinity Within. He let go of the man who had guided him in this foreign land.
Lornel became just another fractured memory.