Of course, in every era, there were mages of similar power to them who were simply supported by someone of high rank above the fifth or had a high level inheritance. They were not all powerful in their own right, but the backing they received elevated their status beyond natural limits. Such alliances and legacies blurred the lines of true strength, creating a complex web of influence and power, that even Grievous could truly grasp.
Grievous tapped his fingers quietly on the polished surface of the small table. The chessboard before him, a delicate arrangement of darkness, shimmered faintly before vanishing into thin air with a soft pop. The silence that followed was heavy, laden with unspoken thoughts. He let out a long, measured sigh that seemed to carry the weight of countless years.
"Faera is already ready to start his journey as a mage," he muttered to himself, voice low and steady, "but if he starts now, it is only a matter of time before he catches up to me. The difference between us will never be fixed."
His gaze was distant, piercing the shadows of the dimly lit room. The flickering candlelight cast long, wavering patterns across the walls, echoing the restless uncertainty that churned within him. It was not just fear or jealousy that troubled Grievous, but a cold calculation of inevitability.
"Of course," he continued, "I can give him magical fruits from time to time and intentionally make his progress slow." His lips curled into a faint smile, bitter yet pragmatic. "This will undoubtedly make his growth slower than mine."
Grievous hummed thoughtfully, his mind racing through endless variables and probabilities. The chessboard might have vanished, but the game was far from over. His eyes narrowed as he stared coldly into the gloom ahead.
'Without a doubt, this child's talent, thanks to his luck, will be high,' he reflected. 'But thanks to the weakness of the Shen in the air, progress without magical fruits will be slow enough. Every year, perhaps I will give him two pieces of fruit to advance slowly.'
The plan was meticulous in its simplicity. Two fruits a year, just enough to keep Faera moving forward, yet never fast enough to close the gap completely. It was a delicate balance between fostering growth and maintaining control.
It was a good plan, one that would not raise suspicion from the outside world. Grievous understood the nuances of power and perception all too well. For him, this was the best option available. He would bite back his concerns and proceed with caution.
He sighed again, deeper this time, as if releasing not only his worries but also a burden too heavy to carry any longer. The flickering candlelight seemed to dim as the room grew quieter, shadows creeping closer around him.
Grievous stood and stretched his body slowly, feeling the ache of years pressing down on his shoulders. The bed in the corner of the chamber beckoned, a promise of rest and respite from the relentless machinations of fate.
He lay down and closed his eyes, surrendering to the embrace of sleep. His breath slowed, and his body relaxed, sinking into the mattress like a corpse pinned to a large rock, falling into the water slowly and quietly.
Silently, Grievous appeared above mysterious waters that seemed to extend forever in all directions. The surface was perfectly still, reflecting an infinite sky streaked with stars. The air was thick with an unspoken magic, a timelessness that stretched beyond mortal comprehension.
"Oh, another dream, huh," Grievous said quietly, his voice echoing softly in the vast emptiness. His figure was still, standing on the surface of the water without sinking.
He remained motionless for a moment, but nothing happened. The silence was profound, almost oppressive. Then, with an understanding born of long experience, he realized he had to move, even if his steps were somewhat random in this place.
He began to walk on the water. Each footfall echoed like a drumbeat, the sound rippling outward and repeating endlessly. The footsteps became a rhythm, a pulse in the void that anchored him to this dreamlike realm.
Grievous stopped and looked down at the water beneath him, noticing his reflection. The image was haunting, a man at the end of his life, worn and weathered by time and struggle. His hair was white, his face lined with the marks of countless battles and bitter decisions.
With a thought, his appearance shifted. The old man faded, replaced by his other form, calmer, younger, but no less burdened. This was the self he chose to present in this realm of dreams and shadows. He resumed walking calmly, each step deliberate and steady.
The endless waters stretched out before him, a mirror to his own uncertainties and hopes. The silence was broken only by the echoing footsteps and the faint whisper of a distant wind.
'What does the future hold for me?' he wondered. 'Will the path I carved for myself protect me, or will it doom my own?'
The question lingered in the air, unanswered but everpresent. Grievous walked onward, deeper into the unknown waters, carrying the weight of legacy, power, and dreams yet to be fulfilled.
---
In the distance, two shadows emerged from the shimmering haze above the water's glassy surface. One was tall and imposing, the other slender and youthful, their forms stretching long and wavering in the dim light. Grievous's steps slowed as the vague silhouettes began to sharpen, the outlines hardening into familiar shapes.
As he moved forward, the features of the shadows gradually revealed themselves with uncanny clarity. The tall figure bore the sharp, stern features of Edmund, his eyes cold and calculating even in this ethereal form. Beside him, the smaller shadow was unmistakably Faera, his delicate frame and quiet strength radiating from the dim light. Grievous's chest tightened with recognition. He knew them well.
A low hum escaped his lips, a sound of both acknowledgment and something deeper, a hidden thread of thoughts. He noticed their presence without hesitation. Quietly, without disturbing the fragile stillness, he moved alongside them, his footsteps soft and deliberate upon the water's surface.
As if summoned by his approach, two more shadows flickered into existence behind Edmund and Faera. One was short, compact, with the heavy gait of a man who carried burdens unseen. The other was tall, a woman whose silhouette was graceful yet unfamiliar. Their faces began to form as Grievous drew near, but no recognition stirred within him. He studied them intently, memorizing every line and shadow of their features.
He filed the images away, a mental archive for the strange and unknown. Then, the surface of the water stretched empty once more, silent and still as if holding its breath. The absence of shadows felt endless, a void that stretched on like an eternity. Grievous's mind drifted in that silence, searching for meaning, for some thread to grasp.
Suddenly, six shadows rose from the depths ahead, each distinct in height and bearing. They formed a formidable line, their presence commanding and ominous. As Grievous approached, a dark thrill rippled through him. His lips curled into a devilish smile, a reflection of the dread and respect these figures inspired.
They resembled the legendary swords of Rahul!
Their forms matched the descriptions etched into the chronicles of the era, fierce and unwavering. Grievous committed each detail to memory, the shape of their armor, the glint of their blades, the aura of relentless power that surrounded them.
His thoughts churned beneath the surface of this dreamscape. 'It must be that entity sending me messages again,' he mused. 'But what is its purpose? Why these visions?'
He understood well that no action was without cause, and nothing within this vast world, this world of dreams, occurred without consequence. Every event was a link in an immense chain, a circle of cause leading inevitably to effect.
The reason behind the entity's interference remained a mystery, a dark question mark that pressed upon Grievous's mind. It unsettled him, this unknown force that could manipulate the very fabric of his subconscious. Yet, despite the unease, he accepted his powerlessness. Entities capable of weaving entire dreams and traversing worlds far exceeded his own reach.
Calmly, he resumed his steady walk. His determination burned bright, a will forged in the fires of countless battles and shattered hopes. He would see this through. There might be something hidden along the path, some fragment of aid or clarity waiting for him to discover.
After all, this was the world of dreams, a place where the impossible took shape and secrets revealed themselves to those who dared to seek.
The echo of his footsteps rippled across the water's surface, a steady rhythm in the vast quiet. The distorted reflections of the shadows danced around him, merging and separating with each step. Finally, Grievous reached what appeared to be the boundary, the far edge of the water's reach.
To his astonishment, there stood a giant mirror, framed by a border of strange runes that pulsed faintly with an otherworldly light. The mirror's surface was impossibly smooth, reflecting not just his image but something deeper, something that stirred an icy dread within him.
What he saw in the reflection made his breath catch. It was a presence beyond comprehension, a force that defied every language and story from the infinite worlds and legends of the Cosmic Tower. Shapes shifted and twisted in impossible ways, colors unseen by mortal eyes flickering in and out of existence.
A shiver ran down Grievous's spine, and he stumbled backwards, falling onto the water's surface. The liquid beneath him was thick and slow, like honey, drawing him down with relentless pull. The cold embrace of the water seeped into his skin as he sank deeper, a slow descent toward an abyssal bottom that seemed to stretch forever downward.
His consciousness flickered, dimming with each passing moment as the dream and the mirror's power dragged him toward oblivion.
'Will this be my death?' he thought, panic rising in his chest.
'After all the plans and goals I have set, will I really die in my dream?'
A fierce fire ignited within him, refusing to be extinguished by fear or despair.
'No, no, for the sake of everything that exists! I will not die!'
He clenched his fists, summoning every ounce of willpower.
'I will never feel that disgusting cold feeling again!'
'If the heavens and what is between them and what is beyond them want my death, then I will annihilate the heavens and what is between them and what is beyond them!'
His voice echoed within his mind, a thunderous vow.
'I will attain immortality and eternal existence!'
'No dream will claim me. No shadow will swallow me!'
Grievous's spirit roared against the darkness, a defiance that burned brighter than the cold depths pulling him down. With that, a surge of energy burst from within him, pushing back against the honeyed water, fighting to reclaim his place.
He was not finished yet. Not by a long shot!