Daemion opens a metal door. An eerie creaking echoes throughout the room and an even deeper darkness than blinds the current room lies behind it. The same kind of mist that lingers throughout the entire temple crawls towards their feet. It’s as cold as Sa’arlach’s skin was to the touch.
“There are enough beds in there”, the demon explains. “Just feel around a bit and you’ll find them. You can’t use any light to look for it. That’s of the utmost importance.”
His voice is deep and guttural, but it has sounded friendly and comforting the entire time. Even when he spoke of unimaginable horrors, he was reassuring he wouldn’t force them to do something they don’t want to. Now, he sounds as stern as Hadriel did when he demanded the heroes to hand over the Enochian gemstones.
“The fihyr can’t stand the light and will do anything to make it go away, even if that means killing you.”
“You said they were tame.” Oslando interrupts him. “You promised they wouldn’t hurt us.”
Daemion crosses his arms.
“You can’t expect a dragon not to fry you when you throw rocks at him or a marilach not to devour you if you destroy her webs and eggs.”
They don’t know exactly what kind of monster a marilach is, but they understand what the devyryl is trying to say: don’t tease a creature you don’t want to fight.
“We get it”, Bruq says. “I have question, though. I am already well-rested and don’t need to sleep for the next couple of hours. Do you expect us to just lie around and wait until we fall asleep?”
“No, I don’t.” He’s already sounding more friendly again. “The mist you’re currently seeing escape the room will help you. It numbs the mind and usually makes someone enter the realm of nightmares within the hour. Don’t wander around, you’ll get lost in the lair of the fihyr. You’ll be awake again long before the three suns disappear. When you are awake, I’ll collect what the fihyr abstracted and take one of them with us to the altar. You’ll face whatever frightens you the most in front of it. That way, Gor-Thar can consume the fear and grant you a blessing. If you don’t have any questions, I suggest we don’t digress any further. Please, follow me.”
They have complaint about the cold, the disturbing slimy noises down the room and how uncomfortable their beds are. Now, as far as Bruq knows, everyone is asleep. He feels how heavy it becomes to keep his eyes open. He already knows what kind of fear he has to face. He wonders what the others fear the most. Someone like Oslando, the perfect warrior… Someone as terrifying as Dargothoth… He feels the grip on his thoughts slip away.
A humming sound shakes him out of his slumber for a moment. It sounds like Lyssa, but he doesn’t want to call her name, afraid the others will wake up or that he’ll disturb the fihyr. He lies silently, hearing how the humming changes to words. Very quietly, he hears the siren singing a song to herself.
“But I’ll just sing this sad lullaby.
You’re too busy to ask me why.
If you’d ask I know for sure I would lie.
No one knows of my sad lullaby.”
He can hear her sniffing, holding back her tears.
“I cry for help across the sea,
but all the good men who come for me
drown in these waves before they can see
me singing my lullaby.
Adored by all, but love it’s not.
Just some poor souls who got caught
by me humming, hoping I forgot
why I’m singing my lullaby.”
His heart breaks for her. In any other situation he would walk towards her. Hug her. Kiss her forehead. His body has already fallen asleep and he’s sure his mind will follow quickly.
“No man to kiss, no woman to hold.
No children to whom my stories are told.
No true love with me to share and grow old.
No one sings for me a lullaby.”
So… tired…
“But I’ll just sing my own lullaby.
All are too busy to even care why.
If you would ask me, I would break down and cry.
I’ll just drown… in my sad… lul-”
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