On a day or night of your choosing, his dream is a blistering storm. Wind howls through the trees, hurricane gales, with a coldness and a ferocity that cleaves straight to the bone. Wood cracks; animals scatter. The night is cold and the air is thick with dust, debris, a fog kicked up from the loose earth. Any which way he looks is dust, and dirt, blasting into his eyes and cutting his cheeks. In his dream, the wind pulls at the foliage of his body, stripping the vines from his back and the leaves from his arm. His feet are fastened to the ground with ropes around his ankles, damaged and frayed, but no matter how he pulls, the rope does not release him.
And try he will — because even obscured by the storm and the shrieking winds, he can't mistake Yeul in the distance. Hurt. Powerless. In danger. The storm steals her face, but it carries her voice — carries his name.
No matter how he struggles, no matter how he fights, the weak ropes hold him back, the wind pushes against him. As the storm grows louder—human voices, thunderous rolls of weapons, the wet destruction of living bodies, trees snapping and falling—Yeul's voice becomes more frantic, more faint. He won't reach her in time. He's going to fail. He isn't strong enough. He isn't going to be strong enough.
"My child... can you be satisfied with a fate like this? Don't you desire the strength to save her?"
He may wake before he answers; he may not. The question will linger in his thoughts until he gives an answer. Once Noel truly wishes for the Fog God's strength, whether it be in a dream or in the waking world, he will feel a gentle breeze sweep against his back. With it will come a warm heat to his muscles, and the feeling of enhanced strength.
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And try he will — because even obscured by the storm and the shrieking winds, he can't mistake Yeul in the distance. Hurt. Powerless. In danger. The storm steals her face, but it carries her voice — carries his name.
No matter how he struggles, no matter how he fights, the weak ropes hold him back, the wind pushes against him. As the storm grows louder—human voices, thunderous rolls of weapons, the wet destruction of living bodies, trees snapping and falling—Yeul's voice becomes more frantic, more faint. He won't reach her in time. He's going to fail. He isn't strong enough. He isn't going to be strong enough.
"My child... can you be satisfied with a fate like this? Don't you desire the strength to save her?"
He may wake before he answers; he may not. The question will linger in his thoughts until he gives an answer. Once Noel truly wishes for the Fog God's strength, whether it be in a dream or in the waking world, he will feel a gentle breeze sweep against his back. With it will come a warm heat to his muscles, and the feeling of enhanced strength.