Black Night (Part 3)

The little girl lay in a slumber, as the halfling drifted into yet another alert sleep, while the woman wandered aimlessly through the desolate streets. Meanwhile, the young girl plunged into a dream teeming with mythical beings, while the halfling was engulfed by a sea of evocative memories from a distant past. The lights in the sky dimmed, and the world was plunged into a dreary darkness. The woman, whose robes had been blackened by some unknown force, trudged on through the bleak streets.

Finally, the little girl and the halfling found themselves in the same dream. Together, they perched atop a towering peak, surveying the wide and rugged expanse below them. They sat astride a scaly, silver-gray back, marveling at the breathtaking vista. The back wriggled, revealing massive shoulders and wings. The colossal summit stretched to its limits, and the shoulders on its back rose like towering masts, while the silver-gray webbed wings fanned out like great sails. The sound of her fingernails digging into the rocks reverberated in both their ears, as the gray giant took a thunderous step. Then came the eerie sensation of emptiness.

That was a free fall.

The gray giant soared through the void at a dizzying pace, and both of them felt their stomachs lurch as they plummeted straight down into the plains. They closed their eyes as they fell, but what they felt was not fear, but an intoxicating mix of excitement and delirium, which filled their bodies with adrenaline. They were courageous, they were joyful, and they were filled with hope. With trembling cries from their throats, which were drowned out by the roar of the wind buffeting their faces, they made their voices heard throughout the world, and they cried out wildly.

"This is what freedom feels like!"

As they neared the ground, the colossal being made a sudden dive before rising up again. Now they flew parallel to the hills, large and small, which resembled oil glands.

"It's a dragon!" exclaimed the little girl, pointing excitedly at the creature whose lofty shadow fell on the ground below them. Although they could not see the massive beast, they could sense its presence, and they continued to fly at a breakneck speed.

For the little girl, it was the happiest day of her life, and this dream was the crowning glory of a perfect day. However, like a sudden storm that shatters a sunny day, the sky abruptly darkened, and a chill settled in the air, as smoke rose from their mouths. They arrived at a hill brimming with frozen masses, where shadows, hums, and traces of blood dominated the landscape. Drop by drop, the blood flowed, as they followed the trail in silence.

A figure cloaked in darkness was treading the desolate streets, her pale silhouette barely discernible amidst the pitch-black night. The sky was devoid of any celestial light, as if the Prince of Darkness himself, Therion, had snuffed out every star and moon in the Skydome. With each step, blood trickled from her right palm, dripping onto the obsidian pentacle she tightly clutched. Despite the searing pain piercing her hand, she persevered, following the crimson trail leading to her destination.

With her eyes shut and her mind's eye focused, she floated through the air, tracking the blood's faint stream as it flowed from spot to spot. The drops led her to a hidden alcove nestled deep within the town's hill, where a red, blood-colored tent loomed. At its entrance stood a towering man donning a goat-headed mask. Unfazed, she presented the blood-soaked pentacle to him, its dark depths still hungrily absorbing any light.

With a grin, the goat-headed man stepped aside, granting her entrance to the tent's cavernous expanse. Blood oozed from every crevice, as an imposing black stone altar rose at the center. As she approached it, the woman squeezed her palm tighter, causing the blood to gush like a fountain into the altar vessel. The black stone transformed into a deep crimson, and ripples erupted across the surface of the red water, soon forming a violent whirlpool.

Out of the depths of the swirling vortex emerged a visage of unspeakable horror, its features twisted and malevolent. Its guttural voice echoed ominously throughout the tent in a tongue both dreadful and sinister.

The dragon, its form only discernible by the looming shadow it cast, approached the tent. It settled onto the ground beside the entrance, its presence filling the air with a palpable sense of danger.

The little girl grew angry, her voice rising in protest. "I don't want to go inside. Let's leave, dragon. Take us away, Pal and me."

The halfling looked at the girl helplessly, his voice caught in his throat. It was her dream, after all, not his. Why were they even here, at this mysterious tent?

The dragon shook itself, flinging the riders off like insignificant fleas. The halfling and the girl landed roughly on the ground, blood droplets splattering around them.

"I want to wake up!" cried the girl, her fear mounting.

The halfling lay still, his body frozen as he gazed at the tent entrance. A crimson light spilled out from within, writhing like a serpent. The sound of tribal drums pounded in his ears, the rhythm throbbing in his chest. Groans, roars, screams, and laughter echoed out into the night. It was a mad revel, a chaotic celebration that only the most depraved minds could embrace.

"Someone is taking a blood bath," the halfling thought, his mind racing. He couldn't stop the dark thoughts from surfacing, the temptation to explore this forbidden world growing ever stronger.

This was not his dream, merely a puppet in a grander scheme. As he watched on helplessly, the blood-red light slithered out from the tent's entrance, coiling towards the prone girl. Yet, she rose with an ethereal grace, almost as if she were weightless. And he noticed, with a sense of awe, that her body shone as brilliantly as the light itself. He peered at his own limbs, witnessing the same pulsating energy, dancing with vibrant hues of color. This was not his physical form. The girl shared a similar fate, both mere phantoms of themselves.

"This is the one," the halfling thought with a mix of trepidation and excitement.

"We are here, but not in flesh," he mumbled to himself.

"Remember, Pal. Remember everything when you wake," he admonished himself.

"This is no mere dream. It is different. There is something tangible here, yet otherworldly. It is a faint glimmer of what lies ahead on this mystical journey," he ruminated.

Meanwhile, the girl continued to glide, her silhouette pulsing with a kaleidoscope of colors before morphing into blood red and coal black. As she approached the tent, the halfling let out a mighty cry.

"No, I will not allow it!" he bellowed.

And with that, he awoke, falling off the bench onto the hard ground with a resounding thud. Despite his long life and boasts of vigilance and agility, Paliborn Quickhand had failed to avoid the impact second time that day. He quickly jotted down what he could remember in his notebook before the fleeting images faded from his mind - the starless, moonless night, a woman in a black robe, a trail of blood droplets, a blood-red tent, a goat-headed figure, a sacrificial altar drenched in blood, the glowing silhouette of red and black, the terrified girl, and the possessed spirit.