Visions in the Night

The cold clang of iron echoed through the narrow stone corridor as guards shoved a line of weary servants into their cells. Celyna staggered into her cramped, damp enclosure, her wrists raw from chafing against the rough manacles. The torchlight flickered along the walls, casting jagged shadows that danced like specters. The heavy scent of mold mingled with the faint tang of blood, a cruel reminder of the punishment some had endured today.

As the iron bars clanged shut, Celyna collapsed onto the straw-strewn floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Her black hair, sleek and glossy despite her suffering, spilled over her shoulders like a dark waterfall. Her golden-brown skin glowed faintly under the thin stream of moonlight spilling through the small, barred window high above. Her almond-shaped eyes, the color of obsidian pools, glistened with unshed tears.

The haunting cries of her fellow captives filled the air, a discordant symphony of misery. Her hands trembled as she remembered the tortures inflicted upon them: the whips, the beatings, the cold laughter of the masters. Her mind screamed for escape, but her body remained frozen in despair.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, and her tears subsided. The silver moonlight caressed her face as she closed her eyes, pulling her into the depths of sleep.

The dream was vivid, a world away from her grim reality. She stood in a field bathed in an eerie red glow, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. The sound of steel striking steel and the guttural cries of battle filled her ears. Before her, a man stood drenched in gore, his chest heaving with exertion. His eyes burned with fierce determination as he fought, each swing of his blade cleaving through the horde of undead surrounding him. The dead piled around his feet, yet more rose to take their place.

Celyna's heart raced. She wanted to call out to him, to ask who he was, but her voice was locked in her throat. As the man turned, their eyes met. For a fleeting moment, she felt an overwhelming connection, as though their fates were entwined.

Far away, in the shadowed city of Asshai, the air was heavy with the acrid scent of burning incense. The glow of the pyre cast the cavernous temple in hues of orange and gold. Thyra, a red priestess cloaked in crimson robes that clung to her slender frame, knelt before the roaring flames. Her fiery hair shimmered like molten copper in the flickering light.

The temple was silent except for the crackling of the pyre and the faint hum of distant chants. Thyra inhaled deeply, the aroma of charred wood and herbs filling her lungs. The flames danced, shifting and twisting into shapes that defied logic.

Suddenly, the fire stilled, and an image appeared. A man, his body stained with blood, stood alone against an army of the undead. His blade glowed faintly, like embers waiting to ignite. Thyra's breath caught, and her fingers tightened around the ruby amulet hanging at her neck.

"The prince who was promised," she whispered, her voice trembling with reverence. The flames flared, bright and fierce, and the man turned to look directly at her.

At that same moment, in a distant wasteland, Torak tossed in his sleep. His breath was ragged, his body slick with sweat. In his dream, he stood in a battlefield of ash and bone. The stench of decay clogged his nostrils, and the cold air bit at his skin.

The undead surrounded him, their lifeless eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. He swung his blade, the sound of its impact against bone ringing in his ears. Despite his relentless strikes, the horde pressed closer. Then, amidst the chaos, he felt it—a presence watching him.

He turned and saw her. A woman with black hair and luminous eyes stood silently, her gaze locked with his. For a moment, the cacophony of battle faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of connection.

Then, the flames beside her flickered, and another figure appeared. A woman with fiery hair and a ruby pendant stared at him from the other side of the battlefield. Their eyes met and the vision collapsed.