(( Hehehe new Arc Time >:3 ))
There were few times more peaceful than the dead of night. At least, that's what Thelios always thought. With the people gone, there was no longer the sound of idle chatter and pattering footsteps on the road, only the distant waves gently hitting the shore and crickets chirping away in the grass below. The warm glow of the lanterns as the candles inside flickered slowly went out as each was extinguished one by one, leaving only the soft light of the moon to spill in through the windows.
Everything was soft, and quiet, and it felt like the earth got to take a deep breath before the sunrise brought upon the wonders of a new day.
Rest was something the Prophet seemed to need more and more of these days, and yet never got enough of. There was always something new—a new stress, a new problem, a new trouble that he needed to fix. Thelios would never complain about helping others with their burdens... but that didn't mean they weren't heavy.
So now here, in the dead of night, when the people were quiet and the earth got to breathe, Thelios took a well needed rest. His long, velvety red hair sprawled out on the bed like a halo, framing his sleeping body. Tanned, freckled skin twisted in and out of pale sheets, chest slowly rising and falling with every soft breath. The Prophet slept alone, tucked away in his bed.
Completely unaware of the dark shift happening in his chambers.
The last of the candlelit lanterns across the hallways was snuffed out, engulfing everything around it in a dark, foreboding shadow. The air turned heavy, cold as Thelios shifted in his bed. Even in his dreams, he could not escape the oppressive feeling from sinking into his soul like a stone thrown into a calm lake, twisting and distorting a familiar image into something... other.
Golden eyes seemed to squeeze shut, brows pinching together at the images filling his head. Dreams. Memories. Echoes of a voice unheard, screaming and begging to be let free. An impenetrable darkness broken only by sounds he could not see, and footsteps forced to pretend they could not hear. Eyes eyes eyes, always watching yet never changing. Something so beautiful should never be changed, so stay still, do as you're told. And you will be a feast for their his eyes, stripping you down to the bones in their minds. Look, but don't touch. Don't hit. Don't grab. Don't burn, hot metal piercing his skin as the putrid smell of charred and burning flesh filled the boat, eyes eyes eyes watching, smiling. Why would you do that? Why would you change me? I used to be beautiful. I should have been beautiful—
Sweat dripped down the Prophet's brow as soft hands gripped at the bedsheets, face twisting itself into pain of the past, old echoes that simply refused to stay quiet, refused to let the boy know peace. If they, in their final moments, could not be granted bit a sliver of mercy, then why should he?
A whisper in his ear, a voice so disgustingly sweet, and yet hauntingly familiar pushing its way into his mind. But more than just faint whispers—a touch, like the tips of distant fingers gliding across his skin, so frigid and cold Thelios couldn't repress the shiver rolling up his spine, bringing his hand close to his chest.
The tips of those ice cold fingers were like the open maw of a hungry animal as they glided down the pulse of his neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
Thelios' eyes shot open almost as fast as he shot up in bed, heartbeat so loud in his ears he almost couldn't hear how heavy his breathing was, panting and gasping for air with a terror filled shutter. His entire body heaved, glistening with sweat that one could just barely see in the light of the moon, red hair draping over his body like a veil.
And just as quickly as it started, it stopped.
The air was warm in the night, no sounds but the distant lapping of waves against the shore, and crickets cherping in the grass below. The darkness was enviting, promising peace and quiet during a night of long rest, and the fine sheets to soft and warm against his skin.
It took a moment for Thelios' eyes to adjust to the darkness, heart calming down enough to stop his hears from ringing against his skull. The Prophet was alone, just himself in his room, only him in his own bed... with the top half of his nightware pulled down just enough to expose the brand scarred against his chest.
Thelios quickly pulled himself together, taking a deep breath as he pulled up the front of his collar, curling up with his head resting against his knees, gathering his folded legs in his arms.
"Just... just a bad dream. You're fine. You're safe. Just a dream... just a bad dream."
