Denzel felt a wave of excitement like nausea washing over him as he approached the Soundless village. After his stay in the menders' room of Dreamers Terrace, the outside world felt so open.
'Unprotected' his mind offered, but he pushed the thought away.
Overflowing flowers spilled from tall vine lamps lining the pathways to the houses. Violets, oranges and pinks mingled happily in the wind, casting petals over the green leaved huts.
Nostalgia overwhelmed him as he stepped through the threshold of his own house. It had only been three months, but after what he had endured they may as well have been years. Everything was precisely as he had left it. The tools still strewn about; the books open to their very same pages. There was no dust-- which meant that Paxton was still operational. As if a confirmation, the little cleaning gyro chirruped pleasantly as it finished dusting a nearby oil lamp.
He tiptoed around the scattered schematics and drafting pens that littered the floor and made his way to his workbench. He sighed as he sat down, his shoulders comfortably sloping down as his body fell into relaxation. He thumbed through a few pages of an open journal, looking at the notes and sketches of his once-was latest project, but a creaking of what sounded like the door caught his attention. When he turned, however, there was nothing there.
He shrugged, chalking it up to Paxton creaking as it cleaned. He made a mental note to oil it later. Though as he turned back around, he noticed a familiar shape standing by his workbench.
Vivienne.
"Hello Denzel." She said, smiling.
"Vivienne!" Denzel exclaimed. He stood instantly and pulled her into a tight hug. "I thought you were-- the visions they showed me... I thought you were dead."
"Oh, no." She chuckled, returning his embrace. "No, I survived. But how did you?"
There was something in her voice that caught him off guard. The question was expected, but there was no concern in her voice. Instead, it was replaced with curiosity.
"It's a bit of a long story. Please." He offered her a seat nearby with a gesture.
She obliged, and he took his own seat at the workbench, turning it
"I don't know how long they kept me there..."
"Three weeks." She offered.
"Right." He replied. "But toward the end, they sent the same courtier over and over to try to convert me... It was.. awful. He got inside of my mind... made me see things."
He realized that his fists were clenched at his knees and took a moment to breathe.
"Then one night, I suppose they'd had enough. Thought they were going to kill me, but that courtier-- took a blade, poisoned it-- slashed an X over my heart. Told me to run. I didn't have time to think. There was an exit so close. I dodged under the brambles and ran for my life."
She nodded, her brow furrowed in thought.
"So he let you go?"
"I'm not sure." Denzel replied. "Maybe he just wanted the poison to take me faster. Maybe he thought I wouldn't last long enough to make it anywhere. I couldn't tell you, to be honest, and I don't know if I want to know. I don't want to understand the workings of a twisted mind."
It was then that he noticed that her jaw was held stiff, her teeth grinding.
"Vivienne?" he asked.
She stood up, brushed her skirt off with her hands, but did not look at him. Instead, she walked slowly toward his bookshelf, running her fingers along the spines.
"I guess, I just thought... After everything we went through. We weren't so different. I can't believe he would just let you escape. What a coward..."
This time, it was Denzel's turn for confusion.
"What are you talking about?"
"He's a coward." She repeated, turning to him. "Naeem. He let you go. He couldn't kill you. Couldn't turn you. So, he released you. Pathetic. After all of his talk, I trusted him to make you see the truth as he showed me."
She stopped at a large urn of oil that he kept and lifted it, taking off the lid and tipping it gently. The black liquid spilled onto the ground around her.
He stood. "What are you doing? Vivienne, put that down!"
"We always knew, didn't we? That the Pale Tree was a liar. It's why we came here. Struggling each day to cut off the feelings, the empathy that ties us to the others. Struggling to carve out the Dream that had been planted in our minds. It was the right path, Denzel, we were so close to knowing."
A thick line of oil now crossed the doorway and to the other side of the room.
"We Sylvari are so new... We haven't had time to decide for ourselves-- as a race-- what is best for us! The others just follow the words of a long-dead human and centaur blindly. They don't think for themselves. They need to be freed. You need to be freed too."
Denzel swallowed, his heart beating rapidly as he took in her words, eyes following the trail of oil across the room. He fought for words, but only managed to stammer her name again.
"Now." She said, finally, tossing the remaining oil out of the urn and onto the stacked journals and schematics. She outstretched an arm and sparked a flame in her hand.
"Escape again."
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