Chapter Text
Register -
Etymology
Noun (1)
Middle English registre, from Anglo-French, from Medieval Latin registrum, alteration of Late Latin regesta, plural, register, from Latin, neuter plural of regestus, past participle of regerere to bring back, pile up, collect, from re- + gerere to bear
It could be that she truly was going mad neath the dark waters of the world of the First, because Elodin Avagnar, a sin eater in all but form, could hear music playing faintly around her as she walked the dead streets of a sunken city that could not exist. It could not exist, because if it did, it meant that her dreams of this place were something more than dreams. And if they were something more than dreams, she wanted to know what they were but suspected she would not live long enough, be lucid enough, to figure it out.
She was glad that her companions had gone off in other directions to explore, leaving her some blessed alone time in their wake. They hadn’t let her come here alone, had all but demanded to be with her, and she knew it was out of kindness. She knew they were worried. She could see it, and she hated it. Hated that she was the source of their problems, but also that her own anger and bitterness towards how they had treated her condition in the run up to this adventure eclipsed her gratitude at their care. Did they not know she saw all their secret glances? Did they think she would not complete the task if she knew how it was affecting her? And how could they truly think her so naive to assume that she, a healer, educated by the last scholars of Nym and beyond, had no idea of what was happening inside her own body? She could have brought it up first, but the frustration of knowing that they knew and refused to so much as even speak with her about it had drawn her into a silent battle of isolation. If they would not bring it up to her, then neither would she.
The emptiness was wrong. In her dreams these streets bustled with a myriad of activities, and she could see herself, but not quite herself, as one often is in a dream, hurrying along with the others, the two companions she kept closest, rushing along at her side, always too busy in a world where they had nothing but time until they didn’t. She paused, frowning. Her heart ached inexplicably and she fisted her hand into her leather jerkin.
Steady, now.
With a breath she placed one foot forward, forcing herself back into a walk even as she turned to look up at what she knew would be a grand central building, with geometric windows that glittered with light even in the murk of the bottom of the sea. It stood overlooking the rest of the city, spires reaching upwards as though bearing one’s soul to Heaven. It should have felt imposing. It should have felt wrong. But instead, Elodin felt tears prickling the backs of her eyes and with sudden clarity, she registered the feeling that had haunted every step she had taken across those sandstone slabs.
She missed this place. She missed it so deeply in the very core of who she was that it made her stop fast where she stood and gasp, hugging in on herself as if any of it would ease the sudden pain of yearning that she did not understand.
“What… what is this…” she mumbled as she went to her knees, and the song that she had been hearing swelled around her, mournful and reaching. Her head thudded, and suddenly she was out of herself and watching through her dream self’s eyes as they argued viciously with a group of robed figures, though her words appeared to be falling on deaf ears. Her friend, hooded and proper as always, caught her arm.
You’re really going to leave?
She glared, but softened, and Elodin couldn’t make out the details of his face before a rough hand on her shoulder snapped her back.
“Are you ok?”
Thancred hunched down beside her, concern writ plain across his face. She was still on her knees, hugging her stomach as though in pain, though the truth of it was not too far off from what her form alluded. The Echo, through the eyes of one, in a city she knew from a dream. An Echo of a memory.
But you don't remember that do you?
That was what he had asked her, then caught himself and refused to elaborate. Elodin closed her eyes. Memory.
Beside her, Thancred gently squeezed her shoulder, jolting her out of her train of thought. “Yes, don’t worry,” she replied, forcing her voice to be steady, taking Thancred's offered hand. He tugged her up and slung an arm around her, and Elodin was glad yet again for his no questions asked friendship. “Let’s finish this.”