#Ilmarin Viamos

[vessel-of-gold]

Prompt #05: Reflection

He awoke from deep slumber. The air was dry in the forsaken mountain cave that he called home, and smelled of metal. The sound of glistening coins, scraping on one another, echoed a beautiful symphony with every movement of his heavy body. Many a sword and mastercraft pottery was amassed here, but nothing pleased him as much as the aurean shimmer of gold. It was his bed as much as it was his altar. He was absolutely, to the brink of his being, content. 

There was no memory of a time before the cave, his vault, his fortress, but he did not care about anything that happened before. Sometimes, however, he had dreams of another life. A mortal life. In those dreams he was so frail, so powerless, that he had to seek help from another. He did not like those fabrications of his sleep, but now he was awake.

Instinctively, he dug one of his great talons into the mound of riches. There was something he was looking for, he did not know what it was, but he would remember once he found it. Gemstones and jewelry were tossed aside. None of them revealed itself to be what he sook.

Suddenly, there was a voice inside of his most sacred chamber.

“Greetings to you, Ruusa Anh.”

As quick as a spooked cat he whirled his long body around to where the voice was coming from, tail raised for a strike, his mighty body erected in a threatening pose.

There was a man in dark robes and with dark, long hair sitting at the foot of an old statue. He had pointed ears and there were symbols written on to his forehead that the dragon did not recognize. The rattling of coin must have covered his approach, there was no other way he could have evaded his attention otherwise.

“Who art thou who dares enter my vault?” he roared in return. His deep voice was full of mastery, he noted complacently, as he did not remember to ever have used it. It was echoed by the dry stone and resonated so full that the cave seemed to quake - The only object that did not shake was the intruder in front of him. 

“Ilmarin is the name mortals have chosen for me. But I am no stranger to you. We have met in the tranquility of your slumber.“ If the little man was intimidated by his display, he did not show it. Even that his voice sounded puny in contrast did not seem to trouble him in the slightest. What a curious thing.

“You called for me, so I came. It is I who is here to take you with me. Look.”

From under his black gown he produced a beautiful mirror. A big crack split the reflective glass in two. The wyrm recognized it at once. And then he recognized the man, too. He had indeed seen him in his sleep. In his slumber he did befriend him, but now he was awake.

“This doth not belong in thine hands.” He growled slowly. His monstrous body leaned in, closer - until he was but a few yalms away from the black haired man, who, to his further surprise, did not flinch.

“You are right,” the intruder simply said and lifted the mirror so that it faced the wyrm who sought to assail him, “it belongs to you.These splinters of your own being shall be returned to their rightful owner. Take what is yours. I, Ilmarin, set you free from your curse.”

Ruusa Anh felt the aether woven into these words, from teeth to talon, down to his very core. Now, the syllables echoed as mightily as his own voice did just moments before. His eyes were drawn onto the broken mirror. As if it was an organic thing with a mind on it’s own, the large tear began to mend, slowly, from the bottom to the top of the precious jade frame. But what it revealed was not the mighty serpent that he was, but the face of a horned man. The man he was in his dreams.

He cried out in surprise but soon his moaning was filled with sorrow instead. Memories flooded back into his mind. Of an ancient time when he had been a revered spirit, of times of arrogance, of the curse that had imprisoned his spirit in this cave without him even noticing his own rebirth as man. Then of present times, times of comradery, of the simple joys of life, of marvel and affection for the man who still stood before him, his liberator.

Those memories were true and more real than all that he had previously accepted as his happy lot. He was bodies entwined, he was souls conjoined. He was free. 

The man clad in black smiled softly, as the vault, that had been a prison in disguise, crumbled around them and turned into a silvery mist that hung amidst a space of strange nothingness. 

__________

featuring @a-grave-for-moths ‘s lovely character