By Philip-Gianni Gaspari
Whispers clouded his mind as the darkness thickened. A few phrases here, a chime there, a thousand sounds rushed him yet all of them were incomprehensible. That was about the time Bane’s eyes began to focus.
His vision was neither clear nor blurry. He lay on the ground, the twilight of the sky twirling quickly as it stared down on him. The young elven boy now stood in this small grove, confused. Capturing the strange surroundings, he could not recall getting here, and he was not of a mind on figuring out either.
There was no breeze, yet the grass and trees swayed in a beautiful synchronicity. An eerie quiet moved through the woods. That should have worried the boy. Rather than worry, he began to move towards a small pond that settled just barely a few feet away. He moved curiously, noticing the water for the first time.
Bane saw himself in the water’s reflection; a young elven boy with perfect skin, no more than eleven years old. His black hair was long, falling down over his shoulders. Jade green eyes pierced and stared back at himself. The reflection glanced, turning its head to Bane’s left, pulling his attention away. Across the grove he spotted the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes on.
The sword with a black blade had been shoved tip-first deep into the swaying grass. It was double edged, with a smooth finish. The ornate golden hilt twinkled at Bane like a lover’s eyes, even from a distance.
The boy ran forward towards the sword, not making a sound as he moved across the grove. Closing in on the beautiful blade, Bane tripped, yet his gaze never broke from the sword’s beauty. He crashed to the ground with a soundless thud.
Go on little brother, the sword is yours now said a cheerful yet eloquent voice.
Wholesome laughter followed.
The boy looked away from the sword. A figure stood close enough for Bane to see him in every detail. His brother was clad in the signature Knight of Silver plate-armor. It glistened in the twilight, just like the man’s smile. Nostalgia crushed Bane’s heart as he saw his brother’s jovial face: the dark green eyes, romanesque nose, the sharp jawline, and thin crescent moon tattoos just around his cheekbones. Galanodel was every bit the Knight the boy remembered.
Bane’s eldest brother strode forth like a hero from a fable, offering his gauntleted hand. He spoke his final words to the boy,
You’ve always known what to do, little brother.
The Knight and his voice slowly vanished from sight. Bane reached for his brother’s hand, tears washing down his face as he called out for Galanodel. A flash erupted just then, changing the scene around him.
His brother’s broken body lay before him in the rough red dirt. Bloody, his trampled armor was pierced by what seemed to be thousands of arrows and spears. Crude wounds eviscerated the once proud and dignified Knight’s body.
Galanodel’s lifeless eyes stared at Bane amidst the scene of carnage. Flames, fights, and flags flew. The song of steel, the cries of men, the howls of monsters filled his mind; the battle that took his friends and family raged all around the boy.
Tears continued to fall, and time seemed to slow. Something eventually pulled him away from his brother’s corpse – a lul from some unseen force. His tears dried as his vision fell back on the black blade, still in the ground. Its hilt still twinkling for what felt like just for Bane. It was not far from him now, just a few feet away.
The monsters began to circle around him when he looked back at his brother’s corpse, the last image he would have of his kin. Bane’s young legs broke into a sprint. The beasts howled and cackled as they closed-in around the boy. For a moment it seemed that he would not reach the sword.
Bane tripped once more. Sticking his arm out, he made a desperate attempt to grasp the blade, clasping around it’s double-edge. Closing his eyes, he whimpered as the blood washed down his hands. Fear gripped him tight, as he did the blade.
You’ve always known what to do, little brother.
The phrase was different. There seemed to be a hint of amusement in the deep baritone voice.
The boy opened his eyes, then his palms. His hands were thick with blood.
The voice came back, this time in a great bellow of laughter. Bane looked around, only finding darkness, and the beautiful black blade before him.
With his bloodied hands and all his strength, he stood. Reaching with his bloody grasp, Bane drew the sword out from the ground. Crying out, the young elven boy charged recklessly towards the darkness. His wail, a mix of terror and determination, echoed across the void, then back towards himself. The laughter continued. Something gave way below him, and Bane began to fall. His heart beat faster, panic being sucked into his body with every passing second.
There was a light from where he fell, and it seemed that it was growing fainter with each passing moment. His bloody grip never letting go of the beautiful black blade. Within the light, the boy knew they were watching him; whoever or whatever they were. The laughter continued, now grumbling throughout the darkness. Bane continued to fall, and fall… and fall, until the light was no more…
Lord Bane woke with a start. His breathing came fast, as if he were a panting dog. Sweat trickled down his body as he sat upright from his bed. His eyes began to water as all the feelings from the dream collided within him. A shudder arose through him, if only for a moment. He touched the scar on his face, giving himself a strange sense of being and stillness. Composure set in, his breathing began regulating once Mechthilde sat up. Her eyes were nearly closed, and she groaned in her sassy way.
“Are you alright, love?” she spoke sweetly, quietly.
Lord Bane swallowed, nodding stiffly. Another deep breath, they both lay back down in unison. He faced away from her, so she caressed him from behind. It was barely a moment before he felt her fall back asleep.
His eyes remained wide open. The only things that appeared in his mind’s eye were his brother’s face, and the beautiful black blade.
End
The Gianni Catalogue 
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