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Meanwhile, Kael'drim was asleep in his cabin. Fatigue and the events of the day had taken their toll, and the elf had no strength left. There was nothing else to do but wait for the ship to set sail.
Tonight, he dreamed of Tasariel again. She was even more beautiful than usual. They stood on a high, sheer cliff overlooking the sea, and below, the harsh waves crashed against the rocks, rising towards the sky. Evening was falling, and the sun was setting on the horizon, while the first stars were already appearing in the sky.
"How beautiful," Kael'drim thought (or said), unable to tear his gaze away from this magnificence. "I am so happy that we are here. Together." He turned his head towards the elf and was stunned with horror: before him, smirking, stood Lutiel. A blade from the Acteon sword protruded from his eye. His malicious grin made Kael'drim freeze. Then the merchant began to laugh, silently chuckling, and with his free hand, he pulled the weapon out of the socket. "Why did you do this, Kael'drim?" the elf heard his voice. "It wasn't me!" the elf protested. "You are dead! You don't exist! Where is Tasariel?" But Lutiel paid no attention to Kael'drim's words. He drew the blade of the sword and with an interested eye looked at the thick crimson blood slowly flowing down to the handle of the weapon. "Your time has come," said the merchant.
Kael'drim woke up and involuntarily jumped out of bed, breathing heavily. "Thank the Order. Damn Sseth. What kind of devilry was that."