“Whose name?” Kre asked, wondering how far he should prod and poke into the apparition’s obviously personal business.
The priest sighed heavily and looked up, locking his black eyes on Kre, “My son. He was… young?” His eyebrows furrowed and a look of confusion passed over his face. “Must have been young,” he muttered to himself. “Of course, he was young… but I can’t remember how many seasons he saw. You would think I would remember that, but I can’t.”
Kre didn’t know what to say. It was clear that the older man was going through some sort of emotional crisis and Kre was never very good at handling emotional issues. He was a half decent listener, or at least he could sit there and look like he was listening, which to him was just as good. Syonette was really the only one of his friends that knew how poor of a listener he really was, how truly terrible he was at handling other people’s emotions. After a moment’s consideration, he felt he should add Kitalia to that list as well. She was simply too observant and insightful not to know that kind of thing about him.
So, he waited. He tried to keep his focus on the man’s face, waiting for him to speak, but it was very difficult to do so with his shadowy outline shifting more wildly than before.
“I wish I could remember his name…” It was almost a whisper, but in the deafening silence that was the illusionary church in the middle of the remnants of a city deep underground in the darkness, it was loud enough to carry.
The world around Kre seemed to flash into blackness for a moment, as if the illusion had blinked suddenly. He closed his eyes and tried to reorient himself given the sudden lurch he felt in his gut. When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring into the black eyes of the priest.
“Catch a good nap there boy?” the priest snarled.
“No, it’s not that,” Kre stammered. “I just got dizzy all of a sudden. I think the illusion magic is faltering.”
The priest clucked his tongue and nodded. “Yes,” he muttered. “There isn’t much time left.”
He patted his chest with both hands, up and down, and then patted his hips, as if looking for something in nonexistent pockets. Finally, he looked up and smiled. He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers sharply. When nothing happened, he slowly brought his left hand up and opened it to reveal a moderately sized white stone.
“Is that…” Kre couldn’t find a way to finish the thought without sounding like a complete ass.
“His spirit is here, yes,” the older man said, confirming what Kre was wondering.
They stood there in that paused moment until it got to be a few seconds past awkward. “So, what do we do now?” Kre asked.
“We? We don’t do anything.” The priest grabbed Kre’s hand and held it tightly with his palm up between them. “You will take my son with you out of here. You will free him from this prison of darkness.”
“That stone? You want me to take the rock with me?”