The small stone fit snugly in the palm of his hand. It was also disturbingly warm, as if it had been laying out in the sun for hours. The world turned to complete darkness the moment the priest had placed the stone in his hand, the illusionary city collapsing in an instant around them.
No other words were spoken. None needed to be.
Kre couldn’t feel the priest in front of him anymore, and he certainly couldn’t see anything either. Normally, that would have incited instant panic in him, but he didn’t seem to be concerned about it for some reason.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t aware of his situation. He most certainly was. It was just that it didn’t seem to matter in the grand scheme of things going on in his mind.
The small stone in his hand seemed to bear the focus of his consciousness. He couldn’t tell whether he was actually seeing it glow just lightly enough to be visible, or whether it was his mind visualizing what he expected to see, but he could make out every aspect of the little rock in the palm of his hand.
He imagined that the pebble even had its own little heartbeat, thumping softly against his skin. He was focused so intently on trying to study the stone that he never heard the sound of horses being called to a sudden stop behind him.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, gripping him tightly and pulling him around in a half-circle. “Are you deaf boy?” the man asked in a loud, slow voice. It was clear he was making every attempt at kind consideration, rather than mockery.
Kre blinked his eyes and finally seemed to notice that he was no longer underground in darkness. Instead, he found himself on a narrow dirt path, no larger than a game trail really, surrounded by thick trees. In front of him was a motley assortment of odd-looking individuals. Four still in their saddles and one, the largest of them, was standing next to him, trying to determine if Kre was able to hear him or not.
“Yes?” he asked casually, his unusually calm demeanor not reflective of the strangeness of this situation.
“I knew it,” the man muttered, turning to his companions. “Deaf. That’s why he didn’t answer us.”
“No,” Kre interrupted. “I meant that in the sense of ‘Yes, can I help you?’ I’m not deaf.”
The man turned back towards Kre and gave him a puzzled look. “If you’re not deaf, then you must be ten kinds of idiot. Why in the hells didn’t you answer us?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Kre replied, a look of confusion washing over his face.
“He might very well be deaf after all,” called one of the riders. He was a tall fellow that sat with near perfect posture in his saddle, his face partially shaded by seemingly oversized wide-brimmed hat with a conical top. “Let us leave him and get going. The others are waiting for us, and it’s a long ride. You know how Ortho gets when he’s left waiting.”
The group seemed to share a collective combination of a groan and a laugh, as if this was a common thing they suffered. Just from the few moments of interacting with them, Kre could tell that they were a tight group of friends, much like his own back home in Mintas.