Half a journal entry written on finer paper

This day has been whiplash incarnate. Last night, I dreamt. In that dream, I visited a flooded courtyard, in the center of it was a tree of light. I touched the leaves, let my hands phase through the petals on the flowers. I looked down; and in the waters below, so very deep, I saw... something. The water rushed up to meet me and I swam until I found what glistened in the deep: A sword, but only half of one. It was magnificent, cut almost cleanly down its center. There was writing on it in Druidic, the likes of which I couldn't well make out, and it was warm-- nearly too hot to touch even under the depths. The power in the blue gem in the hilt exhaled out a spirit, almost like a jellyfish, and with the sword in hand I followed after to a grove where we discovered the second piece, cool to the touch. Joining them released power that blew me back, but when I swam close again, the sword was inscribing itself anew in Sylvan -- a Sister Sword, it said. Two opposite parts joined together to create a more powerful whole. I felt power coalescing in it, and on swinging it, an arc of light came forth from the blade.
Holding the sword, I gradually felt weaker, like it was drawing power from me directly. That kind of power-- that kind of arm-- is hardly one that makes sense to me and everything I know about magic. Whatever it was, it was old, perhaps the result of a Wish. Either the one that made an armory of dark weapons, the one raised to defend against the first, or some other wish still.
I took the sword and resolved to return to where I began, but suddenly I was walking up a staircase with it in hand, in near-perfect darkness. I trusted in the light and carried us both forward, eventually realizing the steps we walked up were those of the Eternal Church. When I came to the church door, I didn't hesitate, kicking it in and ... taking in all there was to see. It was awful, and knowing what I know now, I can't help but think the sight and scent of death wasn't just the conjuration of my own mind. I turned to vigilance, looking for signs of the Army or of Valentine, and saw nothing. But a darkness was at the rear of the church, coming in a low wave that tried to hide behind the pews. My back to the altar, assuming Lydia was the target, I swung the blade again and another arc of light pulsed out through the dark and past it, destroying the wall of the church. Nursing its wounds, the darkness escaped.
The sword, though, wanted to pursue, and so I did. We went around the side of the church, to the woods where our group had made their escape. I stalked toward the darkness, which seemed to be recuperating in relief, and managed to keep myself low and quiet. When I finally struck out with the sword, the blade caught flame-- blue and powerful. The image of a woman I've never seen before manifested in that flame, and she grabbed hold of the darkness with her bare hands, smothering it out once the blade had it pinned.
After the darkness was gone, I reached out to her-- asked her her name. She indicated it was me who gave her form and power, and that was my decision. Since she came from the fire, with a form like painted smoke, I decided to call her Kenna. When I indicated we should have returned back to the Dalvath camp, at that point, she told me I was asleep-- dreaming-- and that although it wasn't the waking world, the threat we'd dealt with had been very real. Someone had been attempting to work their way into my mind in my sleep, to dominate my thoughts and control my actions. She took my hand and painted a blue ring inside the symbol of the sun that's already there, and said it should guard against future incursion attempts. She warned me that the gift I had, running her fingers then along the blade and turning it almost... transparent. Spectral, like she is; would take time to master. That I needed to decide what emotions I wanted to use to call her forth again. I started to suggest ideas, but then realized I should think about it better.
As things started to fade and settle in those woods, I wondered to myself if we'd ever be able to reclaim Winter Bloom and what had been done to it. I wondered several other things, too, and finally Kenna asked me if I believed the gods were with us. I can't remember the exact wording, whether that they were protecting us, or that we'd been sent here by their hand... either way, I said I had to admit that there was a possibility. But that it was hard to know for certain, since there had been no sign of them.
She asked me to consider what if her being there was a sign. I laughed and told her there wasn't a way that she could be both my creation and a sign from the Gods. She begged to differ. I relented, finally, and asked her to know at least which god she was representative of.
She smiled and said, "Well, it certainly isn't the Red Dawn."
I laughed and told her I figured as much. The dream faded, though, and I awoke.
This morning... I was so confident. I awoke with purpose, with feeling as though I was on the right path, no matter how hard it might be. That any hardships we had faced and would face, that... somehow it would all prove to be worth it. That what I'm doing here is good. Right.
Just.
After facing my mother, though, now I... I don't know anymore.
She called my calling a false contract, and I've never felt more unworthy to be her heir. Is she wrong? By our people's terms... she isn't.
But that doesn't make me feel as though my cause here is any less just.


I... I don't know. And I can't afford to feel this uncertain if I'm going to survive here, but neither am I sure there will be a home for me to even go back home to anymore.

Type

Journal, Personal