"I am ... imagining, High Priest." Nathanial was. He was imagining, his gaze trained on Solomon. Against his will, his mind was turning over what had happened, everything that was happening. Solomon had asked from where the light in his soul had come, and then barely ten minutes later spoke of the lifestream. As if Siren had seen it.
As if Solomon, himself, was seeing it. Right now. The stream of existence into which souls went.
With a brief hesitation, Nathanial took a moment to close Siren's eyes before rising and moving toward Solomon. He knelt by the sorcerer's side just as Solomon was taken by another seizure, and automatically reached forward to catch the man's head before it hit the floor. It was hard to tell if his hair was matted because of sweat or blood; at the least, he may well have a concussion on top of the withdrawal.
"Solomon," he said patiently, evenly, once the attack was over. Panting, still clutching his now-bloodied bear to his chest, Solomon opened his eyes, looking deliriously up at Nathanial. "What are you seeing, Solomon?"
For some moments Solomon didn't answer; he only stared, shaking, breathing hard and fast, raspy. His eyes closed and his back arched again, but now, to Nathanial's surprise, he spoke through the pain strangling his words. "T- Temple."
Nathanial's brow furrowed. "Yes. And?"
Another pause for Solomon to gather his thoughts, or simply lose them enough to speak. Nathanial wasn't sure. "Hurts."
"You're enduring withdrawal, Solomon," Nathanial informed him evenly, as if he didn't already know. "This is a stage none of the others who tried ever reached. Why have you? What are you seeing?"
For a moment it seemed as if Solomon was going to answer, but whatever memories he saw next surged in him and he cried out instead. It took some minutes and eleven more attacks, one after another, before he sagged back against the floor with a whimpering sob. Nathanial's hands and wrists were beginning to ache. He didn't let it show. He wasn't sure why, but it was imperative--vital--that they know what was happening.
"Solomon. What happened? What have you seen?"
Breathing. Ragged breathing from a man sprawled limply on the floor, exhaustion and pain radiating from every pore. His voice was cracked, nearly gone. "Lifestream."
Second time he'd said that. A third would confirm it. "You're seeing the lifestream?"
Solomon opened his eyes and looked up into Nathanial's face, and the look in those eyes made the Necromancer's skin crawl. Utter exhaustion. Resignation. And no fear. No fear at all. Just ... acceptance. Solomon looked into him, and breathed, and the chills turned into a prickling wash of adrenaline as Nathanial abruptly wondered just what Solomon was seeing in him.
A breath. "Memories."
"You're delirious."
Solomon's eyes closed and, incredibly, a smile flickered over his lips. "I know."
He remained like that for a long time, the silence only broken by his inability to control his body, by the hoarse groans of pain which were all he could manage now. Nathanial sat quietly, the ex-Necromancer's head not quite on his lap, but in his hands, waiting patiently for more to come. Either Solomon was just too weary not to talk, or he wanted to. Nathanial wasn't sure why that would be, but he wasn't going to question it. They needed to find out what was going on.
"Going back in time," Solomon whispered, his eyelids blinking open to half-mast and sliding shut just as quickly. Nathanial's brow furrowed.
"How so?"
But Solomon didn't answer, except with a stifled moan, his head lolling in Nathanial's palms as he was gripped again by the force of his magic abandoning him.
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As if Solomon, himself, was seeing it. Right now. The stream of existence into which souls went.
With a brief hesitation, Nathanial took a moment to close Siren's eyes before rising and moving toward Solomon. He knelt by the sorcerer's side just as Solomon was taken by another seizure, and automatically reached forward to catch the man's head before it hit the floor. It was hard to tell if his hair was matted because of sweat or blood; at the least, he may well have a concussion on top of the withdrawal.
"Solomon," he said patiently, evenly, once the attack was over. Panting, still clutching his now-bloodied bear to his chest, Solomon opened his eyes, looking deliriously up at Nathanial. "What are you seeing, Solomon?"
For some moments Solomon didn't answer; he only stared, shaking, breathing hard and fast, raspy. His eyes closed and his back arched again, but now, to Nathanial's surprise, he spoke through the pain strangling his words. "T- Temple."
Nathanial's brow furrowed. "Yes. And?"
Another pause for Solomon to gather his thoughts, or simply lose them enough to speak. Nathanial wasn't sure. "Hurts."
"You're enduring withdrawal, Solomon," Nathanial informed him evenly, as if he didn't already know. "This is a stage none of the others who tried ever reached. Why have you? What are you seeing?"
For a moment it seemed as if Solomon was going to answer, but whatever memories he saw next surged in him and he cried out instead. It took some minutes and eleven more attacks, one after another, before he sagged back against the floor with a whimpering sob. Nathanial's hands and wrists were beginning to ache. He didn't let it show. He wasn't sure why, but it was imperative--vital--that they know what was happening.
"Solomon. What happened? What have you seen?"
Breathing. Ragged breathing from a man sprawled limply on the floor, exhaustion and pain radiating from every pore. His voice was cracked, nearly gone. "Lifestream."
Second time he'd said that. A third would confirm it. "You're seeing the lifestream?"
Solomon opened his eyes and looked up into Nathanial's face, and the look in those eyes made the Necromancer's skin crawl. Utter exhaustion. Resignation. And no fear. No fear at all. Just ... acceptance. Solomon looked into him, and breathed, and the chills turned into a prickling wash of adrenaline as Nathanial abruptly wondered just what Solomon was seeing in him.
A breath. "Memories."
"You're delirious."
Solomon's eyes closed and, incredibly, a smile flickered over his lips. "I know."
He remained like that for a long time, the silence only broken by his inability to control his body, by the hoarse groans of pain which were all he could manage now. Nathanial sat quietly, the ex-Necromancer's head not quite on his lap, but in his hands, waiting patiently for more to come. Either Solomon was just too weary not to talk, or he wanted to. Nathanial wasn't sure why that would be, but he wasn't going to question it. They needed to find out what was going on.
"Going back in time," Solomon whispered, his eyelids blinking open to half-mast and sliding shut just as quickly. Nathanial's brow furrowed.
"How so?"
But Solomon didn't answer, except with a stifled moan, his head lolling in Nathanial's palms as he was gripped again by the force of his magic abandoning him.