Soren woke up suddenly when he felt the cold wind of Dreadmoor on his skin. It felt much more familiar to him than the strange warmth he had felt in the Veridian Royal Palace recently. He shouldn't have been there, but the strong, heavy scent of iron was unmistakably reminiscent of his homeland. It crept in, whispering Dreadmoor's name into his veins.
The windows were slightly closed, letting in sunlight, and he could hear the crunching of the snow that was still falling. He was actually still at Veridian.
When he first opened his eyes, he felt like he'd swallowed something heavy, metallic and solid. The air didn't go into his lungs like it should have, but instead just sat there, like a heavy weight on his chest.
As he leaned over to cough, it wasn't blood or mucus that stained the pure white silk of the King's bed. Instead, there was just a little bit of silver ash coming out of his mouth, as he slowly lost his strength.
