But was it a dream?

Alright so I'm going to try something a little different, and give some context from the book. 

please note this passage may or may not end up in the books, and cannot be taken as an event that is going to FOR SURE happen. 

Also I haven't been able to edit this, so please be nice. ;_;

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    The water was dark today.

    Gray stones of granite held their silence, rooted to the earth deep beneath his feet. The tales always said the earth was warm, that the heart of it lay so far from the reach of frost that it burned like a black star. Achraen was a world apart, but it was said that that world and this had the same center, entwined forever, the work of the Sochast, true source of all things.

    At least that was what they said. To Mil, the stones were cold.

    He crouched down by the murky river, watching decaying leaves and foam drift by, old remnants of the rapids far upstream. Living water indeed, he thought, reaching out a hand and dipping his fingers in. He had come all this way for nothing.

    The water was icy today. He frowned. Gritty silt stuck to his fingers when he pulled them out.There was no way of knowing how deep the water went. It was so mucky and brown it could go down forever. Maybe the heart of the world was cold and they had always been wrong. Maybe instead of blood, the world pulsed with muddy water that smelled of rot and mold.

    It would make more sense.

    Standing, he dragged his hand against his shirt to get the muck off, and turned his gaze downstream. Maybe there would be somewhere easier to cross. In a forest as thick as this, there ought to be a fallen tree eventually.

    Do you remember?

    The words came like a breath against Mil’s neck. He whirled around, reaching for his dagger.

    The forest was empty today.

    “Are you there?” He spoke aloud, the sound of his voice swallowed instantly as if the trees breathed in his words. Had it been this quiet before? Wasn’t there birdsong? Or had he imagined that? No, today the forest was silent. He remembered.

    When nothing answered him, Mil inhaled deeply, trying to calm his heart. “I haven’t forgotten,” he murmured. He would have to do it. He had come all this way, though today it looked different.

    Slowly, he turned back to the river, brown and thick like old blood. He wouldn’t need his knife. It clattered to the ground, scratching the gray granite, the reflection of the high-above canopy reflected on the blade.

    He closed his eyes.

    Do you remember?

    

    He fell. It was not until he felt the suck and pull of the river that he knew there was no turning back, no freedom from the current that brought him down, down deep, where the taste of earth filled his mouth, his throat, choking his senses. I’m coming, he thought, hoping that wherever he was going, she would hear. I’m coming. The water was crushing him, making him smaller and smaller, all of himself diminished into a single point, a single drop on a blade’s edge. A grain of sand torn from the granite boulders. A single leaf fallen from an oak, washing down the river until he broke apart, piece by piece. He had once shivered in the wind, had once been green and living, but today…

    The water turned sweet. He drank it in, and fell through the surface of the river, his face emerging from darkness to shadow, the air alive with sound.

    Mil opened his eyes.

    The forest had changed.

    Were these the roots of the earth? They reached up higher, so high that when he lifted his gaze, he could see where they intertwined with the stars. They looked like shimmering flowers, jewels dancing among the black silhouettes, blood-veins of all the trees that ever were.

    So far he had come, for this! The air was hot like fire, but cool as he breathed it in, the colors of this place strange, but true, as if the world before was only a copy, a memory.

     “Where are you?!” He called.

    This forest hummed. Was it supposed to be an answer? He couldn’t understand. “Blair!” His voice joined with the sounds, the music. “Where are you!?” Staggering forward in the water, Mil sucked in breath after breath of the air. Maybe he river had not yet fully let him go. Maybe she could not hear him. The shore was just out of reach—

    A glint of light from the corner of his eye made him turn.

    His chest clenched, the very air in his lungs hardening to stone.

    She was there. He stared so hard that it hurt to the very core of his being, somewhere deep down, where his own blood pulsed. Her face was obscured by the pale air of this place, but he knew she saw him. She knew he saw her.

    “Milleadair.”

    It was her voice. He couldn’t breathe. Throwing himself forward, he pushed his way through the water. She was so close, just on the shore, just out of reach, waiting. He had come so far!

    “Blair,” he heard himself say. He was almost there. Her name filled the air with song. The light was growing stronger. It blinded him. Had she always been so bright?

    “You have forgotten.”

    Before he could understand the words that shot through his mind, he felt earth between his fingers, and with one final lunge, he pulled himself from the water.

    His limbs, his chest, his heart turned to ice, and the world turned dark.

    

    He was choking. Mud coated his tongue, filled his throat, burning like poison. Sprawled on the cold, spongy earth, Mil held onto the stiff, sharp grass under his hands and coughed until his ribs ached, until the detestable water had left room for breathing, until the world righted itself and he could force his eyes back open.

    The water was dark.

    He did not have the strength to rise. The river flowed silently past him, rotting skeletons of leaves drifting on its surface.

    On the other side, his dagger lay on the cold granite, far out of reach.

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From Tales of the Fatherless. 

More pictures of Mil (a younger mil, but mil nonetheless) : fav.me/d6ftku3 , fav.me/d6d7oem
                        
Mil and Blair (spoiler free): fav.me/d7antiu