The lake is scarlet, like a pool of blood. If you aren’t close enough to see that it is really lava, the rippling, burning abyss can easily be mistaken for a collection of all the blood you’ve ever seen, or even spilled. You certainly don’t want to step into, or in any way touch, the lake’s glowing waters, as alluring as they may be. Lakes are usually associated with happy memories, laughter, frolicking.

This one is deadly, however, and even the glimmering shores, filled with crystalline rocks of sanguine hues, do not detract from the eerie feeling that makes trespassers’ flanks tremble in shiver. It is vast and red and if you stare into its depths long enough, it is said that you can see straight through your own soul. That is just a rumor, of course, yet it makes this place is no less haunting. It is completely void of life, except for you. But few traveled here even before the Heated Heart was revived by Hope. Things don't appear to be much different now.

Still, though not a living being per se, Hraunor is alive. A sort of presence can be felt from the moment you lay eyes on its beauty, and it draws you nearer and nearer, despite not knowing exactly why your hooves continue to travel forward. It’s almost as if an invisible string is attached to each of your legs, tugging you toward the scarlet body like a hooked fish. Only this time, it’s hard to struggle. To resist.

For once, the waters seem to be friendly. They are inviting you.

“Talk.”

the Rift
a dream deferred