In your dreams you see a scene play out before you.  Somehow, you are watching yourself.  Yet… it doesn’t quite look like you.  You’re older, and clad in simple leathers.  Your holy symbol is nowhere to be seen.  But you know, somehow, that this figure is you.  As the scene unfolds, you are both watching yourself, and inside yourself.

You are sitting alone in a park, late at night.  You feel a biting cold upon you.  You feel your scarred face.  The punishment you still carry on for your lack of faith.  From your failures in your training.  You think to yourself:  they were right all along.  You’re nervous, fumbling with a scroll case that sits awkwardly in your lap.  Then - an aura of warmth.  Before you stands a woman with long, red hair and a phoenix emblazoned on her forehead.

She takes a seat next to you on the bench, without a word.  You see her warmth, her life, her youth.  You wonder - can she really give you what you need?  You unsling the scroll case and hand it to her.  You ask, “What will you do with this?”

She smiles at you.  A smile that is both earnest and mocking.  “Oh Oliver, you’ll see someday.  Long after you return.”  She pauses, reacting to your sullen face.  “Always so dour Olly.  You can lighten up for once.  We’re friends now.  Besides… your soul isn’t going anywhere.  Father can’t punish you.  And Mother, well, you know she’d welcome you.  I wonder if you’ll choose her from the start next time.”

She stands up, and walks off with the case.  Your vision begins to fade as you see her turn back towards you.  She says, “I’ll see you in a few weeks.  You know where to go for the ritual."

Another dream.  The same as the last - you watch yourself, both inside and out. Yet this time.  You recognize yourself.  This is you, as a child growing up in Silverstone.  Is this a dream?  Or is it a memory?

You see your mother, Anne Maycomb, standing over her husband’s grave.  A baker named Robert.  He would have been your father, but he died before your mother adopted you.  She lays a bouquet of yellow, orange, and red flowers on his grave.  She weeps openly. 

You remember seeing this as a child - sensing her pain.  You always were a sensitive soul.  But it means more now.  You can feel her loss.  Her desperation to be with him.  You’ve never known love, and wonder what it would be like to miss someone that much.  What would a man do for more time, when it runs out?

You see yourself moving toward your mother, putting your arms around her in a hug.  A simple gesture of comfort.  She wipes the tears away and smiles.  The smile is a lie.  She’s in pain.  But there is hope beneath it.  A dream.  Why is this memory so clear now?

Your child self notices that the grave has a symbol on it - a bird with outstretched wings, shedding leafs and wreathed in flames.  “Mama, what is that for?”

“Oh, Robert always loved birds.  Isn’t it lovely?”  Another lie.  But your younger self is placated.  You run off to play alone, as you so often did in those days.  The vision fades.

Another night.  Another dream.  This time, you look like yourself.  You know exactly when it was: Winter, a little over two years ago.

Your mother lies trembling on her deathbed.  She’s fading in and out of consciousness, coughing and sputtering.  You remember this day.  She said a lot of things that didn’t make sense.  But she wasn’t the first person you sat with near the end.  Dolan insisted that you come with him, if you were to be a priest.  That you’d need to face that fear head on.  That training did little for you on this day.  You were terrified and overwhelmed with grief.

You hear her say, “Oh, Robert.  I’m coming to you.  Mother will take me.  I did as the red woman asked.”  You watch yourself place a wet cloth on her forehead.  She looks up at you, “You grew up safe and strong.  *cough* I did my part, raising you.  She’ll keep her promise...”

Your mother drifts to sleep.  She’ll still have a few more hours, and Caspian will be there when she goes.  Your mind tumbles over those words again and again.  The words that seemed like nonsense all those years ago. 

Another dream - and you’re the older man again.  Yet now in shining blue armor, bearing a symbol of Nereus.  As is the way with dreams, time is fuzzy.  But you’re certain this moment comes before your first vision of the old man in simpler clothes.  You’re not sure how you know that.  You just do.  

You are sitting in a small chapel, surrounded by candles.  Your head is cradled in your hands.  You’re not crying - you can’t.  But you feel so much shame.  The red haired woman from the first vision is there again.  Her voice is compassionate:  “Oliver, talk to me.  You know we’ve bickered all these years.  But I’ve never seen you like this.  Why are you here?”

You look up at her, “I’m dying, Arianna.  It can’t be healed.  And I’m not ready to go.  The Frostfather won’t take me yet. My faith is too weak.  I haven’t done enough.”

Her compassionate smile cracks, for just a moment. A glimmer of excitement in her eyes.  It’s just a flash, and your older self can’t see it.  But as you watch, you notice her joy in your moment of breaking.  She sits down next to you and puts her hand on your shoulder.  “Oliver Wintersong.  Death need not be the end.  I can help you.  But I’ll need you to bring me something first…”

The vision fades, and you awaken with a feeling of dread.

Another vision.  This one is different.  You don’t see yourself, just an image of a humanoid.  An antlered woman - of sorts - wreathed in flames stands before you.  She isn’t a human, nor a Satyr.  Her body is covered in twisted roots.  This is what you saw in Silverstone, standing over the charred ruins of your home.

Her lips begin to move, and in a familiar voice you hear:  “Oliver.  It’s time to wake up.  You need to stop pretending.  You’ve already betrayed your god.  He’ll never take you.  Come and join the Eternal Mother.  It’s past time.”

You ask simply, "Who are you?"

Without hesitation or explanation, she simply says "Absolution" and the vision fades.