Dream-Walker

I've been awake in the Healing Tower for days, but I still can't bring myself to speak out loud. I'm going through another bout of subjective silence. The days have been unsettling and riddled with piercing silences.

This is what it means to become a void of compounding hunger.

I don't want to be fed and I refuse to forgive myself. I leave myself in this terrible state, knowing that it's exactly what I deserve. Other than Totoya barging in at random times of the day, forceful as a storm when she has to feed me handfuls of berries or nuts, I decline everything else. Her duality is something that I've learnt to just accept, for if I allow myself to go with the tide, it will be far easier than struggling against the ocean of her temper.

The truth is, I've needed more time to process everything that happened during the Hall of Reflections. That catastrophic day still flashes behind my eyelids every time I go to sleep. It's a recurring nightmare. I have to learn to live with it, I know I do, but the memory instigates full-blown panic attacks every time I think of it. Flashing figures of red and green collide together in my dreams, clawing and ripping at one another, but in the end, there is no victor.

In the end, I am still weak. It is still my fault that my Thrinskar almost died, and in those moments of channeling spiritual energy, it felt like eternity was a hard-pressed capsule in my hands. It was a long, long time of waiting, of feeling like death was encroaching upon my only ally. And the feeling that I'd almost done something irreversible? I can't believe the chokehold it has on me. I am a fraud, I know that now. I haven't done anything worthwhile to achieve my skills.

I nearly lost my divine companion because of my bruised ego. Our bond was on the threshold of being severed, that's precisely what Agmito had explained when he came to visit me. I was unconscious when he finally returned from his pilgrimage.

The Healing Tower is a triangular complex of blonde rock and sand. I remember finding myself covered in bandages, but despite the hysteria of waking up in another unfamiliar place, my own bodily pain wasn't even my first thought.

"Where is my Thrinskar?" I'd asked Agmito, completely disregarding the priests who were trying to hold me back. I can't believe I nearly lost Advisca because of my stupidity.

He's currently in a separate wing of the Healing Tower, recuperating from his injuries. His sorrow over being separated has turned into a throbbing sensation in our bond. I'd rather feel that than nothing at all. It still brings tears to my eyes whenever I think about it. How... How could I have been so stupid, so blind to everything? I cast my eyes to the ceiling and lay my head back on the pillow, my mind overtaken by self-pity as I lie in the infirmary bed, as lifeless as the day I was first brought to the temple.

Recovery seems to be all I do these days. My lungs have only ever seen war ever since the moment I started mastering magic. My ribcage is in questionable condition but according to the priests, they are on the mend. It's been another whole month since I've been here; most of my time is spent unconscious now, sleeping fitfully and then waking up in bouts of sweat. Every time I gain a moment of clarity, I've called out for Advisca, only to realize that he cannot come to me.

We are both too injured to get up and walk around. My hands still wear the mark of tightly wound fabric and there are splinters to keep my fingers straight. Totoya even cast a configuration to heal them quicker and they should be close to absolute restoration by tomorrow. I can feel their readiness. I flex them, staring at minor burn scars along my hands... they are physical reminders of my pride.

My failure is painted into my skin. With these marks, I will forever look upon them, and my memory of how I almost killed my divine companion will be brought up. I cringe and nearly vomit at the thought.

'Master, are you okay?' His voice is faint because of the distance between us.

I'm quick to soothe him. 'Go back to sleep. I'm fine. You shouldn't be awake.'

Humans. The gods were right to punish us. I guess I am a wicked soul. Every part of me is tainted. Why is every part of me so inherently drawn to bad decisions, I wonder to myself. I turn over on the bed and breathe deep.

A knocking on the door pulls me out of my stupor. My eyes spin toward the tall, greyish clad form standing in the doorway. The friendly face hanging back is none other than Agmito. He's a burst of sunshine in my otherwise clouded sky.

"You're looking positively better already, child." Agmito casually takes a stroll about the room, adjusting the drapes of the window as he goes by, "Tell me, do you much prefer Belsifear over being called a 'child'? I can start calling you Belsifear right away."

I've yet to join any areas of conversation lately. I'm still in no mood to pretend that I'm a decent person. I sit up and fluff the pillows at my back, staring at the High Priest, his unannounced presence a mystery to me. Has he talked to his cousin, Totoya and learned that I'm her failure of a disciple?

My harsh sigh cleaves the air and draws his eyes toward me. He drops into a visitor's seat by the window, facing me with his usual, pleasant expression. It looks like he's simply waiting for me to initiate the conversation first... I don't want to disappoint him, but he knows that I haven't been talking for a month, doesn't he?

'Master, are you with someone?' The sleepy tone of my Thrinskar tickles the back of my head.

I scratch my head, unfocused for a microsecond, responding out loud accidentally, "Go to sleep, you beast."

"It must be tough. Adjusting to your new life in our world."

I flinch. Damn. I've spoken out loud. When I realize that I've broken my short-lived vow to keep quiet again, I tap my mouth, chastising my weak-willed nature and inability to focus on multiple things. Maybe I'm too sleep deprived and that's why I gave in...

For whatever reason, I grip the bedsheets and look up at Agmito with grim eyes, my heart on my sleeve as I rasp, "I messed up. I hurt my divine companion. I feel like there is no greater sin I've committed, Agmito. I knew when I first met him that I would never deserve him and... I don't. I nearly killed him because of my selfish desire to master the Second Level Rapture Position."

"Totoya has explained that she has been tutoring you recently. I understand that Palloxe Vienarti's methods have encouraged fast results for the previous Sages who cultivated, but the toll is undeniably a heavy one to pay. Speaking in the Forgotten Tongue is akin to encouraging a death sentence and yet you walk the line each time you cast configurations. If it's penance you seek, than look no further. Your body has already paid for your dereliction in regards to your divine companion's life. You felt each crack in your body, the shattering in your chest and your hands. You mustn't be too hard on yourself, but at the same time, you must take the lessons that come with each failure. Forgive yourself, child."

"Belsifear. That's my name, Agmito. I'm sorry, but it just means something to me now."

"Don't apologize. I will take that into account. I'm sorry for not calling you by your name sooner."

A servant from the cooking hut comes in and places a wooden board of food on my bedside table. This is all for show; the devotees know that I haven't been eating, or at least not in front of them. I hate being wasteful, so when the worshippers of the temple go to sleep, I hobble all the way down to the pig pen and toss my scraps into their trough.

I can't help the superficial smile that pulls across my face as I stare at the plate beside me. It wobbles and I try my best to keep it, not wanting to insult the High Priest in front of me. The cooks at the temple have gone out of their way to put radishes and different kinds of herbs in my soup, but my stomach keeps on churning. What in Demalrak's name is wrong with me? All I know is that the sight of another pair of ribs is off-putting, especially with clouds of steam still wafting off their bones. Freshly made.

Horror rips through me anew. I shake in my bed, unable to keep myself from crying this time. No, no, no. My hands slap at my mouth, catching the ugly sounds that slip through.

Advisca's body in the Hall of Reflections had been damaged because of that infernal beast conjured by my reflection. If only I had been stronger, more determined and less provoked by my pride. I won't risk my divine companion like that again, not for anything.

The High Priest offers some final words before standing, "I'll let you rest, Belsifear. I will also inform the cooks to bring you something without ribs; maybe some breads and fruit, perhaps... It might hasten the recovery of your Thrinskar, you know. You are bonded by the soul, and your lives are linked in some capacity. Take care of yourself and he will be in great health."

Agmito leaves without further comment, the door closing behind him softly. As soon as I hear the tell-tale snick of wood indicating his exit, I flop onto my side and hug my stomach. My tears instantly wet the pillow under my head as I bury my face into it, sniffling like a baby.

My food stays forgotten on the table. For the rest of the day and night, I hang onto this feeling of emptiness, torturing myself until I feel the treacherous hands of the Vile emerge from a place deep within my gut. I shut my eyes and tell myself that I have to fight it - if not for me, then for Advisca.

I fall asleep with a plea on my lips. A plea for Advisca's forgiveness.

My mind is plunged into a strange place as soon as I drift off. It feels different to all of my other dreams... There's wind and water in this mirage of fantasy; the moon hangs brightly over a giant plateau, and standing on an open dais seem to be a congregation of Sages. A ritual, perhaps? Red robes, green robes and blue robes. Three groups clamoring in contestation in the middle of nowhere. The leaders of each robed group stand behind individualized lecterns, directing underhanded words at each other.

Why am I seeing this? I somehow move my ghostly form over the damp, wet earth, tip-toeing behind scraggly trees as I try not to be seen. It definitely feels forbidden to join whatever this summit is, but I'm here anyway. I creep closer until I'm at the back of the group of red-robed Sages, listening to the hubbub.

"This is ridiculous. The Retriever you sent for the Dowager of Calamity has gone missing, as have all the other agents. I think it's better to recall your plan and just admit that you've failed, Bevolin." The tall, riveting male standing behind the green lectern puffs his chest and sneers at the two other groups.

In response, the leader of the red group rolls his eyes and snaps back, his tone full of undisguised hate for the speaker, "What a short memory you seem to have! Everyone can testify that the plan of assault may have come from me, that is indisputable... however, the party of Retrievers consisted of Sages from the clan of Windhollow and Echomere, thus the failure isn't mine. It was not my agents that messed up in capturing the Dowager, Albaghor. You must take responsibility!"

I stay quiet and studious, unused to the chaotic jabbering of such quarrelsome characters. They all try to speak and outdo one another at the same time, a portion of them even threatening to kill and maim. Tensions are high but I can sense that there's a magical restriction cast on the dais. Is it for intruders or for the ones attending the summit?

As everyone continues to argue their points across, I carry on, unseen and unheard, a phantasmic presence until I reach the back of the blue-robed Sages... Their behavior is slightly less antagonistic and more observant at this proceeding, their voices snarky when they eventually do make calculated responses.

Their leader, Perdita, is a blonde haired woman with sharp eyes and a narrow mouth. She looks outright bored and disinterested in this whole affair, although whenever she is spoken to, everything about her hardens in a microsecond. Jagged words come flying out of those displeased lips and nobody expects the rejoinders that she drops to shred in the catastrophic manner in which they do, and it's part of her allure. It's horrific and fascinating at the same time.

The first time I hear her speak is so... startling, and I can't help making a noise of mirth. That's when something weird happens. Someone hears me.

I don't know how, but I swear they do. They just can. A slip of deep, royal blue fabric covering an exquisitely bulky form reacts to my voice. The robe turns around on the spot and I freeze, meeting a pair of mismatched eyes, the left one blue and the right one brown.

This can't be happening. This is a dream. I'm not really here and he's not a real person, right? Just as I think I might be in trouble, he squints, as though something might be wrong with his eyes, and then he sighs, looking down at the ground.

The person beside him turns and whispers into his ear. I hear them say, "What's wrong? Migraines?"

My heart stops for a second when the male with odd eyes grits his teeth, and before turning back around, responds in an eerily dark voice, "I thought I heard something. I don't know about you, but I feel something here... something that's not supposed to be."

"Algernon, you're acting crazy again. We're at one of the Sacred Nine. Sages don't have access to this place unless they're one of us."

The odd-eyed male, Algernon, scoffs. "The Sacred Nine. Don't you know that magic loves loopholes? This place is probably full of them. Dream-Walkers are the filthiest type of Sage, Shumak. They're always hopping into places where they don't belong and travelling in their dreams, spreading like a scourge. I bet the Dowager of Calamity probably sent one of her minions to spy on us."

"Paranoid as always, but do go on."

I think that I've heard enough. I want to go back to the Healing Tower, but I don't know how. I shake myself and pinch my arms, nervousness setting in like a chill the longer I remain in the plateau.

"I want to go back." I whisper.

Algernon whips around. "There it is again! The voice!"

Shumak, a striking, young man of similar build, has to restrain his friend when he begins to separate from the flock of blue-robed Sages. They all stare and badger him relentlessly over his actions, but the only thing he can say is, "There's a Dream-Walker in our Sacred Nine!"

The air turns foul with hostility. I can't speak all of a sudden; all the groups begin to make a large, interconnected circle with one another, and then they face inward, their hands moving quickly to recreate a Rapture Position that I haven't yet learnt. It must be the Third Level Rapture Position. Something tells me that this foreign configuration is going to be extremely harmful to me.

'Advisca? Advisca!' I use my inner voice to reach out to my Thrinskar.

A tug on my soul bond brings me to my knees. 'Master! You've been nearly unreachable for hours! Is something wrong?'

'I don't know where I am! I think I'm in a dream except it feels awfully real, though. Someone said that I might be a Dream-Walker, too! Never mind that. I don't know how to get back!'

Finally, the seed of comprehension blooms along the shining, metaphysical thread that connects our souls. He answers, 'I have heard of Dream-Walkers, Master Belsifear, however, this discussion might have to wait until you've returned to Rushing Water Temple. For now, don't let yourself be discovered in the dream state! You are extremely vulnerable as you are!'

'I'm afraid it's too late for that. Somehow I ended up at this place called the Sacred Nine. I didn't mean to observe the weird, creepy gathering of Sages that took place, but now it seems like they're going to kill me because of it.'

Our connection is severed abruptly. It doesn't feel permanent; his presence is more or less dulled, as if the hands of time or distance have buried it somehow.

The situation is grave, but my curiosity is irrepressible. I watch the Sages chant in Dedjurian as they fumble through the Third Level Rapture Position. If it weren't for some of them exploding on the spot, this configuration might even be successful. This whole incident seems to be a first for them - perhaps they're not experienced enough to cast with the Third Level Rapture Position?

I have to muffle my snort in case that angry Sage, Algernon, finds something else to grumble about.

All three leaders of the groups are pressured by the increasing gaps in the circle, their weakening chain of magic forcing them to work twice as hard. Totoya's words of wisdom keep ringing in my head. These Sages aren't as well versed in magic as they thought they were.

A gasp slips out as they continue to die. Green, red, blue. Bodies explode needlessly, robes fluttering to the ground in pools of muck and blood. The Sages left standing in the circle just accept the fates of their comrades. It must be a common practice, then. If one doesn't train enough, or cast well during configurations, then death is viewed as imminent and therefore deserved?

What kind of ideology is this?!

The one called Algernon is busy chanting relentlessly, a cut-throat expression on his face as he holds strong in the circle. I have no clue how old he is, and yet there's a quantifiable youth to him that's definite and vigorous. It even gives him an edge. Something about Algernon makes it seem like there's a world of aggression trapped within those robed shoulders, and those mismatched eyes are chilling. He doesn't appear to be that much older than me... a few years at most, and yet my underdeveloped instincts for self-preservation are screaming that he is most definitely a threat to my way of life.

The side of blue robes is surprisingly the least damaged, which tells me that their third of Sages are somewhat better at casting than the green and red-robed sacrifices.

Perdita, Bevolin, Albaghor. Shumak and Algernon. I memorize these names for when I return to the real world. The world outside of this dream.

"San-kador Ranthranu, Heliphast!"

The earth cracks around me in a perfect circle, highlighting the place where I'm standing, and I can't escape it or touch the magic boundary with my body. Dedjurian symbols, I think. The ones that I've seen at the Rushing Water Temple, inscribed at the bottom of each Demalrak bust presented in the Chambers of Worship.

Panic starts to choke me as every single head turns in my direction. I have no idea if they can see me fully, but some of them begin to chant faster. The prospect of being able to bring drag me from the dream state into their reality is what spurs them on, hastening their recitation the way a dog salivates over a bone.

Bevolin's haughty nose turns up and he peers over at me. I don't think he can see me, but I can tell he wants to; there's disgust mixed with intrigue warring on his face. Then that spitball of white hair says with an air of impudence, "This will indeed be a first for us. We've never been able to catch an agent of the Dowager. This must be their first time dream-walking."

Just as I think that I'm about to get razed to the ground or worse, have these Sages bring me into their world and make me join their democracy, I hear the voice of my master in my mind, "The recitation that they're using will eventually materialize you in the physical form. You can combat their magic and reject their configuration by casting in return."

I waste no time. The Third Level Rapture Position is beyond me to attempt and if the other Sages died during their attempts, then I cannot even fathom doing this without the supervision of my master. The Second Level Rapture Position will have to do.

"Aksanna-mera, Fellion."

Gods be damned, if it weren't for that snake, Algernon. His blue and brown eyes are no longer focused on the middle of the dais; they swiftly dart to the red circle surrounding me. He can tell that I'm casting.

I start reciting faster, pushing spiritual energy and intention into my magic to deflect against the group of Sages that are trying to bring me toward them. While everyone else is working up a sweat, that boy with odd eyes juts his chin at Perdita, and she nonchalantly gives him a shrug, a permissive one if anything.

Breaking away from the circle, he comes over to my outlined area and performs another configuration, something entirely different to what everyone else is doing.

In a voice that promises violence, he says, "I don't know who you are, but you're not going to get away from us. Both you and the Dowager are going to pay for your crimes."