I return to my cabin after the awkward dinner concludes, grateful that I can put a little space between myself and elven drama.

Sort of like my own family at Thanksgiving.

My new abode is empty and dark. I kindle one torch, and then another, to make the room tolerable. There are three beds here, slim yet sufficient spaces for three travelers. Erriam placed us together to bond before our journey.

“The first of many nights together,” he’d said. “You'd best get used to it.”

A fair point I guess. I feel nervous meeting my quest companions, and it’s best to get that over with in camp, before I have to fight rebels, ghosts, a dryad god or whatever else is out there.

I feel cold in the cabin and start a fire in the hearth. I’m often cold at night now. I swear it’s my belly. Ever since the dark magic and the black ribbons my stomach is worse at night. Like a lump of coal weighing me down.

“The darkness is the problem,” I say to myself. “Not meeting the elf or the cleric. The darkness is the worst companion of all."

“It doesn’t have to be though,” says a voice behind me, “if you’ll give it a chance.”

I freeze in front of the fire. I don't want to deal with that voice right now. Or ever again really. I’ve got enough problems without that particular distraction.

“Everyone and everyone deserves a chance, don’t you think?" the voice asks. "Even spirits.”

The demon appears, popping beside me in like she’s been there all along.

“I would’ve said ‘hi’ earlier but you were always so busy,” she makes a little pouty face with her black lips and gray cheeks. “You just didn’t have time for little old me.”

I turn away, determined not to engage in this banter.

“Oh, you’ve been told not to speak to me I bet. It’s angelbitch isn’t it? That spirit with a stick so far up her ass it's about to come out her mouth.”

I have to cough to hold back my laugh.

“Yep, it’s her alright. Angelbitch strikes again.”

It’s a trap, I’m sure. She wants me to engage – “what do you mean ‘again’? How long have you known Angel? How long have you two even been alive?” – but I don’t fall for it.

I continue to ignore the demon and act like I’m stacking wood for the fire. The demon stands, walks to my bed, and flops down dramatically, her tits nearly popping out of her top.

“That’s ok,” she continues. “You’re a smart cookie. You’ll figure out her game. I believe in you.”

I stand and walk to the door of the cabin. I know I’ll be even colder outside but I can’t deal with this anymore, and while the wooden door isn’t much of a barrier it at least sends a message.

Leave me alone!

“Sure thing,” says the demon, as I grasp the handle. “You do whatever you want. I’ll be here when you’re ready for the truth.”

I open the door, take a deep breath, and step through.

----------------------------------------

Into another place. The fort is gone. The elves are gone. I see stone all around me.

“I ask again. What are you doing here?” The voice is sharp and loud. I’m back in the Tower of Magi. At least I recognize the place this time, and the vision feels less jarring. I’m in the same room as before, at the same point of time even. Just observing.

The sorceress’s friend, Gwen as I recall, rushes toward me. I’m not nervous though as I know she can’t see me. Instead she runs right past, pleading. “Dictress Salene, you have my sincere –

“Shut. Up.”

Gwen cowers back before the tower's directress. The woman exudes power: tall, big bones, wide-hipped. Her face is jagged and her expression is cold. Her robes are regal like those of a queen. Even I, invisible that I am, take a step backward, unconsciously putting distance between myself and power emanating from her. Not Lillian though. She is unmoving, challenging her teacher.

“What,” Lillian says in a mocking tone, “is that?” She points to the onyx stone.

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The directress glares back at her. “It’s not your concern.”

“Oh, I think it is, Directress.” The sorceress throws her black hair back as she speaks and I get a good look at her pale face and dark eyes.

She’s beautiful.

“You’re the one who told us to never touch the dark magic, Directress. Never you said. And yet here we find you with the onyx stone!”

“It’s not your place to question –“

“It is my place,” the sorceress shouts. “It’s everyones place!”

The directress steps forward, the very stone trembling under her feat, like it senses her anger. “Silence, Lillian. Or you shall be questioning from inside a chrysalis.”

Gwen turns to the sorceress. “Lyllian, please, stop before it gets worse.”

The sorceress turns to Gwen. “Worse than breaking every rule, every vow of our order. How many times have we been punished for the smallest infractions? For showing insufficient deference to our instructors, being late to lessons, reading ahead, falling behind. And we are given no choice in our magics, no chance to ever leave the tower. We’re just stuck here forever serving her will.”

The directress smirks and stretches out her hands. A blue mist swirls between them. “This is your last chance, Lillian.”

“Then I will take it,” the sorceress shouts, and grasps the onyx stone.

----------------------------------------

I’m back at camp, standing bewildered outside my cabin.

It takes me a moment to recover, to let the vision fully fade from my sight. Eventually the chilly air snaps me back to reality.

“I felt the same way after mine,” a voice says to my left. The cleric sits in a simple, wooden chair on cabin's meagre porch. He’s not even looking at me, but there’s no one else here, so he must be talking to me.

“Felt the same way after what?” I manage.

Cyrus turns to me. His angular face glistens in the torchlight. He must be twenty-five years older than me but his face is without blemish. “After my vision.”

I look around to see if any elves are within earshot. But the ones I see are outside other cabins – no one can hear us.

“You,” I wet my lips, “have visions.”

The cleric raises his forefinger. “One vision, but it was enough. And enough to recognize when you have them. The stillness, the ethereal look, the confusion upon returning. I had it all as well.”

“What” I begin, but then trail off not sure if I should ask such a personal question. We hardly know each other.

“Was my vision?” he completes the sentence for me.

I nod sheepishly.

“It’s a good question. You’d think it’d be the first question people ask, but it often isn’t. Many dismiss the very suggestion of visions, or that I had one at all. Especially the elves.”

“I believe in visions,” I say quietly.

“Yes,” the cleric says, “I’m sure you do.” He reaches into his robe and produces a small flask. The tin cube feels incongruous with the strong, angular face and serious disposition of the man holding it. He offers it to me.

I take a small sip. It’s too bitter for me. At least it’s not beer though. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Neither was I,” He opens the cap and takes a swig. “But if you don’t drink the elves think it’s strange, and I wanted to save the elves, so I started drinking.”

“Was that your vision,” I ask. “Saving the elves?”

He takes another swig. “I took it that way at first. I saw an angel and he told me to come here, to help save the elves. And I thought he meant spiritually. You saw the rather sorry state of the temple here. The elves can be rather lackluster in their spiritual commitment.”

“When was your vision?”

“After the tower fell.” The cleric pauses. “And after the army’s first defeat at the hands of the sorceress. The first of several as it turned out.”

I snap my fingers, a surge of recognition coming to me. “You’re Commander Cyrus.”

He looks away from me. “I was.”

Commander Cyrus was one of my aides in-game, a loyal adjutant. I didn’t recognize him before under all the temple garb, and he never joined the clerics in my adventure. But now I see it. His face, his grit, they’re familiar to me. And that deep voice too, vibrating in the halls of his rotund vocal chores.

“Until I deserted,” Cyrus continues.

“And nobody tried to kill you?” I ask.

Cyrus shrugs, his broad shoulders practically breaking through his dark, green robes. “I’m sure many would’ve liked to, but the temple offered me sanctuary, and not even a general can have a cleric killed.”

Cyrus takes another swig at the bottle. “An old monk named Simeon believed my story. Said he was waiting for one such as me.”

“‘Such as you’. What does that mean?”

The cleric tucks his bottle away. “Now it may be that I drink too much.”

“What does that mean?” I ask again, desperate for more information.

The cleric looks up at me, his eyes sharp and intense. “Back in the temple, where we first met, were you speaking to an angel?”

I nod reluctantly.

The cleric raises an eyebrow. “Can you talk to animals as well?”

“Yes,” I mumble.

“Ah,” Cyrus’s voice rumbles. “It's come to pass then. Elder Simeon was right about me and the vision. I’m not here to save the elves souls. I’m here to help you save their lives.”

The cleric rises from his seat and walks toward the door. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion indoors.”

“Wait!” I say, not wanting to see the demon again.

He looks at my terrified face and then back at the door. “Can I assume that you sometimes see other spirits as well? Those that are not so.... angelic.”

I nod dumbly.

Cyrus turns back to the door. “Well then, you had best not face them alone.”