Dripping from the arched stone above, a cold droplet landed with a tiny wet splash on my cheek as I awoke. With a yawn, I propped myself up and moved a hand across the straw-speckled stone floor until it was met by an unmistakable softness. Cat. How the little black kitten had returned was beyond me, yet there she was, carelessly resting by my side; though she wasn't little or much of a kitten anymore.

"I really missed you, you know," I said, and in return I could see her yellow eyes peer up at me through the dark.

She meowed and purred softly. If my dreams had washed away the terror that formerly clutched my insides, she had finished the job. I could breathe again and felt a much-needed calm as I drew my hand through her silky coat. With a whisper, I brought forth a flame to light the room. Cat yawned and stretched, flexed clawed paws, and arched her back. Where she had previously been clad in all black, there was now a thumb-sized white mark between her eyes, right at the center of her forehead.

"Did she do that to you?" I asked, and strangely enough I got a meow in return, almost as if she had understood my question.

"And you've grown so big!"

I reached out to pick her up, but just then, a rat that had been sitting, frozen, in quiet observation up until now, scurried across the floor towards a crack in the stone, hurried for vital refuge. Cat, who one moment had stood on the floor before me, disappeared in a mist of black smoke and appeared in the other by the nest. Alas, her hunt had been fruitless, as the rat squeaked in panic from within the wall, scared but safe. I, on the other hand, watched her flick her tail in irritation, speechless. It was evident the lady in the void had done something to her, to me. Whatever the dreams were, they hadn't been just dreams. Perhaps not entirely real, but still something more.

There was a faint rustling in the corridor. Thelik, I thought, worried what the cruel man might do if he noticed my newly returned friend. I wasn't ready to lose her a second time. Mostly compliant and, bar the outbursts, docile. That was how I had spent the time in captivity, but no more. If he came for Cat, I would rain fire upon the walls until they crumbled. To my surprise, my furred companion took one glance at the door as her pelt raised, and with a hiss, she sunk into the floor until only her eyes leered out from within my shadow. It was a strangely familiar sight.

The hatch creaked open, but the voice that came through was not that of Thelik.

"Sso this is where you've been hiding, pretty boy."

The voice was familiar. Why, I struggled to understand. Then, a swaying image of taut leather resurfaced within my thoughts, and the confusion lessened.

"Jalany?" I asked.

"You remember?" her voice chimed back through the slim gap. "Perhapss I left a bigger imprint on this starved one than I had intended. I thought Mali gave you a...helping hand?"

Even in the dark, I could feel my face redden at her question, void of anything that resembled shame.

"No, she did not!" I protested, but she only laughed in return. A warm sound of bells and honey.

"Sstrange, she retold a great deal about your nookss..." She paused for a moment, and the dark remained silent until she once again spoke, but the mischief in her voice was gone. "...ssadly I did not come here to play, pretty boy, but to inform. The guildmaster doesn't like it when the priesthood and noble houses do as they like with one of his own. A fresh hatchling as you may be, they have struck a deal."

She paused again, and now there were steps resounding from a nearby corridor.

"...You'll be working for the Lord, for now, but know that we are watching...lissstening."

Then the hatch closed, and she was gone.

The steps neared. Stumpy feet dragged through the dust until they halted outside my door. Even in my sleep, I would have known it was Thelik who stood there, reveling in his cruel games. One day I'll sear the skin off of his face, I vowed, fighting to not think of the many wicked things he had done to me. I was done giving him what he wanted. With Jalany's words of freedom, I knew it was only a matter of time before I was out, and I would yield no longer.

When his voice poured through the hatch, I gathered every little bit of defiance in my body and forced myself calm.

"What a hailin' divine day it is, little man. Have you slept well?" he said, but I remained silent.

"Are you well, little man? I can't hear you in there."

A bowl appeared through the hatch.

"Come now. Ol' Thelik got the most delightful breakfast all in the ready for you!"

I walked over and took the bowl in my hands. After all, I was starving. But before I ate, I leaned close to the hatch and whispered, "Do you know of implings, Thelik?"

"Of course I do, little man," he said, quick to reply. "Did you dream about them? Did they bite you, stab little itsy bitsy holes in ya'? Done a few naughty things, eh?"

I ignored him, gathering every ounce of hatred towards the vile man as I whispered, "Much like an impling, Thelik, I deal in favors."

I could hear him burst out laughing outside the door as the hatch shut, but the laughter was more than dismissal, something other than disbelief in a tortured child's threats. Within was a tiny yet unmistakable speck of unease...of fear.

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Not long after, a few days perhaps, there was an uproar inside the dungeon. Thelik shouted and argued while I leaned close to the hatch to hear what was being said. There were guards, stern decisive voices that beat down on whatever words of protest the crooked dungeon keeper spouted. And when the door creaked and scraped open, there was no order of shackles or ropes; instead, they led me to my release by order of the Lord himself. Thelik could do nothing but watch as I passed him. He forced an insincere smile, though I could see his eyes, dark with ill thoughts and speckled with fear. One day I would come back into the dungeons to claim my debt, and I believe, deep down, he knew.

Leaving the moist, gloomy cellars behind, I ascended from a flight of stairs. Through torch-lit corridors, and passing servants that were all taken aback at the sight and potent pungency of my ghastly being, I was taken to a room with a large steaming bath awaiting.

"Clean and dress yourself, but do not loiter. Barlen Dath is awaiting you in his office," the guard said before positioning himself outside the door and dismissing the others. "I shall remain to lead you to him."

I could feel my aching muscles scream out in joy as I sunk into the deep warmth. It was with some reluctance that I hastily lathered and washed myself, scrubbed the dirt and water off my skin with a good towel, and adorned the soft fabrics hung ready. I ran my fingers through my hair on the way out, realizing it had grown long during my time in the dark. I thought about my friends as I had so many times in these solemn weeks and wondered if I would soon come to meet them again.

The guard led me onwards, up many flights of stairs and into a room with rows of bookshelves and a simple desk at its center. With a thick, green book in his hand, and a pile of scrolls and parchment before him, the Lord's stern advisor sat in silence as he flicked through the pages.

"Do you read?" he asked, without taking his eyes off the neat rows of scribbled ink.

I bowed quickly and answered with a short "No, mister—"

"Sire," the man said, cutting me off. "Do you heed to law and discipline?"

I was unsure what he meant but tried to answer honestly. "I don't know, mister...Sire!" I quickly corrected myself.

He frowned and looked up from his reading. "I ought to inform you that by the grace of his Lord's benevolence, you have been freed from your crimes against the servant of Aloor, with a condition..." He put down the thick book, marked with black squiggles, and continued. "...you shall serve house Arbant, one way or another. But as the law states, and on demand by the head priest, we are obliged to keep you within these walls for some time. Until a base of trust has been established, that is."

He pushed forward a scribbled parchment, ink, and a feather pen. "The first letter of your name is this one 'E'..." he pointed at one of the scribbles on the paper, "...I need you to recreate it in ink, here." He pointed at the bottom of the parchment.

I was hesitant but understood that this was necessary for my freedom. Even when limited, it brought me out of the solemn dread of the dungeons. "Can I see my friends?" I asked, as I struggled to scrape straight lines on the parchment.

"In time," was all he said in response.

Once I had done what I considered a decent job, not too unlike the shape he had pointed out, the advisor looked down at what I'd scribbled with pity in his eyes.

"Well enough..." he muttered, before blowing on the ink and rolling it up. "...now where can I put you to work?" The questions weren't as much aimed at me as his own thoughts brought to light. "Too uncouth for a page, flimsy and rugged...do you know anything about the care taking of horses?"

The anxious look on my face told him all he needed to know, but before he continued I interjected, "I know my way around a kitchen, Sire!"

"Good..." He returned. "...the kitchen is an acceptable housing for one such as yourself. I will have you introduced to the master cook; she'll decide what to do with you." He studied me for a short while, then added with a sneer, "Perhaps it would serve to put some meat on your bones as well; the clothes are practically falling off of you." The fact that it was he who had seen to imprison and half starve me, he conveniently ignored. I wasn't going to forget that anytime soon, but for now I held back my emotions.

I gave the Sire a bow before turning to accompany the guard to the kitchen quarters. They were located on the eastmost parts of the central keep, just behind the banquet hall I was told, but my mind lingered on the many wonders we passed on the way. Paintings the size of tables hung heavy on the walls. Gold-encrusted crowns dangled from the beams above, while colorful banners and age-old weaponry decorated the walls. The differences between this world and the one below where Thelik dwelled were awe-inspiring.

The guard led me further, through the vast dining hall where the soldiers and servants gathered to eat. Less decorated, it was still an impressive sight. We went through a side door, into the kitchen where I was met with a flood of nostalgic smells and sounds. So far, my adventures had brought me into the face of danger, into the dark and behind bars, and now they brought me back to where my life had begun: the kitchen.

Gretha was a hefty woman, strong-armed and strong-willed. Short, but with a booming voice that could have rivaled Urax's on any given day. Her dominion stretched from kitchen to dining hall and was well organized and controlled with that iron fist of hers. No loaf, soup, stew, steak, or pastry left the kitchen without her hawk-eyed inspection, and she seemed to instinctively know when something needed a sprinkle of salt, a handful of this or a pinch of that.

I greeted her with a quick bow.

"What am I supposed to do with a boy that's all skin and bones?" she barked at the guard, but the man simply shrugged.

"Not my problem cook, Sire's directives."

The curses she threw after the man as he hurried back through the corridor were of such potency that they curled the hairs on my neck. She sighed and barked orders to a few nosy cooks, distracted from their work, before turning her attention to me.

"Alright lad! Seeing as we'll be stuck with each other for a while, what's your name?"

"Euran," I bowed again.

"Well Euran, enough of that dippin'. Don't want hairs in my food. There's string in the pantry for meat-bindin', use some to tie that mane of yours in check!"

Best do as she says, I thought as I hastily headed towards the door she had pointed out, struggling to not get pulled away by the many alluring aromas that lay thick in the air and made my mouth water.

When I swung the door to the pantry open, my eyes began to glitter with excitement. The room was a treasure hoard of spices and curiosities. Flour and grains of a quality I had never before seen. Dried herbs hung from taut strings above the shelves, and wax-sealed jars in tight rows, all neatly stacked, held well-kept secrets begging to be explored. My mouth watered further and my fingers twitched with excitement. This was heaven.

"What's taking you so long?"

Somewhere in the back of my head, I heard her words and steps nearing, but my imagination was soaring already and wide-eyed I studied each shelf with great interest. What little patience resided within Gretha’s heart had since long been spent when she stomped in, red in the face, to drag me out of her storage. But when our eyes met she stopped herself. Perhaps she still held a deep love for the wonder that is cookery, perhaps it was pity. Either way, I could have sworn I saw a smirk take shape on her lips. Then the steel in her eyes returned, and she barked for me to get my arse into the kitchen and onto scrubbing duty.

Memories and dreams of caves and adventure still lingered in the back of my head, but the smells and sounds of the kitchen brought me back to simpler times, back to home, to mother.