I am drifting toward a grand mansion sitting on a hill. Gates bar my way, but as I approach they open for me. Armor clad demon guards patrol the area in front of this palace. Some of them turn toward me, and their eyes go wide. Some barely react and others salute in respect. The winding path I follow crosses a majority of the landscaped gardens leading up the hill to the staircase and entryway. Guards stationed at the doors welcome me with a slight bow. They open the doors, and I pass through into a small greeting foyer. It opens into a larger room lined with statues. The tone of the statues is a curious mixture of those standing proud, and those brought low in utter defeat. The faces of these figures are contorted in the throes of a painful or surprising death. Not what I would call art, but everything is art to someone, I suppose. This room is here, at the entrance, on purpose. Everyone who comes here has to pass through this statuary. It seems a calculated move.

After inspecting a few, I learn there are no nameplates or explanations, just the statues themselves. I move toward the double doors that lead to the next room. Pushing through them, I stop just inside and stare at an enormous grand hall. Doors are scattered around this place, but I ignore them in favor of the grand dual staircase. I don't know why I have to ascend it or how I know, but I do. However, I take my time inspecting everything.

The decorations adorning this large open space are very ornate. The banisters and railings leading up the stairs are made of a material I can't place and all have very intricate designs worked into them. The woodwork of the walls have carved reliefs and impressions of hounds and other beasts in various poses, each matching what is visible on the doors and lining the walls of the hallways on the floor above. The flooring is a marble-colored hard material. After leaning down and running a hand along its surface, I find that it is warm to the touch. Each of my footsteps echo throughout the hall as I continue on. I walk over to the stairs and run my hand over the railing before taking the first step in my ascent.

“My Lord,” a figure calls from the top of the stairs. I know the voice–my father's servant. He looks down at me, smiling. I try to take a step up, but I can't–my legs will not move. “You can't. You're not ready to ascend yet. I will get your father,” he says, still smiling. He turns and moves away from me and I hear a door open and shut.

What am I doing?

Why am I here and why can't I go up these steps?

What is going on? I try to talk to my demon, but I don't have an inner voice like I usually do. It's just like I'm thinking of the words–my neutral headspace is gone. I hear the door opening and Gnat appears at the top again, followed by Alastor's ridiculously proportioned frame towering behind him. He smiles down at me just like Gnat and my skin prickles. This is not happening.

“Welcome home, Mikael,” his booming voice says.

“Mikael.” The voice sounds different this time. It's lighter, less intimidating.

“Mikael!”

Wait, that isn't Alastor's voice, it's–

I open my eyes into a world of pain and a racing mind. My senses rush back into me and my blurry vision clears a small bit when the tears that have been collecting in my eyes start to roll down the sides of my head and slide into my ears. I still can't see that well, and it's kind of hard to breathe. It feels like someone is sitting on my chest. I can barely feel my arms, but my shoulders are another story. I hiss at the pain radiating from them when I reflexively try to move them. Although, if I'm being honest, I thought it would be worse. I have a habit of trying to kick my leg or stomp through intense pain, but it feels like someone is holding them, too.

“Mikael,” the voice says my name again, “stop kicking! What are you doing?”

I try to yell, but it comes out as a whispery rasp that sounds like, “Ack.” Something wet moves across my forehead, and I want to push it away, but pain stops me short. I stop kicking and blink a few times, still trying to clear my vision, but it stays blurred. I am hoping that stops. That dream I just had made me want to run. I think that is why I woke up fighting.

“Thank you,” Reggie says. “Mikael, can you hear me now?”

I try to say yes, but it comes out as a groan. It pretty much sums up how I feel, though, so I just let it stand.

“I'll take that as a yes. I need you to continue to lie still. I'm nearly finished.” He starts casting again, but I don't get the warning which is weird.

(Master is okay? Small wizard says it is healing you.)

Thanks, buddy. I'm… not okay, but I'm not dead. That's good to know.

Apparently, when the nature of the magic is to heal, I don't get a warning? I never knew that, but I haven't been around a lot of wizards who wanted to heal me instead of fight me. Reggie is honestly the first one, and up until recently, he would also rather have blamed me for something and anchored me to the Pit.

How're we lookin'?

(Not good. Meat pulled away from bones. Master almost lost front legs.)

Yeah, that's about what I had guessed. I'm in a lot of pain right now.

(Small wizard put meat back, but still bad.)

Okay, it doesn't seem like my voice is working either, I say. I wonder if it's a result of eating Rhal. A bout of nausea spreads in my guts, but passes when I try to focus on more questions. Who's all here?

(Old wizard, red wizard, small wizard, Matriarch and human.)

That's a relief. It looks like everyone made it back. Hopefully in better shape than me.

Who's on me?

(Brimstone is on Master's chest and is keeping Master’s nose wet to help.)

So that's what that was.

(Yes. Red wizard is holding Master's legs, and human is holding Master's paw.)

I try my hardest to squeeze my hands even though they're still numb.

“He squeezed my hand!” Anna's voice exclaims.

I turn toward where I think it came from. I try my best to smile, then think I might not want to show my teeth. There's a metallic coppery taste in my mouth, and I have no idea what condition my body is in. My teeth could be caked in blood or I could be missing some skin.

“Hm, I don't know if there's anything else I can do. His own healing might accomplish more than I can now. I understand he's in a human looking body, but the magic knows he's a demon. I have no experience with that, and it's not working the same.”

“I–” The word comes out but my voice cracks and cuts out when I try to say more. I was trying to say 'I appreciate what you were able to do.'

(Master want Brimstone to speak?) my Hound asks, and it's a good idea. I'd forgotten that the Hound can speak to more than just me.

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(Master speaks through Brimstone. Appreciates what small wizard has done.)

There is a long beat of silence in the room before Reggie speaks again, sounding just a little confused.

“Was that the dog?” He asks.

“Hellhound, yes,” Vithar says.

“Hellhounds can speak?”

“This one can,” Eph replies.

“Hm, Hellhound,” he says, addressing Brimstone.

(Brimstone,) Brimstone corrects.

“Brimstone, are you speaking with Mikael?”

(Yes, Brimstone speaks with Master.)

“So you are able to speak telepathically?”

There is another long silence and I can feel Brimstone's weight shift slightly on top of me.

(Tele, uh–)

“You're able to speak, erm, without him using his mouth?”

(Yes!) I feel their breath on my neck as they pant excitedly. They must be doing the tongue lolling thing they do when it is an emphatic yes.

“Amazing. You are most welcome, Mikael. I have done what I can. The rest will take time. With your demonic capabilities, full usage of your arms should return to you in a matter of months. I suggest as much rest as you can get. I can check in from time to time if you'd like. I will be coming to check on Vithar's progress on decoding Olvira's journal regardless.”

Yipee.

(Master says . . . uh,)

No, just tell him that's fine.

(Master says that's fine.)

“Very well. I think he should be fine to rest while we discuss what happened at the guild downstairs,” Reggie says.

I had assumed we were on my couch, but it makes more sense that I'd be in my bed. Especially for Brimstone to be lying on me. That would be an awkward angle for a dog of their size. I can’t turn to look, but I hear the sounds of footsteps of everyone shuffling out. The hushed tones of people talking in the hallway keeps drawing my attention, even though I can't hear the words that well.

You're getting a whole lot better at speaking, bud.

(Bond helps, will get better. Brimstone understands, shares words from Master's mind.)

That's a neat trick. What else does it do?

(As Master grows, so does Brimstone.)

Grows? I think I'm done growing, B.

(Grows in power, in strength.) I think about how far I have come, we have come. But what we built was nothing in the face of Rhal's brute force.

I thought I was strong. I thought I knew what strength was until we fought Rhal.

(Brimstone understand. Brimstone was not strong. No help.)

No, you definitely were a big help. I can't imagine it would've gone better without you there.

Their wet tongue slides across my face and their tail starts thumping excitedly, hitting the bed and my dresser. (Thank you, Master.)

Have you talked to Other Mike?

(Other Master told Brimstone he must rest for power to be gained.)

Sure, I say, drawing out the word. I don't know quite what that means but, sure.

The voices in the hall quiet, and the familiar creak and groan tells me the group is finally going down my stairs. The door opens again, and I hear footsteps on the carpet. After a moment, I feel a weight press against my side, opposite the side Brimstone is on. I turn my head toward them so they know I am awake.

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” Anna asks.

I shake my head.

(No.) Brimstone says for me.

“What parts of you do hurt?”

(All of them.)

She touches my chest and the muscle reflexively tightens at the unexpected contact. A quiet groan escapes my lips.

“I'm sorry!” she says.

(It is okay.)

“How did this happen?”

(Master fought the strong one. Master almost won. Wizards interfered. Strong one almost won.)

She is quiet for a moment, and I can almost feel her staring at me. “I can't believe what that guy was able to heal,” she says.

I consider it a blessing that she’s not asking for details of the fight.

“I'm not gonna lie, I almost threw up when I saw your bones.”

(Master says, 'me too.')

She snorts a small laugh. I can feel small tremors of movement on the bed and she sniffs a few times. “I told you you had to come back in one piece. You almost didn't.”

“Sorry,” I manage the word from my own lips, but it comes out in a quiet whisper. I flinch back as a teardrop hits my face and rolls down my cheek. She sniffs again and wipes my face.

“Sorry. I'll be right back.”

My eyes are still closed, but I feel her weight leave the bed and hear her footsteps retreating. She blows her nose in the bathroom, then comes back out. Her weight presses down on the bed again, but she doesn't lay with me.

“Reginald said that your shoulders should be wrapped tight, as much as you can take it. Will you be okay if I do it?”

I shrug my shoulders–a gesture I always do–and regret all of my life choices that led me here. The searing pain of using the muscles directly nearly causes me to pass out. I break out in a cold sweat, I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to throw up. I grit my teeth and groan through the pain, squeezing my eyes closed. Brimstone whines, and I'm sure they're reading my pain through my emotions and aura.

This sucks.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

(Master used broken meat. In pain. Please wait,) Brimstone translates.

“Yeah, that was a stupid question, all things considered. Lifting you is going to hurt. Do you want me to do it now?”

She waits until Brimstone tells her I am ready, then lifts me gently and puts pillows under my back. My arms hang limply as she gets to work wrapping my shoulders. It was a smart move. I'm already in pain and waiting until it's better, then putting me through the same agony again isn't going to help anything. The wrapping stops and I feel her lips press against my chest on each side near my wrecked joints.

“Do you want to stay propped up, or do you want to lie back down?” She asks.

(Down,) my Hound says for me.

She cradles the back of my neck and moves the pillows little by little, trying to ease me down. Thankfully, it works. The soreness continues, but it's nothing like it was a few moments ago. Her weight presses down by my side once more, and I feel a tingle in my hand. I try my best to squeeze my fingers again and hope she feels it. She cuddles closer, and I wonder if my gesture went through. Her movements are very deliberate and slow. I think she's being incredibly careful, trying not to jostle me too much. The care she’s taking makes me ache to kiss her again.

Even in this state? Really? I think to myself. Her gentle demeanor is having an effect on me. Remembering the kiss again and what we could be doing if I wasn't hurt like this is racing through my thoughts. The care she put into wrapping my shoulders and the memory of our closeness in the hallway before this threatens to ruin this moment with some particularly lurid intrusive thoughts.

(Master says he–)

“No,” I say aloud. I don't want the Hound repeating the things that pass through my mind. They let out a groan and lie their head back down across my abdomen, and Anna lies her head next to mine.

This sucks less now.

“I'm gonna be here whenever you need anything. Get some rest.”

The nagging feeling that I was taking advantage of someone helpless when I'm near her is gone. She's seen me at my worst now and she's staying. I've seen her down as well. I cared for her, and she is caring for me. I saved her through the help of a friend, and she is saving me by helping me keep my mind in check.

When I am healed, I'm done holding back.