Nedu squatted down to the table behind him. He pinched a silver spoon, swirling it within a pool of steaming, creamy milk in a glass cup. He transferred half into another cup, clanging it along the glossy rim. Nedu offered them towards Ibrahim and Wino.

“Does it have magic in it?” Cheryl asked.

“Nope, it’s my grandma’s secret recipe. Puts you right to sleep.”

Wino and Ibrahim retrieved the cups. Ibrahim stared at it with determination in while Wino panned towards Cheryl. He requested mayday mayday before he downed the shot in sync with Ibrahim. It’s as if Cheryl should’ve dispatched of the two friends Wino had willingly brought back into his life. If he didn’t want them to return, why did he insist on maintaining contact? At this point in his relationship, a former red flag had become the banner of his lifestyle. First, he invited them to his home. Now, he succumbed to peer pressure inadvertently projected by his friends for the sake of achieving their goals. Something, at the very least, seemed off about this connection. Could it have been that Wino was bullied the entire journey and really he was dragged along like a slave? It’s clear that he’s the minority of the trio. Two magicians and a powerless human made for nothing but a skewed relationship; a friendship founded on dependence. For all she knew, Wino’s relationship with these two may have been nothing more than a fantasy ­– a misconstrued adherence to Stockholm syndrome.

Wino’s vision blurred almost instantly. Waves rippled across his lines of sight, smudging Nedu and Cheryl into a bright pink blob. Ultimately, the light faded and the image fell black.

Upon the seat, Wino slumped over towards Ibrahim who’d also fallen unconscious. The light of his wand shimmered, prompting Nedu to couple their heads firmly against one another.

Soon after, he stood mumbling, “That should be it.”

“What’s in the milk?”

“Chamomile, Ramelteon, and loads of honey.”

***

Within the recesses of Ibrahim’s subconscious, a full moon came into focus. Its violet rays showered a sea of undulating dunes below. It blanketed them with its tinge. Individual grains sparkled like black diamonds, tumbling along the ridge down the slopes and swept up by howling gusts. The domed sky was polluted like ink dunked and diffused into a puddle of rainwater. Thick ribbons of particles danced as they stretched across the air. Perched at the apex of the greatest dune of the desert skyline, rested a shrine, an altar. It’s a glass house, stair steps lead to a box table whose base flared out wider than its skyward face. Shimmering velvet curtains draped from the glass pagoda, too thick to be swayed by the wafting breeze.

Wino and Ibrahim emerged from the dunes before the altar. The falling grains stacked, drawing them up in columns. As their silhouettes formed, the grains merged to recreate their outermost shell. Once completed, they awoke and the pair scanned the landscape. Wino spun, gazing with Ibrahim at the altar.

Atop the highest step, shrouded in a murky haze, emerged an attendant. His eyes jutted out from his face, a pair of palm-sized stones as if the sands of a dune were compressed into chunks. His mannerism replicated Ibrahim as he started down the steps. Retracting one hand from his pocket, the creature reached for the altar, which had a stick plunged into its center.

Immediately, Ibrahim reached for his back pocket. “Watch out, Wino.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Is this the guy?” Wino’s voice shuttered.

“D’you see anyone else?”

Ibrahim withdrew his wand, synchronized with the silhouette. The dimness of Ibrahim’s wand paled in comparison to the flare bursting from his opponent’s. Out from the dunes erupted an enormous python slithering towards Ibrahim. It lunged at him, swiping its tail at Wino and propelling him down the steep slope of the dune. Wino tumbled, the black grains and royal purple sky flipped past with a rapid succession of inversions. He skidded some meters down its side, clutching at the dune with his every finger, feet and even his scalp trying to reclaim control of his momentum.

Eventually, he tamed his descent and reoriented himself. Wino scanned the landscape, drawn towards the screeching cry of the serpent. Ibrahim also propelled downhill by the extensive mass of the beast as it attempted to devour him. The serpent had captured his arm within its jaws and glared down at him with the intent to dismember him. Ibrahim, on the other hand, restrained his emotions, retaining his focus on the silhouette of Nega-Ibrahim atop the dune. Despite his initial performance, Ibrahim refused to be swayed into the gaping void of inferiority. He furrowed his brows, gripped at his wand, and unleashed an overwhelming torrent of magical energy, incinerating the serpent in a golden flash of glory.

***

In Wino’s living room, Nedu and Cheryl watched as the pair snored peacefully upon the sofa. Cheryl tapped her foot upon the carpet, arms crossed, and a safe distance behind Nedu. She scowled over Ibrahim, he was just so certain that dragging Wino within the dream realm would solve the problem. The man had no magic in him. She’d probably experienced more magic control in her short time exposed to Ibrahim than Wino had in all his years of potential servitude.

Once again, Ibrahim had involved his reluctant roommate that followed him just because of some shared history. If for just once, Wino would simply tell him to take a hike, she’d support him and bring a certain end to Ibrahim’s reckless charade. What if Wino never woke up? What if he was lost in the dream realm? What if only Ibrahim woke up? She was left in the waiting room with a false doctor for a hopefully decent outcome. Speaking of, his donut box had nearly slid off the rear corner of the table, closer to TV than to either of them. His arm reached blindly, pressing upon the table, but he never found it. One glance back and there it was. Now he reached for it, but how did it even get there? The box swerved away from Nedu’s outstretched arm and made for the carpet — however, it wasn’t. In fact, it levitated. That could only mean.

“The dream’s becoming a nightmare,” Cheryl gasped.

***

Within the dreamscape, Ibrahim and Wino stood back to back. Two sphinxes encircled them and the altar atop the grandiose dune. Nega-Ibrahim stood poised with his arms crossed behind his waist. He watched, amused, as the pair tracked their prey.

“I could really use Nedu right now,” Ibrahim grumbled.

“I agree, how about I leave and send him in my place?”

Ibrahim poofed a Khopesh, a long Egyptian sickle sword, into Wino’s arms. A raggedy stained cloth wrapped the handle in while the blade was studded with jewels along its curve.

“Sure, just skin yourself alive with that thing. Should be enough to wake you up.”

“On second thought, never mind.”

“Well, since you’ve already got it, why don’t you use it on that guy? I’d do it myself but got my hands full here.”

Ibrahim darted down the ridge of the dune, drawing the sphinxes towards him. As they gave chase, he leapt and skidded down the slope. His wand emanated magical ribbons that streaked energy as he descended. The sphinxes closed in on his anticipated position, leaping skyward as he approached. Before colliding, Ibrahim swerved down an adjacent dune, propelled by the wave of their impact. The beasts rose to resume pursuit, leaving Wino only a few meters from the altar. He turned around timidly hugging the Khopesh into his chest. He witnessed Nega-Ibrahim trailing Ibrahim’s descent along the dunes before acknowledging Wino. Wino tugged his rattling foot forward, scattering sand from the ridge down its sides.

His voice cracked as he whimpered, “Um, ex-cuse me. Hi, um, is there any way you could l-let us, um, beat you?”

A snarling grin crept across the silhouette’s charcoal face as it swayed no in response.

“Oh,” Wino continued. “I understand. Sh-should uh, should I start running?” pointing down towards Ibrahim’s trail.

Nega-Ibrahim’s wand gleamed from behind his back and he revealed its brilliance to Wino. Ominously, it nodded yes.

***