Quiet winds stirred the air outside the hut, cool and threatening winter. As Jale sat next to the entrance, he couldn't help but frown. With Darael fighting himself and Wikeds, it was impossible to focus on training or even keeping himself happy.

The commander could no longer bear watching Tesk and Nerianna struggle to keep the warlock with them, and had been sitting outside for a few hours now.

Sure the elves gave him strange looks for doing nothing, but he didn't care. Nobody deserves to suffer, especially at the hands of the Wikeds. He still beats himself up over how he treated Darael when he first found him in Bogsgate, even if it was his job. The idea that he had been so set on doing his job to keep the mayor and king blind to the truth, that he would've had this young, troubled man tortured had absolutely begun to bother him.

"Jale... Our efforts aren't strong enough," Nerianna said, opening the entrance. "We need the help of a Leevier."

Jale looked back at her, wondering if he should or could say no. But, considering how much he didn't want to lose the warlock, he stood up.

"Okay..."

He followed her inside, resting his gaze on the scrawny ginger; he shivered and sweated, whimpered, and flinched. No telling what his dreams were filled with.

Tesk waved him over. "Quick, you need to give him calm energy. If it is a Wiked like we believe, calmness will chase it away."

"At least temporarily," the elf added.

The commander rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know how to give energy, I'm not maegik capable."

Nerianna grabbed his hand and pressed it against the ginger's burning forehead. "Just think calm thoughts and imagine the thoughts traveling down your arm."

With a deep breath, Jale closed his eyes and tried to bring a stillness to the struggling man. Filling his own mind with the swaying grass, running rivers, weightless clouds, and careless fish.

Right when he was about to give up, Darael's whimpers stopped. Opening his eyes, he looked down at the warlock. A soft grateful feeling waved through the commander, which made him crack a small smile.

"Fast learner," Tesk said, nodding appreciatively. "That should soothe the vile thoughts for a little while. Hopefully, enough time for him to come back too."

Nerianna sighed. "Hopefully. Be warned though, many humans can not handle the influence of Wiked."

Retracting his hand, Jale brought his eyes to study the human's breathing. "He'll pull through, he's stronger than people think."

"Optimism is fine, but don't shut out reality. Even we cannot save everyone." The troll's words, though not what he wanted to hear, were very true.

The commander sat beside Darael and nodded. "I know. Just let me hope."

Deciding it'd be best to remain with his friend in case he needed to offer relief and peace again, he settled next to the furry mat. Both Tesk and Nerianna whispered to each other on the other side of the tent, but the tall man had little interest in what they said.

After a few quiet minutes, the women left, and thus he was alone with the unconscious warlock. While he was left alone with him, he found himself looking back on how unjustifiably guarded he's been around the pale man. Finally, it took its toll and the tall man shook his head, letting out a long sigh.

"Divines... I will never be able to bring you peace if you let Darael fall from our hands." His soft prayer, or threat, broke through the silence. "Please come back to us, w—I need you."

A soft intrigued hum came from behind him and glancing over, Jale saw little Roon walking over.

"Hope I'm not interrupting some... Heartfelt confession," the zerdal said.

With a shake of his head, the commander sighed. "No, just, trying to convince him to keep fighting."

Roon studied over Darael before sitting next to them. "He looks relaxed now, it seems like he is."

"He better. I can't help him if he—," Jale started before shaking his head. "I don't think I could help the Divines either if they took him away."

His small friend rubbed his large ear thoughtfully. "Well, there's a practice in Zerdalian culture for aiding one in the fight against long sleeps. However, I don't know if your bond is close enough yet, or if it would even help here."

The commander raked his eyes over the warlock's body. Soft content breathes rose from his chest, now calm and quiet.

Roon gave him a shoulder pat. "You're a Leevier, have you tried meeting him in the memory realm?"

"I'm still incapable of maegik, especially elven memory manipulation."

His friend turned his attention to the warlock. "No manipulation, no maegik. Traveling across the planes to reach where his consciousness lies to pull him back to his reality."

Jale didn't want to get his hopes up too much or even assume he could do this. But, he had to try.

"Have you done it before?"

Roon chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, Jale. No. Only trolls and elves can see or feel these non-reality realms, but only Leeviers or Guides can cross."

Great, now I feel stupid. "Well, can you help me? I really don't want to lose him, I'll do anything to help."

The zerdal wagged his tail gently and nodded. "Of course, it's nice to see you finally accepting your feelings."

"Shut up," Jale grumbled, glancing at the furry man before turning his gaze down. "So, what first?"

His friend chuckled again but stood up. "First, herbs and fire."

"Then?"

Digging through Tesk's bag, Roon hummed thoughtfully. "I believe, we need a quiet area, which we have, a fire burning a mixture of herbs, an anchor, a bridge, and, of course, a Leevier."

The commander repositioned himself to sit upright. "I guess... You're the anchor?"

"Yes, and you are both the Leevier and the bridge. Since we need a bond to link with."

As Jale nodded, taking all this in, his small friend brought over a few dried branches and some flowers. The branches were placed in a circle, with the delicate flowers being laid in a small X. Soft white petals soaked up the dread around it, clinging to skinny brown stems. A flower of hope.

Sitting beside the kindle, the zerdal gestured towards Darael. "You'll have to maintain a constant physical touch on his body to stay in his memory lands."

"How does this work? Am... Am I endangering either of us?"

Roon looked up with caring and protective eyes. "Well... As a commander and well-ranked soldier, you know anything can be dangerous." He offered a reassuring smile. "Neither of you will encounter physical harm though."

The commander took a deep breath before nodding. "Okay."

"If, however, there is presences of a Wiked... You'll have to deal with it mentally, physical attacks do not affect the vile monsters," his friend said, removing a blade from his sheath. "Darael is a troubled man, Jale. With or without a Wiked, you'll have to convince him to come back on his own."

Jale nodded again. "I see... How come?"

The zerdal took a small rod of flint. "They only exist outside of the physical realm. As for the part about him, it's his psyche you're entering; if he wishes to stay he'll always win. That and if he doesn't want to come back, he'll probably slip back into a state like this again."

I suppose that makes sense... I hope I'm enough to help this time. With a sigh, Jale reached out and grabbed a pearly hand. It was cold to the touch, unlike his burning head. As he secured it in his grip, Roon struck the steel against the rod until the dry wood caught a spark.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Subtle bitterness filled his nose as the branches burned under a small fire, it encouraged him to sleep, begging him to close his eyes.

"Close your eyes and focus all your energy on entering the realm behind Darael's mind."

Doing just that, Jale lost the sounds of fire, and shortly after the smell. His thoughts raced to find a realm, whatever that means. Using the same tactics to push positive feelings on the warlock to provide his full consciousness, he felt the ground fade away and the air grow cold. Nothing. All he sensed was nothing.

Assuming he failed, the tall man opened his eyes. More nothingness. Mild panic grew inside of him, completely lost with no senses or idea what to do, Roon didn't tell him what to expect.

No concept of time made it impossible to say how long he existed inside this undetermined hellscape. But, a voice called out in the far distance eventually.

Jale felt solid ground under his feet once more and with that, he marched towards the sounds. Hard to make out, he thought he heard pleads or cries, only urging him to move faster.

Then it hit him. Everything all at once.

"Disgusting swineshit, hanging out with eyeless monsters instead of focusing on your future." Resentment poured from every word spoken by the hostile, and unseen, male.

"He never even tries. Except when it comes to getting in and out of trouble." Envy dripped off the female's sentences.

"I deserve worse than the release of forgotten life... I should be a display." The familiar voice of Darael echoed around in despair.

Jale fought every urge to call out, knowing there could be a Wiked controlling these memories. Shaking his head, he continued on his path, looking for signs of his friend. Once blank space now bursting with negativity and hatred, provoking him to question how long the warlock has been in trouble.

As the voices got louder, he began to pick up a faint cry. Sobs that drowned in the sea of pain, desperate pleads for relief or help. It hurt the man as he walked through the void. Always able to feel another's emotions, the fact that so much distress went undetected by him bothered him.

Moonlight filled the air a bit suddenly, throwing him off guard as he walked down a now-familiar setting. Dull grey stones reflected the pale light from the ground, guiding the commander down a street. Lining the road; tall brick and wooden buildings seemed to confine the lone figure.

A stark comparison to the open-world he's come to expect during his travels.

"Bogsgate... You feel like a prison now..." he muttered out loud, checking his surroundings.

It didn't take long for him to find his way to the grand school for mages. The three-story, blue and green brick establishment stood out beautifully in the middle of the dull city. Windows coated the walls to provide a glimpse inside—or out.

As he approached the building, the depressing calls grew unbearably loud, and so did the crying. Jale took a deep breath and pushed through the heavy stone doors. Empty. The lobby lay barren, so he wandered the halls to pinpoint the cries.

"Worthless freak."

"First elven spells, then the orc friend. What next?"

"Fucking swineshit, I hope you find a suitable hell to rot in."

With everything getting louder, he knew he had to be close. Remembering the warlock mentioning a room here, he began to search living quarters. Nobody was here, nothing moved, but the voices oozed out of every wall, ceiling, floor, and window. Negativity came from everywhere.

"Divines... Why couldn't it have been me instead? Mother didn't deserve it, and father didn't deserve me... Why did that stupid man ensure I survived? He should've let the trolls tear me limb from limb..."

Pausing, Jale turned to peek into a room. Upon peering in, he saw a pale ginger curled up on the floor. The long red hair confirming it was his friend.

"Darael?" he asked, moving closer.

Although the warlock sniffled and picked his head up, he didn't turn his head to look back at him. "Yes... Thank you. Remind me how close everything I desire is, dangle the reward in my face and yank it away again. Stupid Wikeds."

Darael's words had heavy dread and doubt tangling them, telling Jale he had probably already seen him in here.

"Darael, I'm not a projection, I promise."

His friend scoffed. "Yeah? Prove it."

How does one prove they're real inside someone else's mental space? While he had no idea, he had to try something.

The tall man walked over and sat across the pale man. "Well, I don't know how to do that... But, I can tell you that Roon is currently burning lilies and branches to keep me here."

"Say you are real... How did you get here?" His friend's doubt trickled from his eyes.

Jale scratched his chin, tilting his head in thought. "Well, because I am a Leevier I can bring my... Spirit across realms? Something like that." He scanned his friend over and moved the hand to hold up a finger. "Did you feel my presence earlier? I offered soothing emotions, physically it made your body relax, so I'm just curious."

The warlock searched the commander's face for a long moment. "That was you?"

A bit hopeful, the taller man nodded. "Yes, Tesk and Nerianna couldn't help you, so they asked me to try."

"But, why come here?"

Jale sighed gently, looking his friend in the eyes. "Because the elves don't think you're going to make it through…" He paused to toss his arms out to the sides. "Whatever this is."

Darael quieted down, but the haunting voices did not. Even though he knew these comments were memorial projections from his companion, quite a few of them hit home for him too. Doubts and regret hang heavy in the air.

After an extensive wait, the scrawny man finally nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay, what?" Jale asked.

Standing up, his friend took a deep breath. "Let's go. If you attempted something you never have before,—and are possibly scared of—to help me. Perhaps I should listen to something other than my head."

The commander stood himself up, smiling lightly at the smaller man. "Forget the elves, maybe what you need is just a friend."

Darael looked up at him and returned the smile. The dull, but intrigued, green and purple eyes watched expectantly. "Hey, you know what?" the ginger asked.

"What?"

His friend gestured around with open arms. "They seemed to have stopped."

Gazing all around, Jale noticed that yes, the dreadful comments had been silenced, and it delighted him. With a growing smile, he held out a hand. "See what happens when you stop listening to that brain of yours?"

His friend chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess you're right..." The warlock took the hand and brought his attention to the door. "Just, don't let me get lost again."

"I'll guide you all the way back. I promise. I already failed you once, I'm not going to do it again," the commander said, leading the other man forward.

Darael walked by his side, and even with the breakthrough, he still seemed anxious around the ghost of his school.

There was nothing Jale could do besides bring him out. He didn't have the faintest idea how to leave this fuzzy, depressing, empty nightmarescape. But, he had to try.

Leading his companion through the desolate halls, he kept an eye on the man next to him. Through the large entranceway and out the heavy doors, on the streets at last. A glance left and right told him he should take the warlock left. The city felt like a maze now, with so many turns and streets, not enough signs or landmarks. How he had ever lived and maneuvered here, he couldn't recall. Just like a childhood memory, his recollection of the layout seemed barely off and false.

Somehow, Jale made it to the gates of the wall. Once security-bringing iron bars now towered over the pair, daunting even in memory.

"The worst part of the city," his friend muttered.

Unable to agree, or bring himself to disagree, the tall man just marched forward. Under the sharp prongs of the imposing gate.

"Even directly outside of our own walls, the world is wild and untamed," the ginger murmured.

"As it's supposed to be…" Looking down at the warlock, the commander turned towards him. "I think—I think you need to wake up for us to return."

Darael glanced up at him, only to train his eyes on the ground. "I don't know how."

Jale offered a reassuring smile. "It's just a nightmare, close your eyes." When the other man closed his eyes, he continued. "Deep breath in... Out... Feel the air, it's not so muggy as in the marsh. Move your limbs, they rest on solid ground. Find Roon's presence, use it as an anchor."

"For someone who doesn't know what he's doing, you sure know what you're doing."

Though he smiled more at the sarcasm, he shook his head. "Shut up and focus."

Silence. Then, faint mumbling. Though this voice was very distant and friendly, excited even.

A tight grip around his hand made Jale jolt a bit. Taking the hint, he closed his eyes and attempted to follow his own advice.

"Darael?" A voice, though not to him, greeted him.

Opening his eyes, he was met with Roon and Tesk knelt over the scrawny man next to him. As he came back to the real world, he could feel the hand he held tightening around his own.

"I'm surprised you did it, Jale. You've been gone for so long, we almost pulled you away," Tesk said, glancing over at him.

With a light squeeze to the hand, Jale gave a puzzled look at his friends. "Odd, it didn't feel that long."

Darael grumbled and reached his free hand up to rub his face. "I'm so tired of sleeping for full days."

Roon chuckled. "He seems to be okay though... Good job."

The commander nodded, checking the smaller man out to ensure he looked fine. Other than the sheen of light sweat and the exhaustion visible on his face, he appeared okay.

"I think... You've really started to connect to your elven ancestry," Darael said, looking up at the tall man.

Jale smiled down at him. "Sei'naeve wants to get me traditional armor for the hunt, then I'll really be connected."

His friend laughed softly, lazily bringing his gaze towards the group around him. "I'm sorry for being so much trouble to you all."

Roon frowned. "You're our friend, we can't let you suffer. This trouble is worth it."

"And who knows, perhaps you are destined for a much better life," Tesk added to her partner's statement.

The commander felt the pale hand squeeze his own before it let go and pulled away.

Darael sighed lightly. "It couldn't be, lest you forget I'm still considered a wanted criminal. Dare I set foot in a human settlement, I wouldn't walk back out."

Dropping his own gaze, Jale felt especially responsible for that. And by all named Divines, he would fix it.