Gentle bubbling provided background noise as Darael looked into the water. Smells of herbs and meats of all kinds tickled his nose and threatened a sneeze or two. In the water swam small fish, each one mindlessly on the lookout for food. Imagine the carelessness of being a fish, just eat and avoid everything, possibly get eaten.

He sighed and sat back on his heels, waiting for his elf companion to return. I doubt this will help, I've been to plenty of mind welders, and melters. Good luck.

Doubt trickled into his mind, a dangerous feeling he knew all too well. Shaking it off, the warlock brought himself to wonder instead what the commander may be doing right now. Hunting or training with a weapon most likely, if he needs to bring down a full-grown elk for the Divines. He probably needs the practice... Not that he's not in great physical shape, nor that he lacks combat skills...

Thankfully, a voice broke his train of thought. "Alright, Darael. Let us begin."

The warlock crawled over and sat himself across from the speaker.

His companion brought herself down, moving a ring from one finger to another. "What troubles you?"

"Everything," Darael said, watching her flex a hand and pull fire from the ground; loose blue and silver bands sliding along her arm as she did.

"Impossible, you have pleasant things in your life."

The warlock glanced up at her over the flame. "Like what, Nerianna?"

Nerianna'Naeve scoffed. "You have the zerdal and troll friend, and the strange relationship with the half-human."

"He's a friend too."

The elf nodded, though doubtful. "You also have a rare and beautiful talent."

Darael brought his attention to the ground. "A gift that does nothing but harm people."

"You fear your talent?"

A heavy sigh accompanied his nod. "Why wouldn't I? I've only hurt and pushed people away with it. I just don't want to do the same to Jale."

Nerianna chuckled. "You have no concerns over losing Roon or Tesk?"

"They understand," Darael said, collecting his hair in the front to comb it, "Jale is incapable, he has no idea what's wrong."

"Then tell him. He can never know if you don't share. Plus, talking about your fears would be good for you." The elf hummed softly. "Some mild maegik practice could be good too."

The warlock scoffed softly, anxious and stressed already. I do mildly practice my maegik, I went to school for it... What else could I possibly do that would be beneficial. However, he knew he couldn't say this to the elf. He did say he'd try.

"How did you learn Elven spells?" Nerianna said, breaking his thoughts once more.

Darael gave a light shrug. "I don't know, I listened—er, no that's not the right word. I studied how the elf in prison did it."

His companion raised a thick brow. "And you just... Understood?"

"Well, yeah. big deal, natural-born warlock. Aren't all races born like that?"

The elf shook her head. "Elven spells are Divine given. One does not simply learn them."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I don't want to be any more special, I hate it. Turning his head to the side to look away, the warlock slid all ten fingers through his hair. Why couldn't I have been born normal?

A slow inhale came from Nerianna. "You know. You have built yourself quite a bubble, but eventually, every bubble pops."

"It'll pop when the king gets a hold of me."

The woman stood and made her way to the pond. "You like the water?"

That's... an unusual subject change. Darael glanced back at her but nodded. "Sure, who doesn't? Half the reason I was excited to move to Bogsgate."

"But when you got there, a drought had stabbed the marsh." The elf dipped her hand in the water and scooped a ball of water out. "Come, I'll show you what I want you to do."

The warlock turned to face her and cautiously made his way over. "Okay."

She looked down at him and held the ball out. "Take the orb."

But, you didn't even show me what to do. With a sigh, he reached out and gently placed his fingers on the surface. Warmth clung to his fingertips as he slid his hand to wrap around the water. But, he didn't take it. Instead, choosing to scan the elf's body language and emotion.

He could feel the energy focused in the liquid, it tingled his hand. Furrowing his brows lightly, Darael rolled his wrist and scooped the orb from her hand. Making sure he kept it infused with a similar energy field Nerianna had on it.

She hummed and smiled wider. "Perfect! I see you must be able to read the energy displayed, or even tap into my knowledge. Incredible!"

The warlock cradled the water in his hands, nodding lightly. "I can feel, what I can only assume is, the maegik coursing through the orb, what spell and how strong. Even if I can't tell you the name or strength out loud."

"So astonishing, I've never met a human capable of such reading skills."

Darael focused his gaze on the ball in his hands. "I wish I wasn't. Nothing is a challenge, nothing keeps me entertained for long. Where my classmates would've had to study your move for days if not weeks to get it right, I can just do it."

Nerianna chuckled, shaking her head. "My dear boy, do you not have hobbies?"

"I had one, but that put me in chains and locks. A danger to society."

The elf frowned lightly. "And you believe that?"

Silence. He knew he did, but to say out loud that he agreed to the claims may break him.

"It's okay to admit it. But, I think you could be really beneficial to the world. Perhaps you should look into being a Guide Seer."

Hands played with the orb gently, while the ginger thought it over. "Nobody would trust me to help."

Nerianna let out a doubtful hah and stood. "It would be a challenge, and you wouldn't be hurting anyone. Such a powerful maegik user, human or not, needs to use their talents to keep themselves safe."

He huffed, dropping the water. "Because dealing with assholes like myself all day sounds fun."

"I suppose you could learn how to stitch or weave."

A physical hobby? I've never really thought of that, those are hard to learn but can be fun to do... "Okay."

The elf bowed gently. "If you open your bubble a bit, all the elves here could communicate to you. Plenty of women wouldn't mind teaching you a skill."

Darael hummed lightly, crouching down to grab a new ball of water. "We'll see."

With the birds singing and the sun radiating energizing light, the ginger couldn't help but smile. Welcoming warmth in the shrinking days brought excitement to the day as if everything was happy. Even the golden dancers jittered with energy, accompanied by the wind. Clear still water shimmered the rays all around, putting on a beautiful display of refraction patterns. Serene and peaceful.

As the warlock relaxed by the pond, he could feel the anxiously delighted atmosphere. Jale's making the world even more cautious... Good job, Commander. Sighing, he dipped his hands into the crystal pool. Fingers grasped at nothing but wrapped around something solid.

With a small shift, Darael pulled a large orb of water out into the air. Focusing on keeping it intact, he hummed to himself while playing with the sphere. He allowed the water to take the shape of a small bird, before a snake. Once seeing the new creature it was forming, the warlock pushed the solid-liquid back into the pond.

"I'm so over snakes, ugh," speaking out loud to nobody, he raked his eyes across the land.

They landed on a group a little ways away, down a hill near a tree. Elves, oh and Jale. Practicing, naturally.

Darael glanced at the water before creeping towards a rock to watch them from. Once settled into his seat, he watched as the tall elf—Sei'naeve—smacked the back of the commander's head. His friend didn't flinch or react, just aimed higher. Weird, I thought he was good with all weapons, has he not been hunting with a bow all this time?

A light noise reached the spectator as Jale hit the target, which made him oddly giddy. Awe, what kind of practice do you need, Commander? You seem to have this in the bag... Sudden realization hit the warlock.

"Fuck, fuck. He's already super good... We'll be out of here in no time."

Slipping off the rock, he slid back towards the pond. "No time, how much time I have left to prove I ain't an issue to society."

His legs folded in front of his chest, while his arms wrapped around them securely. "None of the others could help, why did I expect Nerianna to be able to?"

Although nobody was around to listen, it didn't stop him from thinking out loud. And with him processing the information, the ginger felt sure he wasn't going to be fixed in time.

"Goodbye field elves, hello torture elves. Would say it's been nice knowing you, but honestly, I've been neutral and I'm not going to remember you at all." Rambles fell from him, working himself into a worry.

Darael cradled himself as his mind swirled in worry and fear. Staring down at the water, he could see the happy sun and scene around him, and all it did was sour him more. No such thing as good days, happy days. Only shit days and less bad days. Doesn't matter how pretty the world is or how "happy the Divines are". Darcy never had to worry like me, neither did dad.

Growling at his own thoughts, the warlock dug his rough nails into his own arms. "I never even got to say goodbye, she has no idea where I am... She probably thinks I'm dead. But, at least she never has to worry about me outshining her again, right fish?"

With a large sigh, he blinked out a tear. "I wanted to protect her, why must I be cursed?"

He clenched his teeth and let go of his arms, only to force the pearl fingers into the dirt. Clawing at the soft top layer, his nails struck the solid soil underneath, which only pushed him to dig harder. Why must the commander enjoy toying with my life so? Why can't he just kill me and let my misery end? No, his job demands I get taken to the torture dungeons. All because of a fire...

Deranged ideas trickled into his mind, riding whispers of Wikeds and evil. "He's scared of me, someone of his... Rank could never respect someone like me."

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Fire grows wild, wilder than I. Fire is dangerous and hungry... "Much like me," he muttered.

His fingers stopped digging, searching his thoughts for reason, he couldn't find it. He's going to take me to the elves regardless of my progress, anything to get his life back to normal. A green glare shot over to the rock, and he found himself crawling over to it.

He doesn't know fear, imagine living as a timebomb, ready to hurt your closest friends. Or worse. With a soft snarl on his lips, he flexed his hands and pulled a spark from the air. Holding a small flame in his palm, Darael looked down into the shallow valley.

But, the elves—nor Jale—were there anymore.

The warlock stumbled backward, resuming his leg cradle position as earlier. Only, he forgot about the eager fire and as soon as his hands gripped his own arms, a splitting pain shot through his bicep.

Crying out in emotional distress and physical pain, he pulled the maegikal flame's energy back in to extinguish it. As tears rolled down his cheeks freely, he gripped the burn in frustration.

"Good for nothing swine... Dad was right."

With a rather loud breath, he scrunched his face up and tried to fight fully sobbing. I don't want to say goodbye, I'm not ready. Please don't let him take me from my sister...

A few moments of nearly mocking silence passed, with Darael calming into a grief mood rather than his upset rage. While tears still dripped down his neck, he no longer wanted to die.

Soft crunches behind him made the warlock inhale sharply and promptly ran a wrist across his face.

"You okay?" It was Jale, asking with genuine concern, or so it would appear. "I heard you scream and was worried something got you."

The ginger didn't look up or even say anything. All he did was lift the hand hiding the burn.

His friend walked closer and observed the wound. "What happened? This is nasty..."

"A mistake. I'll be fine."

With a sigh, the commander sat in front of him. Folding his legs to sit on his heels, he looked down. "Has this week not been nice to you?"

Darael didn't want to respond, what was this man up to? But, eventually, he shrugged. "Not entirely."

"Is there a reason Nerianna hasn't been helping?"

It's been a single week... How does he know it hasn't been helping yet? The warlock scoffed. "Yeah, I told you. I can't be fixed."

Jale hissed faintly between his teeth, a habit he's begun to pick up from the elves. "You're not a hunting hound. You do not need to be fixed. You just need... Mm, stability."

"And where is someone with a timeline like mine supposed to get stability?"

His friend tilted his head to look at him once more. "Timeline? How long do you think it'll be before I can leave this village?"

Oh, don't play that game with me, asshole. He scowled at the darker man. "I'm sure I'll be in the kingdom in a solid month. If that."

A loud rather harsh laugh came from the commander. "A month! Look, if it was just based on my ability to shoot a bow or throw a dagger, yes. I'd probably be out of here in a week."

The tall man paused and shook his head. "No, I have to learn to track the elks and hunt with the antelope... And then, as a Soother, I'm required to go on the Divine Hunt. That itself takes place in four months and lasts two moons."

Somehow, that reassured the ginger more than even he thought it would. "Five months? At the bare minimum?"

His companion nodded.

"And... If I still can't get better?"

Jale actually smiled at him. "If—big if you still can not recover, we may just have to stay here until you do."

Cracking a little smile, Darael giggled a light sound. "May have to live here awhile then."

"Nonsense, find a schedule, fit in a hobby or even two, and you'll be feeling better in no time."

His friend stood up, towering over the curled-up warlock, but his smile was growing and he seemed relaxed. The tall man offered a strange soothe to the warlock—As if nothing bad could happen while he was around.

Strange, there're only two people who have ever calmed me in the way he does... No. No, I cannot, it's not right... It's wrong. I can't like him. Even with his racing thoughts, the pale man offered a reassured look and loosened his grip on his arm.

"I'll get something for that burn, just come home after your practice so we can fix it up."

With a nod, the warlock stood up. "I'll probably come back with you... I'm—I've done enough maegik today."

Gazing out over the serene pond, the commander hummed. "If you say so." He nodded towards the water. "Very relaxing place to practice, you lucky fucker."

Darael laughed and shrugged. "I like water, I've been told to make water statues for daily practice." Pausing, he tilted his head and added. "I'm sure it'd be a great place to swim."

His friend returned the laugh and nodded. Leading the way back to the village. "Absolutely; direct sunlight, no underwater currents... Would be an absolute pleasure to play in that pond."

"I may just do that. You know, before the chilly seasons hit us completely," the ginger said, following his tall companion.

While they walked, the pair chatted about training and what each of them were completely doing. It was nice to just slow down and catch up after such a hectic first week with the elves. His friend's new look had taken a few days to get used to, but now that the white and tan hair had relaxed and appeared wild. It really suited the half-elf.

He didn't mind how odd the two of them looked when they walked together; one tall, dark, and fit, the other short, pale, and scrawny. Friendships always tended to bloom between near opposites anyways.

Inside their hut, Jale had collected some of Tesk's herbs to blend up a creamy solution. The blue paste stung his blistering angry wound but also felt good on the painful skin. Each light flinch caused the commander to apologize and apply the mixture lighter, weird, even for a friend.

I'm just overthinking. There's no way he could see me as anything more than a trouble-causing friend. Even if he somehow did, which is impossible, he could never admit it or have me. And if he could, why would he want to?

After such an... Eventful day, all Darael wanted to do was lie down and waste away the rest of the day—and he pretty much did. Besides making some dinner for his group, the warlock didn't do anything or even leave the tent. He just wanted a break, to just lay among the soft fur-lined bedrolls and bask in the security of the home away from home.

Waking to the buzz of the early bird elves, Darael had an undivined time trying to pull himself from his bed. Ensnared by the relaxing warmth, he didn't want to leave or even move. But, the pale man somehow crawled out and met the day with a lethargy even he didn't like.

My limbs feel so heavy, I can't focus... What are these elves doing to me? Finding his way to the pond, he sat next to the shore and tried to grab an orb of water. With a wobble, the ball of liquid quivered and slid through his fingers. Odd.

He attempted it again, only to have the same result. "The hells? Hands, can you please just do what I'm asking."

When his hands cupped the water a third time, all that happened was a small puddle of clear drink rested in the clasped hands. A soft groan left the man as he dropped the water and fell back on his back.

Blue and pink spun around in the sky as his head reeled at the sudden movement and impact. Whining at the inability to see straight or even think at this point, Darael closed his eyes and gripped his temples.

Spinning, spinning, spinning... Shadows danced under his eyelids, shapes of black that blocked out the sunlight. Is this death? Or worse?

Deep, low humming filled his ears and his heartbeat drummed around his senses. Surely the dark figures would take his torn soul and leave his body empty.

The warlock had no idea how long he lay there in excruciating exhaustion, just feeling the world turn and flip. But a soft voice broke through his fading thoughts and pulled him back down.

"Darael? Divines, what's wrong?"

Between his reeling brain and blocked-out ears, he couldn't tell who spoke to him. Roon, Jale, Sei'naeve... Could have been several men.

Strong hands lifted his arms and legs, and his weight was heaved off the ground. Rested back into soft fine furs, the warlock curled to attempt relief in his skull.

"Heat sickness?" Someone asked, a different voice than before.

"We've been through the desert... This heat is nothing compared to that. Or even the marsh," the first voice said. Though it was sounding more like Roon the more he heard it.

Whimpers cascaded from him when the makeshift lift was placed back on the ground. Though, now a cool air pushed against him and the light had been nearly removed. Inside a tent no doubt.

Fingers touched his face, and his eyelid was opened. The world was a blur as his vision tried to focus.

"Can you hear us?" Roon questioned, his brown eye peering into the pale man's eye.

Nodding a small affirmation, Darael lifted a hand and reached out. "I—The... Where..."

Unable to form solid sentences, he went silent. The sheer difficulty he was having just trying to think sent fear and anger through him like nothing else. As the hand collapsed back on the mat, his eye rolled back and he accepted the darkness—albeit, against his will.

Melodious instruments rang out around him, deep and powerful, a cello resonated all around. Behind the vibrating song, a sharp but peaceful flute enhanced the strings. Darael opened his eyes to be met with foggy scenes of a large stage, grey wood built the platform, with tall red curtains framing it.

In the center sat a young girl, bright red hair, fair complexion, and a happy smile. He could feel his heart sink at the sight of her, knowing now where he was and what would happen.

"Darcy... No, please, it wasn't my fault!" His cries would be drowned out by the enchanting hums.

The girl drug the blond bowstring across the thick cords, her fingers sliding around the top to produce a plethora of different pitches. Encased in a pure white dress, her body swayed gently with the instrument. She was amazing at this, and she looked content. No, better than content. Blissful.

Darael pushed his way through a thick hazy crowd, with no idea what the mass he couldn't pass was. Stuck at the edge of the stage, he tried to call out for his sister, but the louder he cried, the louder her song grew.

A young, pearl-skinned, medium-length red-haired boy came running onto the stage. His green eyes shone brightly in delight as he sat behind the girl. After a few moments, a yelp came from the crowd and an arrow flew towards the boy.

The warlock couldn't bear to look, shutting his eyes he shook his head. "It wasn't my fault. It wasn't..."

"But it was," a voice thick with malice hissed.

Wide-eyed, his eyes flew open and he scanned his surroundings. The crowd around him was in pure chaos, while the girl lay behind her chair, a wooden projectile sticking from her stomach. His green gaze locked on the boy's green eyes, fear coated the brightly shining eyes.

"Look at you, so powerful, even as a child. What did you even do here? Protection charm?"

Darael spun around, desperately searching for the source of the voice. "Can't protect against a pierced organ... I froze her to keep her alive."

"Doesn't matter. The mayor saw it, the city saw it... You were a prodigy."

He scowled and wrapped his arms around himself. "I never asked to be. I didn't want the spotlight."

Mocking laughter filled his senses. "Yet, you did everything in your power to stay there. Pranks in school spells in town. The crimes. Yes, you ate the attention right up, we'd be stupid to pass you up."

He shook his head again and smacked at his face. "Wake up, this isn't real."

A black figure emerged from the stage, its body appeared to drip and morph around. Constantly flowing, yet holding the form of a bear-looking beast. It lifted a large square head and opened its jaws. Pure black, it was hard to focus on but seemed to be licking its lips.

"As real as the fires."

Freezing up, the warlock muttered, "Fucking Wiked, if you even try... I'm in a village of elves just so you know!"

"Elves don't scare me." The creature crawled up to him, taking a moment to circle him. "We've been gracing a Leevier with our opinions here and there. Thankfully, tempting him into unthinkable human standards was easy."

Once he realized it meant Jale, he growled and pierced it with his cold glare. "The elves can help me."

"Not even the Divines themselves can help you now. No no, you must fight us alone."

"No one has to fight you alone. But plenty lose to you alone."

The creature snapped at him, sending black inky saliva at him. "I have you trapped between worlds, using memories to keep you alive. Let's see how far your words get you."

Darael scowled more and glanced up towards the dark abyss above him. "So far, my words have gotten me far."

"Luck runs out eventually."

The warlock watched the Wiked melt into the ground and vanish, accompanied only by a menacing laugh.

"I'm glad you wasted all that money on him, just for him to turn around and throw his life away," the young girl, who was now an adult, said.

Her haunting echoes lingered in the air like the smell of death. Causing him to soften up and scan for his sister. There she stood in the middle of a well-decorated room, arms folded and bruised.

Darcy had been speaking to an older man; a blonde-haired, rough-faced, grouchy man. A large scowl covered his face and his body language emitted hatred.

"Time, money... Boy wasn't worth an ounce of work we gave him. I will never understand why your mother wanted to keep him."

Darael dropped his gaze, even though he already knew how his father felt about him, once again the words tore him apart.

The man grumbled something before turning to face an out-of-focus object. "He always wanted to be a part of those vile elves. Now he can experience them all he wants."

With a long sigh, the warlock fell to his knees. "Why are you doing this to me? I'm trying to get better!"

No response.

"Divines, Wikeds, Guides, elves... They're right, nobody can help me anymore. The elven torture would be too kind a fate for me," he said, covering his face with his hands.

"Hopefully now he's happy. At peace even," his sister commented.

The man laughed and sighed. "Darcy, you're too kind to folk."

Darael shook his head. "I don't deserve peace, not even the release of forgetting everything and having my brain flipped inside out. I should be rotting somewhere."

Tears welled up behind his eyes. "Everyone already hates me, nobody would care if I was strung up and forced to live out my life on a chain."

Nobody protested or implied otherwise. So, with a whimper, the ginger curled up and let his emotions spill out in the comfort of a dreamscape.

Dreary echoes of all the negative words he's received filled the once empty air. Slurs and degradation stabbed his heart and mind with deafening accuracy. Most of the words were said by his own father, the rest by himself or friends. But they all hit the same, painful nerve.

"Useless waste of space. Why couldn't I have died with my mother and saved everyone the trouble?"

After saying that, Darael succumbed to hysterical sobbing—more than a little past his breaking point. Unfortunately, his heavy crying was not even enough to drown out the negativity whispering around him.

Completely lost in his personal hell, the warlock scratched his face in frustration and defeat. Coming to accept he'd die in this inescapable nightmare.