As he fell asleep, Faelan expected the same dream he had dreamed for the last days.

Instead, he found himself in a different place.

Looking around, he found himself in a dirty alley. He looked down at his hands. They were covered in dirt and grime—his nails long and jagged, his arms riddled with bruises and cuts. They were also smaller than his adult hands.

Faelan sighed mentally. He remembered this moment all too well.

With his left hand, he clutched a mouldy piece of bread to his chest. He had managed to swipe it from the nearby bakery.

It wasn't much, but it was enough for him to survive another day.

As he carefully looked around, he moved to take a bite until the flapping of wings startled him. Looking up, he saw a raven looking at him with its beady black eyes.

The bird's head twitched a little as it noticed the bread in young Faelan's little hand.

It cawed once, then hopped closer.

Faelan tried to shoo it away, but the raven was not deterred. With the fluttering of wings, more ravens landed near the young Faeblood.

"Go away. It's mine!" Faelan's voice was weak, barely bearable.

He tried to hide the bread, but the first raven hopped closer and pecked at his hand.

"Ow! Go away," with all his strength, he hit the bird, sending it flying against the alley wall.

That was when all hell broke loose.

The other ravens—spurred on by the sudden action—bombarded the little boy with pecks and scratches, trying to get the bread.

Faelan tried to defend himself, but it was no use. In the end, he ended up with even more wounds and no food.

Silently, he cried, his stomach grumbling.

Then he heard shuffling.

Looking up, he noticed the raven he had hit—trying to get up.

The rest of the memory was a blur. All he could remember was the crunching of bones and the taste of blood.

===================

The scene changed—Faelan found himself in a field filled with blood-red plants he didn't recognise.

In the middle of the field stood a giant dead tree, its branches twisted, the wood greyed by the sun. Instead of leaves, from the branches grew glowing golden threads of energy, flowing through the air, drifting into the distance.

Looking down, Faelan saw one of these threads connected to his chest.

He reached out to touch it, and the world around him shifted as soon as he did.

The tree disappeared, the red plants warping to greenery.

He found himself in the usual clearing, just as the nights before, the only difference being the golden threads, now twisting around him.

In front of him stood the girl, her hair flowing in the breeze, a thread connected to her chest

As Faelan looked down, he saw the same thread connected to him.

As he looked back up, the girl was gone, replaced by a tall shadow figure, the same golden strand connecting them together.

Then a voice broke the silence.

"My my. Now this... is mighty interesting."

The figure's voice was as silk, soothing, with a hint of amusement.

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"Who might you be?"

The figure tilted its head. "And why can't I see you clearly?"

The figure extended its hand, trying to reach Faelan, but he stepped back—the strand snapping-and the world around him crumbled away.

==================

Faelan woke with a start, his hands quickly reaching for his chest as he let out a sharp gasp. Finding nothing wrong, he relaxed and sat up. He looked out the window and saw it was still dark outside, but the sky was beginning to brighten as sunrise approached.

With the littlest effort he could manage, he ignited the candle on the nightstand with a Flame Weave.

He immediately felt the toll on his body—as a headache formed.

As he sat there, he heard a banging downstairs.

"Just my luck." He told himself, assuming the worst.

Carefully, he made his way downstairs, dagger drawn under his cloak.

He peeked around the corner, only to find a quietly cursing innkeeper holding his foot, a chair on its side beside him.

As Faelan looked around, he saw no imminent danger. Most of the chairs were still upside down on the tables, and the room seemed empty apart from him and the innkeeper.

He sheathed the dagger, his cloak rustling from the movement.

The innkeeper turned around, startled.

"Gah!" he exclaimed. "Oh. Good mornin'. I didn't see you there. Sorry for causing such a commotion. I hope I didn't wake you."

Faelan raised his hands, shaking his head. "Don't worry, I was already awake."

He took a look around.

A thin layer of dust coated the floor and tables, something he hadn't noticed the day before.

"You don't get many customers around here, do you?"

The innkeeper picked up the fallen chair and sat down on it. He let out a deep sigh.

"Aye. Not many people travel from or to the Elven border these days—on top of that, the surrounding lands are infested with bandits. I inherited the business from my father, but I'm afraid I'll have to relocate soon. The thieves leave me alone most of the time—some even come in and pay for a meal and a bed, but I'd rather not be paid with ill-earned money and make an earnest living instead. I'd be shaming my father's good name by letting his inn turn into a gathering place for thieves and murderers."

Faelan walked over, took a chair off the table, and sat at the same table.

"Must make a hard living."

The innkeeper scoffed. "It ain't too bad. I grow my own food and get the meat from the nearby farms. On top of that, my cousin helps out around here. He's still asleep but will probably be up soon. But what about you? What brings you to these parts, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I'm on a journey to Civ'Argenti. I'm hoping to reach the Elven border by this evening."

"Civ'Argenti? Good luck getting there. I've heard that the dwarves have closed their domains, so going over the mountains is the only way to Grenn."

Then he looked at Faelan's horns.

"And I wish you even more luck getting past the Elven border looking like that. I've heard they don't allow anything Fae in their lands. And even if you managed to hide those horns, they only let through caravans under heavy guarding once a season—and the last trading caravan passed through last month. Proper paranoid those elves are."

Faelan nodded along as the man spoke. He already knew about the elves' paranoia about Fae, but the dwarves closing up the Domain was new to him.

"Is that so? Hmm... that could pose a challenge. Any idea why the dwarves closed their halls?"

"Nah. It's a mystery to me. But it happened at least a month before. I only know of this because of the trading caravan—they were denied access to the Dwarven halls."

"I see..." Faelan thought on it for a second or so but perked up. "Well, that's a problem for later. For now, I could use a meal and something to drink."

The innkeeper got up and nodded. "Of course, sir. Let me finish setting things up, and I'll get right to you."

Fealan also got up. "Please, let me help you."

The man gave a short bow. "Oh no, no need—but thank you for offering. My cousin will make a meal for you once he's up."

Giving the man a nod, Faelan got up and headed upstairs. He spent some minutes tidying up, gathered his belongings and headed back down.

A couple of the other guests were also up, and the room had a relaxed atmosphere.

As he sat down, a young man holding a plate came over.

"Your meal, sir," he said as he put it on the table.

"Thank you. After I'm done eating, could you prepare my horse for me?"

The man nodded. "Of course, sir. Enjoy your meal."

After paying the innkeeper, Faelan got on his horse and set off. As he passed the fence around the inn, he noticed the rustling of wings.

As he looked around, he saw a harrier sitting on the fence, its head tilted.

It rustled its wings, let out a shriek, and took off

That's odd, he thought. It's far too early in the season for it to be here.

Oh, well. Faelan shrugged it off and spurred on his horse.

==================

He trekked through the plains for hours, his hands getting cold from the constant winter breeze.

As he shivered from the cold, he felt a strange sensation running through his body.

Looking around, he noticed the nearby woods.

"Fae-wild," he muttered to himself and took his map out.

Only a little while til the Elven border. He reminded himself.

Resisting the pull of his Fae nature, he moved on, hoping to reach The elven border before nightfall.