Dull thuds shook the blissful emptiness of dreamless sleep. Arn tried to ignore them, to return to the serene stillness within which he felt content. The thuds intensified. Distant murmurs followed, an indistinct medley of voices that grew clearer with every second. And then again - thud, thud, thud.

Arn sat up. He opened his eyes - a futile action. Darkness was all around though it no longer carried serenity. Yesterday's memories slowly crept to his consciousness, and he questioned their reality. The thought of having briefly escaped the cell only to be dragged back seemed like a terrible joke to him.

It couldn't be real, he thought. It had to have been a joke his mind played.

Thud, thud, thud. More voices, they grew louder, and he could now make out two patterns, both male. One deep and familiar.

No, it couldn't have been a dream - he decided that at least. It couldn't have been a figment of his mind, for the events were too strange. He never had dreams like that, well, not aside from the forest dreams. What were those about, he wondered?

The fresh air he recalled was real; the tall pines were real. De'al was real. Then - it - had to be real too. The shimmering light, green and blue weaving into each other, he could still see it in his mind's eye. It was beautiful and unnerving, too beautiful to exist, yet there it was.

He didn't wish to continue the memory. No, he thought, what came next wasn't something he could deal with just yet. It'll have to wait.

Then there was De'al's power. He saw it with his own eyes, the old legends come to life, back in the world once more. It lent credence to all that Rana told him. He hated that. She could have been telling the truth after all.

He wondered what it meant about the world that Rana, of all people, was the one to give him the truth.

She didn't give me anything, he thought. It was a trade. Truth for freedom. Now he had to earn his freedom back, that is, if he even had any, to begin with.

No, he corrected himself again, he did have freedom, and he will have it again.

What sounded like thuds resolved into approaching steps. The murmur too grew clearer - the men were searching - for what, he couldn't tell.

The only sound that Arn heard from the guards during the past weeks was the loud click of the lock when they entered his cell. He wasn't even sure that there was more than a single guard. So who was making all this noise?

Warm highlights glistened into view upon the rough rock wall some ten feet ahead. The pale light bobbed in concert with the distant steps; it expanded and grew brighter as Arn watched. Even this much light caused him pain, and Arn shielded his eyes. The steps ceased. Keys clanked just outside the door, the lock clicked loudly, and the door creaked against the frame. Something slammed into the door on the other side, and it creaked once more but remained stuck.

Arn's heart raced. He felt the blood pulsing in his neck. The door to his cell burst open with a loud crack and swung all the way back upon its hinges. It smashed against the stone wall and set loose a cloud of dust.

Light spilled into his tiny cell, and several men rushed in. He could barely hear their words against the loud thumping of his heart. One of them bent towards Arn. He wore a concerned expression, his brows knitted, and his mouth moved. The man reached out with his hand, but Arn recoiled and pressed himself hard against the stone wall. Pity flashed upon the man's face.

Pity, Arn thought, I don't want anyone's pity!

His fists clenched, and he glared at the man. Then, bolstered by his newfound resolve, Arn rose to his feet, and as he did, sound returned to the world.

"Are you hurt?" the man repeated.

"Hurt?" Arn asked. He looked down at himself; his clothes were tattered, black dirt hid under each nail, and he stood in a murky, wet puddle. "No," he said.

The man's face twitched. "He's in shock," the man said to the others.

"I'm not in shock. I'm fine," Arn protested.

"It's alright," he said to Arn.

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"Don't treat me like a child."

"Let's get you out of here. Can you walk?" the man asked.

"I'm not a cripple."

"I didn't say you were."

Arn spared a last look at the cell. How long had he spent there, he wondered. The wall through which De'al had come mere hours earlier appeared as solid as ever, not a crack nor stone out of place. The man who spoke to him led Arn through long dark passages and up several flights of stairs. They finally reached what appeared to be a large hall. Arn hadn't yet considered who these people were.

Not city constables, he thought - their uniforms weren't quite right.

A sudden wave of fear washed over him. If not the city constables - Arn looked closer at the man's uniform; he wore a dark grey overcoat, brown pants, and tall black boots. But his eyes focused on the small emblem on the man's left arm.

"The Inspectorate," Arn muttered.

"What's that?" the man asked him.

"No, it's nothing," Arn replied barely above a whisper.

The man frowned but let the matter go. They passed through the hall and into a small foyer. The man gave Arn a thick fur coat, "wear this," he said. Arn obliged.

Arn's eyes gradually acclimated to the light, and by the time they stepped outside, he had to squint for just a short while. The sky above was overcast, and a light breeze blew from the west. He glanced back at an ancient but very ordinary-seeming clan house. He was almost disappointed by the unremarkable structure. The clan house stood alone in the woods, far enough from Kalarhan that he couldn't hear the town.

He jumped when someone put a hand on his shoulder.

"Ossagar?" Arn gasped after he turned.

The man watched Arn with furrowed brows and pursed lips; his peppered moustache moved up and down.

"It seems the spirits weren't done with your trials," he finally said.

Arn held his gaze. Ossagar seemed older today, the lines across his face deeper, the colour of his skin paler.

"Worry not," Ossagar started, "we have her. Your trial is at an end once more."

"You have her?" Arn mumbled.

"Hum, yes." Ossagar nodded slowly and looked somewhere behind Arn, "we caught Rana the Clanless."

"Clanless," Arn repeated, and his mind attempted to reconcile each of the Ranas that he met in the past few weeks. Rana the mentor, Rana the liberator, and now, Rana the clanless.

Ossagar nodded and patted Arn's shoulder gingerly, "all will return to normal in time," he said.

Arn let out an involuntary snort. Return to normal? The mere idea of it seemed ridiculous. After what he saw, nothing will be normal. Ossagar merely glanced at him as they walked to the same carriage he took to Kalarhan just a few weeks ago.

Arn sat down on the soft bench and moved his hand over the fabric. Dry, smooth, and soft, he thought. Despite being closed off, it smelled quite fresh - Arn inhaled deeply with closed eyes. The carriage lurched softly, and the familiar clip-clop of the hooves reached his ears.

Ossagar must have bypassed Kalarhan, for Arn neither heard nor saw any sign of going back to the town. Arn found a water flask and food on the bench near him. His old backpack was there too. Arn wondered how they got it - did they search his room?

Ossagar let him be for most of the first day - only stopping to resupply and stay overnight at a small inn. They left early in the morning, just as they did on the way to Kalarhan.

Arn didn't notice the quiet until Ossagar opened the carriage door. They were stopped on the road in the middle of the forest. Crisp fresh air filled his lungs, and a peaceful stillness hung about.

"The pines, you see," Ossagar began, "they dampen the sound. Especially now, with the snow on their branches."

"Yeah," Arn responded.

"The Inspectorate would have me congratulate you," Ossagar said. Arn noted a hint of contempt in his tone. "I won't do that," he added.

Arn met the man's eyes and held his gaze until Ossagar looked away.

"I'm not a young man," he said, "Many winters have I seen. Enough to learn that a man should heed the spirits. They've judged you once and now a second time."

"The spirits sent me to Rana?" Arn said, his tone nearly a chuckle.

"Don't make light of the spirits, boy," Ossagar grumbled. Arn saw anger in the man's eyes, but it faded quickly, replaced by pity. He winced, not sure which he preferred.

I don't want your pity, old man, he thought but said nothing.

"Much took place in that prison," Ossagar said, "you met fear and felt its touch upon your mind, haven't you?"

"I suppose," Arn replied. He didn't want to discuss this with Ossagar. He felt protective of the experience. It was his own, and he didn't wish to share it with Ossagar.

"I know what she speaks of," Ossagar said, "I've heard her, and I've heard her victims." Arn glanced up at the man who was looking off into the distance. "She doesn't understand the true meaning of freedom and captivity, or fear, for that matter."

"What meaning can there be beyond," Arn began, "beyond being free or imprisoned?"

Ossagar scoffed. Arn watched the man's brows tighten, then release, his moustache rise up to his nose, lips pursed until finally, a sigh settled his features.

"Nedreal is the land of freedom. The Inspectorate and the Grand Council have made it so through Elar'Saga's ancient laws." Ossagar smoothed his moustaches with his thumb and forefinger, "Oshaaland is the province of the capital and follows Elar'Saga's teachings most faithfully. You've lived here all your life, haven't you?"

"Yes," Arn replied.

"Yes. You enjoyed safety, resources, everything you needed. Provided to you by the hard work of the Grand Council, the hard work of the Long Council, and the Small Council in each town." Ossagar turned to Arn and looked in his eyes, "true freedom is waking up every day without concern for food or shelter, for safety, for resources - wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't know," Arn said, "it could be."

Ossagar chuckled and shook his head.

"What?" Arn asked.

"You talk like a man who's been through much," Ossagar replied. Arn opened his mouth, but no words came to him. Instead, he turned to look at the distant trees and their white-covered branches.

"Yes," Ossagar said, "yes, I see possibility in you."

"What does that mean?" Arn asked.

"An intuition, if you will. So many parties are interested in you. The Inspectorate will do well to note this - and I shall."

"But why?" Arn asked, "why did Rana need me?"

"That I don't know," Ossagar replied, "but I will find out, mark my words." He took out a small glass vial from his shirt, uncorked it, and drank a sip of a murky blue liquid. He wiped his moustache with the back of his hand and put the vial back. "You should seek me out when you've had your rest," he said.

"Me? Seek you out? Doesn't the Inspectorate usually find people?"

Ossagar laughed, "indeed, indeed. Perhaps you're right. I'll seek you out then," he said with a small smile. "Now, it is time to return." Arn nodded.

Arn heard the man climb up to the coach box, and soon they were moving. He pulled the curtain from the window and watched the trees speed by. It looked almost like what he saw on his way out of Nysaros.

The thought of home overcame him, it washed over the walls of numbness like an avalanche, and the fears from his dark cell rushed into him again. Arn covered his face and wept for a long time. He cried until his tears ran dry and until all he felt was emptiness.