Ozahr woke up with a gasp. His vision was still blurry, but he felt the soft mattress of his own bed beneath him. Around him was a mountain of pillows—the same mountain Elidyr always complained about because it was impossible to wake up Ozahr when he was buried beneath it.

I’m… back in my room?

The door to his chambers opened. Elidyr walked in, dressed in his usual ornate robes with his long, blonde hair flowing over them. The tips of his pointy ears stuck out from beneath. Every detail about him was crisp and as clear as day.

“Is this a dream?” Ozahr mumbled to himself, looking around his sun-lit room.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” said Elidyr. “I thought I’d have to look for you in your pile of pillows yet again. It’s about time for your match today.”

Ozahr reached for Elidyr’s robes as he walked by and grabbed a handful of fabric in his hand. They felt real enough. Smooth and wrinkleless.

“What’s the matter?” Elidyr tried to investigate his strange behavior.

“Was the other day a dream then?” Ozahr kept mumbling to himself. The more he thought about it, the more he felt a headache creeping in.

“Were you dreaming about grand adventures again?” Elidyr’s robes slipped out of Ozahr’s hand like a waterfall. “If you do well enough in the arena this year, I’ve been thinking of introducing you to an old colleague of mine.”

Ozahr furrowed his brows. “Baba?”

Elidyr stopped and looked at him. “I’m surprised you remember her name. You’ve only met her a few times when you were younger.”

“Wait, Elidyr,” Ozahr shook his head to try and get rid of the strange brain fog, “who am I fighting today?”

Elidyr sighed. “You know it’s disrespectful to your opponents to not acknowledge who they are, I keep telling you this. But if your memory must be jogged, he put down ‘water’ as his magic description on the sparring contract. You best wake up and do some warm up exercises. I can’t have you floating around elsewhere in your head during matches.”

Ozahr did not recall how he got up and got ready that morning. The next thing he knew, he found himself in his home arena in Cadmia, listening to crowd cheers and whistles. When he picked up his head, he saw a figure wrapped in white robes, face obscured. That was not who he recalled fighting a couple days ago.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and honorable members!" A voice called out in the background, though Ozahr couldn’t quite tell who it belonged to.

The man in front of him pulled back his white hood. His messy brown hair fanned out in all directions and golden streaks ran down the long braid behind his back. His bright green eyes stood out against his dark tanned skin.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Ozahr was too confused by the sight, but before he had a chance to question what was going on, his opponent launched water tendrils from his palms that swirled in the air until they formed a large snake unhinging his jaw. Ozahr crossed his arms in front of him, almost tripping back when the water struck him and swallowed him whole.

He held his breath as best he could until the attack passed. When the force pulling him back subsided, Ozahr tried to cough up the water he swallowed, but nothing came up.

When he opened his eyes, it was dark. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer lighting inside the building.

“Oh dearie, did I forget to flavor that potion?” An old woman’s voice called out of sight.

Ozahr looked at his hand where he was holding a small vial filled with a brilliant blue liquid. His sleeves were completely dry, as well.

“I typically add some blueberry and plum extract to that one to help with the bitter taste,” said Baba as she shuffled in front of Ozahr and took the vial from him. “Well? How is it? Do you remember anything out of the ordinary?”

“I…” Ozahr was trying to gather the strength to speak from his parched throat. “I think I do.” Is it this potion causing this? No, that couldn’t be it.

Ozahr left the store despite Baba’s protests and looked around at the streets of Erith. The further down the street he looked, the blurrier the shop buildings became. He ran down to where he remembered opening the portal to Shamhara, and the robed man was there once more.

“I know what you’re doing!” Ozahr yelled at him from afar and the figure started running.

Ozahr gathered his hands together, but no magic was flowing into them. The air seemed to have more than enough energy, but no matter which gesture Ozahr chose, he couldn’t conjure up any blue sparks.

A sudden vibration in the air behind him kicked his instincts into gear. Ozahr ducked and quickly turned around as a golden trail of magic was dissipating above his head. He was now in an alley, staring up at the stranger he saw in the arena earlier. Even in the darkness squeezed between two tall buildings, his eyes shone like brilliant emeralds.

“You’re making this more difficult than it has to be,” the stranger spoke. His voice was deeper than Ozahr expected, a little raspy even, as if he hadn't spoken for a long time. There was a slight accent on his lips as well.

“And what exactly is this? Huh?” Ozahr cautiously stepped back, paying as much attention to the changes in energy in the air as he could. “Why are you prodding around in my memories, huh?”

“I mean no harm,” said the stranger, but his words sounded cold rather than reassuring.

“Ah yes, I think drugging me really sent that message home,” Ozahr retorted.

“Perhaps this will be easier once you awaken.” The stranger lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, fading the whole world to black.

The next time Ozahr opened his eyes, he saw long bars standing in front of him. His body was stiff and sticky with sweat, and there was a faint trail of smoke in the room. He had a harder time getting up now than he did under his pillow mountain.

“I’d recommend conserving your energy,” the stranger’s voice echoed a bit in the dimly lit room. Or should Ozahr say dungeon.

“Ah…” Ozahr groaned. “If drugging me didn’t quite get the message across, imprisoning me is really sealing the deal right now.” Not only was he behind bars, but he had heavy stone shackles around his wrists and ankles. Just picking them off the floor required great effort. At least Ozahr was lucid enough to feel a handful of magical energy return to the temple air.

“I’m pleased you’re not upset.” The stranger was sitting cross legged across the bars, his hands resting in his lap.

Something about his comfortable looking pose pissed Ozahr off. Swinging with all his might, Ozahr picked up his hands and gathered all the magic he could before launching it forward—but the magic fizzled out. His wrists were simply too heavy to smoothly convert the raw energy into his magic.

“Clever, don’t you think?” the stranger asked. “Sorcerers who boast about moving mountains are restrained by simple stones strapped to their hands.”

The heavy shackles dropped Ozahr back to the floor. Embarrassed and annoyed, he assumed the same cross legged position and pouted at the floor. He hadn’t noticed until now, but his dark blue robes were replaced by lighter white cloth.

“What did you do with my clothes? Was my hat not enough for you” Ozahr asked.

“Your belongings are safe elsewhere. What are you looking for here?”

Ozahr scoffed. “Here? A way out, if you’d be so kind.” When the stranger didn’t respond, Ozahr sighed and confessed. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know why you’re here?” the stranger raised an eyebrow.

“Contrary to what you may think, I came here with little to no plans, so whatever it is you think I'm scheming here is giving me more credit than I should probably have,” Ozahr explained.

"You wish me to believe you dropped in the most barren land on earth for no reason at all?"

“Well I suppose there is a reason, I’m just not sure what I’m looking for.” Ozahr figured there was no harm in telling a story that wouldn’t be believed anyway. “But before I tell you, may I at least have your name so that I know who to curse later?”

The stranger subtly nodded. “You may call me Nile.”