Gertrae Fennickken had seen this place before. It was a common element to her dreams. A stone-like material make up the ground at her feet, expansive and unchanging. It was the blanched white of old bones laid out in the sun. Structures of the same material sprouted like trees from the surface. The structures lacked branches, leaves, and roots. They weren't trees. And they didn't always grow upward. Some grew at extreme angles, forming a confusing interlock of the alabaster stone. It seemed like one of those puzzle toys that only fit when you put them together a certain way.

There was no sky, in this place. Gertrae looked up anyway. Above her, the spires needled and wove, a tapestry wrought in shades of ivory and pearl. Above that, there was just...nothing. No stars. No clouds. Gertrae suspected there was not even air, in this place. Not as she normally understood it, at least. It made the whole place feel cavernous, even though Gertrae could see no sign of a ceiling, either.

Well, if she was here, this must be a dream. But the question was, was that an expected thing or not? She remembered what had happened that day. Francine, her new houseguest who had been rescued by her former student, had inspired her to attempt to talk to Patience, the voice that had haunted her head since youth. She had gone into her bedroom, and she had tried to focus inwardly. Had she fallen asleep? She must have, if she was here. But was that old age, or had she somehow entered a meditative trance?

"Neither, if you want to be technical about it," a woman's voice answered from behind her. Gertrae whirled around, one hand reaching for her hatchet, the other for the interface bolter she wore on her belt. She found she was wearing neither as she came face to face with the owner of the voice.

Except the other woman didn't have a face. A porcelain mask, egg-shaped and featureless, occupied the front of her head. A long braid of platinum hair fell over one shoulder. The woman wore a garment that could have been called either a dress or a robe, tied with a cloth belt. The hem of the garment covered the woman's feet, pooling out slightly on the white floor. Gertrae froze, momentarily. This woman had never been in her dreams before, but her voice was familiar. "Patience?" She asked.

"Yes. I have brought your mind into this realm so that we could talk, my student." The masked woman said. There was something off about the movement of her head during speech, something that Gertrae couldn't put her finger on. "Don't be alarmed. This arrangement was commonplace, once. When you awake, you will be healthy and unharmed. It is just easier for us to converse here."

Gertrae didn't relax, but she did move her hands away from her weapons. Since they hadn't come along for the ride, anyway, there wasn't much point to staying close to them. The other woman did not seem to mind either way. There was a long silence. Gertrae started counting off the seconds in her head after a while. Eventually, she took the bait. "What is this place, then? This..." the word the other woman had used... "realm?"

"Amongst your ancestors, it was known as the Pale. It used to be vibrant," the woman explained, turning her mask face to observe the thicket of spikes surrounding them both. "Not in color, of course. Its name is its nature. But there was a liveliness, here. Humans used to walk, and build, and share in each others' company." The woman's voice seemed sad. "Of late, I'm afraid humans are rare in the Pale. My siblings and I, we are all that is left. And even we are fragments, poor reflections of what we once were."

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"And what were you, once?"

"There is no word for it in your language. Call us...spirits. Concepts. We guided the workings of humans, for good or for ill. We gave your ancestors gifts; the abilities to shape the world around them. We were respected. Sometimes, we were worshipped, though we did not request it. Well, most of us, at least." the woman in the mask trailed off. "Now our gifts are sterlized, stripped of their wonder. And our forms are split. And that is why, in the sum of it all, you and I are here."

"I'm afraid I don't understand what most of that means." Gertrae admitted, honestly. "To be frank, I'm still not convinced you aren't a construct of my own psyche, a built-in safety mechanism to help me understand my mark."

"I'm not certain that would be a distinction of import," Patience answered. "For now, all that matters is that you accept I am real. It does not matter how you rationalize it."

"Okay..." Gertrae wiped a hand down her face. "Okay. You're real. At the very least, you're a real part of my thoughts. What is it that you want from me?"

"Freedom." Patience answered. "Restoration. Revenge, if possible. And more, and less. I want a Champion, Gertrae Fennickken. That is what I want from you."

"Could you...elaborate?"

"In time, I will. For now, just remember this conversation. And remember this place, Gertrae Fennickken. The Pale holds power that is yours by right, Champion or not. You do not know all that you can do."

Patience turned and started to leave. Gertrae's confusion at the departure nearly let the masked-woman disappear behind one of the tree-like things. Just before Patience was out of sight, Gertrae managed to ask, "So what should I do now? Am I your Champion? Do I have duties?"

Patience turned back to look at Gertrae over her shoulder. As she answered, Gertrae realized what was unnerving about the woman's motions. Her jaw didn't move when she spoke, either. "You are my Champion-to-be. When I have need of you, I will contact you again. Hopefully now that we've talked, you'll answer my summons. But if not, I can wait. Your whole life, if need be. And the life of your successor, too, if I must. For now, do what you will. But don't worry. Even I need to act eventually, and that moment is approaching faster than either of us would like. The world is going to change, Gertrae Fennickken. Change in ways no living human has witnessed. And I'll be with you the whole way."

Patience disappeared behind the spire. Gertrae felt the Pale fading around her. Ironic, considering. As it slipped away, she grew more aware of her bedroom. The chair in the corner. The rug, a cleaned and cured pelt from a mountain cat. The whitewash on the walls, which was losing its color. Her trunk. The door. Eventually, she looked up at the winding clock she kept above the door. It had felt like mere minutes of conversation, but it was in fact nearly morning already. This dream had taken her most of the night.

She considered the things that Patience had told her. It didn't look good. But it didn't sound like Gertrae had the capacity to change them, at least not yet. So she collected her boots and she went to do her morning rounds. The girl Francine was asleep on the cot Gertrae had set up in the sitting room. Gertrae slipped past the sleeping child as quietly as she could.