A subtle fog draped the narrow alleyway, shadows darkening dimness over scattered rubbish and cracked pavement. Nyx stood within the filth, unseen by the world around him. His ethereal form changed like dust moving in a swirl of wind. Unconscious and helpless, a black-haired and pale-skinned girl lay with the steaming robes of a royal bard of Ikardin. Her name was Anna. He remembered. How he knew such things remained a mystery. Nothing was clear. Nothing but bits of what once were his wills, his duties, and his oaths. One, and the most clear of all, stroke with the power of lightning. Anna’s protection, a task entrusted only to him.

His gaze rested on the necklace cradled in her hand, a simple string holding a crow’s skull, a token once holding the soul of a warlock’s familiar and now nothing more than a relic of the past. “Empty,” he said, although without a mouth, no actual words could be heard.

Beyond the sight of real eyes, Nyx scouted the unknown world. Impossible lights and strange sounds put him on alert. It was a world greatly different from theirs. But not without danger. Anguish, hollow to any ethereal entity like him, took over.

He rejoiced with the absence of an excruciating tether. Anna's bond was light compared to the prison he’d been in for centuries. He was finally free, and in such a moment, surrounded by the rarities of an unwelcome, strange world, freedom turned out to be the purest pleasure he had ever experienced.

Yet, he held a terrible ache, a gnawing uncertainty unsettling his very existence. The impossibility of disappearing into nothingness, escaping to the void where no one would ever find him. Not when he still had a task to accomplish: an everlasting desire, an unbreakable oath. Protect Anna: the only task he’d never considered a burden and the only one allowing him to maintain what little humanity he had left.

Interest returned to her, body small and frail. Vulnerable. Alone. Nyx’s shadow twisted, forming a feathered figure of darkness and dust. His head, white and grim, mimicked the raven skull on her pendant. Claws of blackness rose above his face, as large and long as the arms of the girl lying beneath.

Shuffling feet snapped him out of the numbness of nonexistence and back into the world where he was meant to be. Empty eye sockets snapped toward a figure stepping out of the deeper shadows, stumbling slightly as he came into view. The man was dirty, his clothes tattered, his face obscured by a greasy beard and covered in strings of his long messy mane. A tongue licked lips, and a smile revealed yellowed teeth.

The man’s interest locked onto Anna, face gleaming with malevolent intent. His essence, boundless and untethered, revealed intentions as foul as the stench accompanying him. Of what Nyx's body would detect from the void, nothing was truly real. But yet, the man's soul reeked, puncturing like needles drilling the bone.

The threat took another step closer and an invisible winged shadow stood in his way. Nyx was ready. If he had to give up his immortality for her, he’d do it. If he had to give his very existence, he’d not hesitate. “Not this one,” he said. “Not her!”

The man rubbed his chin with a filthy hand, his fingers twitching with detestable intentions and his tongue contorting more than before. Disbelief made him dart around, perhaps out of the desire to be alone or the fear it was all a trap.

What came was a massive claw aiming for the chest, sharp fingers dipping into his lungs, heart and guts. A senseless attempt, Nyx realised. The claw, devoid of physical mass, turned into a cloud as it touched life and, with failure, Nyx recoiled, unable to fulfil his sacred promise. “Get away from her!”

A growl of frustration rippled through the familiar’s form, and in an instant, he dove forward; bird’s skull facing man’s face, beast's mind lashing out to dig into man’s thoughts. Nyx needed control, and when he’d find it, he’d never let it go. “Your soul is as dirty as your clothes, my friend. You don’t deserve the air you are breathing.”

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Without knowing why, the man noticed an intrusion and hesitated. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Then he hit his temple repeatedly. Nothing would help him anymore, no matter what he tried. It was too late. His own evil had sealed his fate.

Down on the man’s mind, Nyx slipped through the cracks of his fragile psyche. He plunged into a pit of corruption, a broken soul filled with cruelty and twisted by his own weakness. He curled through the man’s thoughts like a snake through the tall grass, his anger coiling tighter and tighter. His claws reached for the light of his prey’s soul, and his fingers grasped like the jaws of a hunter clenching into the neck of a hunt. “Mine.”

Nyx took a breath for the first time in centuries. The cold breeze was invigorating and encouraging. The sounds and smells though, turned out terrifying and nauseating. He flexed his hands, feeling tendons tense. Next came the turn of arms and legs, each single muscle giving him an experience worth a thousand years’ wait. If being free had been the best he’d wish for, feeling alive heightened his joy in a way he’d never have foreseen.

Just as an actual body brought him genuine feelings and sensations, a mind brought him the clarity of thoughts he lacked. With it, reflections of the last moments in their old world turned strong and concise.

On that cursed night, of what brought Anna out of the inn, he could not remember. He remembered many things before, memories he could not be proud of. Scattered thoughts making no sense as a whole. But of that terrible disaster, he saw it all.

When the girl returned, the massacre had already taken place. The vision of her twisted face as she saw the bloodied floor and mutilated bodies, twisted his guts. Her scream of rage at the sight of the nail-toothed man, ravaged his soul.

Nyx witnessed the grin of pure evil with which he greeted her. How Oren’s body fell from his hands and splashed on her own blood, and how he kicked Adalan’s shield, and the metal reflected the tavern’s candles as he stepped over it. How Morrigan, choking in his own blood, still found courage and strength to step in between, facing the last, well-aimed stab from the assassin’s dagger.

When the claw-toothed man reprised his approach and Anna fell backwards, Serandee let out a yell. On blood painted runes over the torn wood, she cast all her power, all her being. After a last chord of ancient tunes, she stared, not at the bard’s but at him. The battle for her life was lost, and before throwing them into the unknown, she revealed a subtle smirk as a reminder it was time to fulfil an oath.

With the violent crack of magic, Nyx found himself yanked back to his new reality.

He checked at Anna’s side, where a large box hid in the shadows. An item turning too familiar by the moment. The Strings of the Heart case. A cursed instrument containing an Evil the party of heroes defeated, but never destroyed.

“Of course it’s here,” he murmured. “It would have been too easy.”

With newfound control, Nyx walked over to Anna. Gently, he bent down and gathered her into his arms, her slight frame draped over his borrowed arms like a weightless cloak. As he raised, her eyes opened, and she moaned. “Can you walk?” His whisper kind.

When he put her down, she answered. “Who are you? Where Am I?”

“I’m Nyx. Oren’s familiar. Now I’m yours. We have been sent to a different world, and I’ve been forced to take shape.”

Anna’s legs gave way to weakness, and Nyx rushed to grab her. His new body was tall, and standing below his shoulders, she had to tiptoe to follow his pace.

“The-they are all, they,” she said. “All dead.”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry for your loss, but we have no time to mourn. I don’t sense the Dark Horde in here, but it doesn’t mean we are free of danger. Night is due and we need shelter and food. There will be time to cry later. Time to learn and time to blend. I swear you will have a happy and unburdened life here. A new start and a new future.” Nyx's eyes darted to the box they were living behind. “As far from the Darkness as we can. You just leave everything to me.”

She pushed his arms away with a gentle touch. Her legs wobbled, but held place. First steps made her stagger, but found steadiness soon after. Before her struggle, Nyx’s jaw tightened and his hand raised, unable to offer the aid she refused.

She halted, turned and reached to hold his hand. “Sorry, but you smell like a troll.”

Nyx smiled. “I have noticed.”