He tried his best to shake himself from this sick dream he was a part of. In Zerin’s current state he was limited, as once again he became an observer.

The light returning to the darkness announced Bashir’s awakening. Laying in a crude makeshift bed that was crammed into the tent, there he laid. Sitting up shielding his head from the looming lantern that hung low just above his bed, he relinquished a groan.

Bashir swiftly ventured out of his tiny tent that he had to crunch himself down in order to fit.

To Zerin, this whole thing was starting to get on his nerves, he wasn’t sure if this was a dream or vision from the goddess. So, he decided to stop his inner monologue and pay attention, allowing the scene to play out as intended.

As Zerin was arguing with himself, Bashir readied the three sleds lined up next to his tent. When his preparations were finished, he tugged the sleds towards the outside of the camp.

“You need to earn his trust. This is our first step, get close as possible, lie, seduce, coerce anything! We must figure out the truth…”

A voice that was all too familiar to him, spoke out before he turned his head. Wisteria nodded in agreement as she accepted the words from that Old man. Bashir’s careless demeanor contrasted sharply with the heavily suppressed emotions within Zerin.

‘How could she—’

“Bashir!”

He continued walking forth pretending like Wisteria didn’t even exist. But, it would seem that you would need to do far more than just ignore her as Wisteria clearly didn’t get Bashir’s body language. Prancing up to him she hugged his arm.

Bashir’s annoyance spilled out onto his tone, as he turned his head to look at her.

“Can you let go?”

Her usual careless smile filled her face, while she clung desperately to his arm.

“Why would I do that brother?”

He peeled her arms off of him as he continued his stride, dragging along the train of sleds.

“You are not my real sister.”

Bashir said coldly as he continued walking ahead of her, creating some distance.

Wisteria spoke with a fragile voice.

“I don’t care about that Bashir…”

Bashir stopped suddenly after hearing Wisteria, his weight snapped the twigs beneath him. As he turned around Zerin could sense the welling anger that he kept at bay.

“You know what father says about me, playing your little games isn’t going to change any of it.”

Bashir turned before he stopped again,

“Why don’t you hang out with your boyfriend, or whatever the hell his name is.”

Wisteria looked down at the ground as she kicked her feet against the earth, her foot swaying in the air.

“His name is Zerin…”

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

Her face then flushed.

“And he is not my boyfriend…”

Bashir shook his head in disbelief.

“Sure… Go spend time with your boyfriend… I wouldn’t want to intrude on your love.”

Wisteria audibly scoffed as she stomped her foot against the earth.

“You are so stupid!”

Bashir smiled as he turned from her, his facade of a smile died down quickly as he muttered to himself.

“Smiling is a sign of weakness. Weakness is incompetence, I have no weaknesses.”

Zerin witnessed as Bashir went through his entire day. He made sure to free his mind from any unnecessary distractions for the moment and paid close attention to everything. From what he could read so far is that Bashir used labor as an outlet, everything he did was purposely difficult.

Bashir finished his workday pulling heavy sleds stacked with wood by his lonesome. Arriving at camp, Zerin saw through Bashir’s perspective, something that chilled his very core.

Zerin saw himself sitting by the fire, in crude clothes, his face seemed worn, weak, afraid. He was in utter shock, to see himself like this felt odd, disturbing even.

In a desperate useless attempt, he tried to will Bashir towards the campfire but of course nothing went as planned. The massive oaf just unloaded all of the wood from the sleds, and after a long day of work he sought refuge in his tent shortly after.

As Bashir closed his eyes once again, Zerin was captured by the darkness. But, soon after the light shone again, and his eyes opened. The tent was mostly empty, lacking any tools and even the old lantern that was present previously.

Zerin immediately could tell that this was a younger Bashir, as he was able to stand up in the tent without any obstruction. He suppressed his own thoughts, and he was able to read the remnants of Bashir’s, curiosity filled Bashir’s mind as he ventured out of his tent.

He tiptoed across the campsite, in the early morning of the first snow, white snow fell and sprinkled the crimson grass. Bashir inched closer to another tent. He deftly unclasped the tent flap, peering into the tent, a mysterious girl sat calmly, her back illuminated by the lantern beside her.

Young Bashir was enthralled by her blonde hair, a hair color he has never seen but has heard before in stories. The hero’s blonde hair and blue eyes, symbolizing their purity, their goodness.

He looked at her with awe, ignoring the bitter cold nipping at his skin. He wanted to be a hero too, he wanted to own up to his very name, the name his father gave him.

In his rambling thoughts that Zerin could discern, Bashir slipped and fell into the tent abruptly.

“Ahh-ack… Ow…”

Bashir fell on his face as he held his head in his hands. At least the earth was a bit forgiving, as it was still soft; the bitter cold hadn't frozen it yet. For a brief moment Bashir withheld the urge to scream out in pain as he rubbed his forehead.

A tender voice called out.

“Are you okay?”

Bashir froze slightly as he held his head in his hands. Slowly raising his head, he was greeted by the face of a beautiful girl. She bore a deep resemblance to the heroes he saw in his dreams. He sat there stunned, unable to tear his gaze away from her aquamarine eyes.

He snapped back to reality as her hand rested on his forehead, her hand grazing over his bruise. Suddenly to his own surprise, his eyes welled up with tears.

“It hurts, huh?”

The voice was comforting, but for Bashir it wasn’t the pain, it was the gesture, a gesture he was starved from for the longest time.

She wiped his tears with her dirty hands, yet his eyes never peeled from hers.

“My name is Wisteria… What is yours?”

The girl asked as she pulled her hand back.

Bashir closed his eyes, wiping his own tears that continued to stream forth.

“Bashir…”

Opening his eyes once again, Zerin was greeted with a blinding brightness, but he had to bear it. Hearing the cries of an infant in his ears, Zerin waited for Bashir’s vision to adjust to the sudden bright light.

But to his surprise Zerin saw Bashir get hoisted up into his mothers arms, wrapped in a soft blanket. Bashir turned his head and Zerin could see the Old man, though he was substantially younger. Bashir’s arrival was greeted by the smile of his parents, Zerin could only guess that this was the first and last time Bashir would ever see his parents smile so brightly at his presence.

“Bashir… A name fit for the boy who will bring our people back to glory…”

The cries abruptly ceased as Bashir locked eyes with his father. One blink from Bashir brought an end to the vision.

Zerin watched as the collected visions or memories gathered together and played back in chronological order: from Bashir’s birth, to when he met Wisteria, to his very death authorized by his own father.

His eyes fluttered open again, the room was darkened with shadows, he sat in silence for several moments. Checking to summon his runes the red runes summoned in the darkness, he was back to reality. Throughout the entire experience he underwent, nothing was as bad as his current feeling, complete indifference.

Dismissing the runes, Zerin weakly hoisted himself in his bed, his body resisting his movements. The fatigue was akin to weaving the threads until his very blood ran dry. But, he managed to prop his body upright on the headboard of the bed. His head was spinning as his eyes surveyed the room.

The ceaseless fire finally went out, the room felt dead, almost a lack of presence. Any attempt to inspect the room in the darkness, would amount to nothing.

Zerin reached out feebly to the lamp beside his bed, turning on the lantern in the room. The shadows fled from the light, retreating to the outer edges of its range. Now illuminated by the light was the Priest, levitating in stasis, its head slumped as it seemed to drift up and down in the air.

A sigh escaped Zerin's lips as he relaxed.

‘How long have I been out?’

After an indiscernible amount of time, crimson rays filtered through the balcony. Zerin watched as the Priest remained in stasis until the rays hit its form, causing its patchwork flesh to ripple before it awoke.

“You could have woken me up.”

The Priest said calmly as it drifted to Zerin’s side of the bed.

“I was thinking about it…”