He knew, deep down, that this was a dream. It couldn’t be any other way. After all, they were still around. Lodwin. Sunila. The others of his small company.

They were laughing while enjoying a breezy summer’s day. Lodwin was sitting on the slope of the fountain depicting Saint Michael inside the main court of their Order's headquarters. He was sharpening his sword while Sunila, sitting beside him, was crafting wreaths of the flowers growing in the monastery gardens. The others were busy honing their skills with the bow and arrow while making playful insults and jokes about their failures while praising their successes.

Rosomil watched them and listened to their conversations, but he couldn’t really focus on them or understand their words. He felt distant. He felt alien. There was nothing he had in common with them — a feeling, which he had often experienced outside their deployments.

Still, the scene was just that to him.

A scene.

As if he was merely witnessing a play.

A memory.

Belonging to those he saw more than to himself.

It merged with other memories of different yet alike Situations.

Despite the distance or perhaps because of it, Rosomil was aware that this was a dream.

A yet undecided one.

It teetered between nightmare and pleasant memory. Between what he wanted and what he had lost.

Rosomil wanted to keep the dream like his memory. Commit them both to eternity. Make them his last and forever dream. But his feelings — flayed, torn, maimed and boiling like a volcano underneath the surface — were pushing the dream into the nightmare. His heart, a raw wound, made blood seep into the scene.

The changes were minute at first, but once he took note of them, they became faster and stronger.

The grass growing in the cracks of the cobblestone died.

The air became stale.

The laughter grew distant.

First to go were his other companions, with whom he had shared a bond of close friendship, but not as close as with Lodwin. Then Lodwin’s laughter died as blood gushed from his mouth. The sword the statue had held was piercing his chest, and the angel's serine face was replaced by Rosomil’s crazed expression. Then the flowers of the wreaths next to Sunila wilted, before also those in her hands died as well.

Rosomil wanted this to stop. With tears in his eyes, he stretched his hands out, to pull her away. But before he could take as much as a breath, he was pulled into a gentle yet firm embrace. Scaled hands reminiscent of the feet of a bird warped around his chest. The smell of strong, suffocating incense filled his nose. Steel-like feathers began to cut into his neck and cheeks. Then, wings as black as the night were closed around his body.

“Your decision”, the Ravendemon breathed in a mocking tone into his ear, as Sunila became limp and fell in slow-motion to the ground. “It was yours alone to make.”

“Please, make it stop”, he pleaded, and the wings blocked his view.

“It has been done”, it continued as if it hadn’t heard him. “There’s no turning back.”

He called its true name.

He wanted it to stop.

He wanted it to make everything undone.

“I’m sorry”, it said softer, while gently tightening its grip on him.

Slow, he was engulfed into its wings. The feathers grew soft. Darkness, thick yet strangely soft, drew closer around him. The smell of incense became gentler as well. Somehow he felt at ease.

Suddenly, his demon brushed its nose against his neck. A second later, he felt soft lips on his skin. One part of him enjoyed the touch, while the other felt apprehensive. Slow, he turned around to face the demon, but before he could tell it to stop, it sealed his lips with its own. The shock of enjoying the kiss was strong enough to pull him out of the dream and into absolute darkness.

—

The bed felt different from the one he had in Gabáuan. It was harder. Less welcoming. He was awake the moment as he opened his eyes. The dream, an echo of sadness, confusion, and loss, lingered in his mind. The faint ghost of the demon’s lips rested on his own.

With a sigh, Rosomil shifted on his back and looked at the canopy of the bed, which was just as plain as the rest of the room. The only light was the faint glimmer of the morning sun, barely above the horizon, tinted by the coloured glass of the windows. The distant song of a few sad birds could be heard outside. He felt lonely. Miserable. But the image of the demon warping its wings around him stayed. The touch of its lips as well. Rosomil didn’t like the warm, longing feelings he had about it.

“You’re finally awake”, said his demon from the foot of his bed, on which it perched like a real bird.

“Damn you!”, shouted Rosomil, startled and sat upright in the bed, the dream pushed out of his mind from the moment by anger tinted with embarrassment. “Get out!”

“Really now?”, it asked, annoyed and let its feathers stand on end. “You summoned me multiple times during the night! Do you think I enjoy the pull every damn time you call my true name in conjunction with your order to immediately appear before you? Do you think it funny to have me jump, run around like a headless chicken? Because I don’t!”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“I didn’t call you!”, he protested and grabbed his sword, which he always kept beside the night stand. “Out, or I’ll skewer you on my blade!”

“Miserable fool!”, it snarled and vanished in a cloud of smoke and feathers.

Breathing heavy, Rosomil lowered his sword back down next to the night stand. How long did the demon watch him sleep? He didn’t bear to even think about it. And the dream…

“Could it be?”, he murmured, running his hands over his face.

While it had never hinted at being able to manipulate dreams, he did think it was capable of doing so. But to what end? The dream had feed off one of his old memories, and then it had turned on itself. The demon, first the judge, but then someone who offered comfort. Comfort Rosomil missed, but he would rather not substitute with that creature.

“It could’ve been an attempt at enticing me”, he mused, while standing up and picking up his clothes from the chair beside the drawer underneath the window.

This thought didn’t sit right with him. If the demon truly wanted to play that game, it would’ve used Sunila as a vessel and been much more flagrant about it. After all, it had used Sunila’s likeliness before in such a way, in the real world.

The only possibility remaining was that his own mind was behind this play. But Rosomil neither wanted to admit this nor did he wanted to think about the revelations about himself and the consequences of this line of thought. He had never been in love before, nor had he been inclined to have any inappropriate thoughts about anyone. Let alone dreams.

“No. This was just a slip of my mind. Nothing more”, he told himself while getting dressed. “It was brought on by the demon’s temptations and the negative feelings I had the whole day. I need to become more resilient. Less emotional. I just need to focus on my plan.”

Suddenly, his old rosary dropped to the ground. Rosomil looked at it with a slight frown but put away his nightgown first. Then, as he picked up the small wooden beads, worn from years of twisting and turning them around his fingers, he felt again sadness welling up inside of him. He grabbed the cross and pressed it into his palm. He wished for it to burn its detailed carvings into his flesh. To leave a mark. It didn’t. Not even a splinter pierced his skin.

With a sigh, Rosomil put the rosary back into a pocket and opened up the small cupboard, in which there was a mirror and a small water basin. A servant had prepared the water before he had gone to bed, so the water was relatively fresh. For a moment, he looked at his face on the water surface before raising his eyes to his reflection in the mirror. He looked haggard and as miserable as he felt.

Annoyed at his own patheticness, he let out a sharp breath and grabbed his shaving knife.

—

Once his daily morning routine was done, Rosomil didn’t look back and left his bedchambers. As he entered the winding corridor and headed for the spiral staircase, he forced himself to focus on the present. There was no sense in wallowing. He needed to remain sharp and focused. After all, Lodwin, or rather what some demon had conjured back to life to be used as a tool, was heading his way.

A part of him doubted he could talk to his former comrade. After all, Rosomil had seen plenty of possessed in his former line of work. But was Lodwin truly possessed? From the way the Ravendemon had talked about him, it seemed that his contract was more akin to one between a mage and a demon. But he had been dead and demons, not even fallen angels, made pacts with the dead. Rosomil had never heard of such a strange contract before. Perhaps it could be broken. Perhaps he could do his penance for his gravest sin much earlier than he had expected. He needed to speak with his demon about it, but the thought of dealing with it, while his mind was still plagued by the dream, didn’t help.

To his dismay and surprise, he found his demon sitting in the dining hall right next to Offilo, who was visibly sweating while side-eying the demon, which had taken its feminine, almost entirely human looking shape. On top it of it all, it was eating. Judging by the speed it shoved the desert into its mouth and the pleased expression on its face, it liked the konkavelite. The boy on the other side wasn’t eating much, but Rosomil understood his hesitation.

“Demon, what are you doing here?”, he asked louder than necessary, which caused Offilo to jump to his feet.

“Eating, are you blind?”, it replied sullen.

“Since when do you need to eat?”, he asked and stepped beside it, while the boy remained standing.

“True, I don’t need to eat, master”, it replied angry. “But I can treat myself once in a while, or are you forbidding me from having fun?”

“No.”

“You don’t sound like you mean it.”

“Go.”

The demon stood up so fast, the chair it had sat on clattered to the ground. But it didn’t leave. It merely grew in size until it stood taller than Rosomil and looked him straight in the eyes.

“How about you leave this room instead and eat in your study, like you usually do in Gabáuan?”, it suggested deadly calm, while its eyes burned into his.

“I eat wherever I want, demon”, he replied, equally calm.

“Then tell me… What’s your problem?”

“I just do not wish to lay my eyes on you unless I have to.”

“We can cancel the contract any time. Just remember, depending on my mood at that point, your death will be slow and painful or fast and painless. Currently, I’m more inclined to the former.”

Rosomil remained silent and simply continued to stare into its crimson, inhuman eyes. He wondered how the dream of last night could’ve haunted him. The Ravendemon was nothing but a monster.

Suddenly, the anger he felt evaporated as he realised that he just felt like this because he suspected it to have mocked him with said dream. A dream, which he had to admit a part of him - much to his dismay.

Involuntary, he broke the eye contact.

A heartbeat later, he felt his body lock up and the demon move his face back to force him to look at it. To do so, it used the claw of its index finger, trailing it dangerously gentle from his cheek to underneath his chin. He could feel the talon cut into his skin without drawing blood.

“Don’t play tougher than you are, master”, it said with a subtlety dangerous smile. “That’s the path of fools destined for death.”

“You’re right”, he forced himself to say. “But only in that regard. Now, unhand me, fiend.”

“Or what?”, it asked, and moved its face close enough to his, their noses barely touched.

Rosomil felt his face heating up. Embarrassed, he pushed the demon away and made a few steps backwards. Suddenly, the Ravendemon started to laugh and grabbed the dish with its half-eaten dessert.

“You did enjoy this, didn’t you?”, it asked, leering while watching him from the corners of its eyes.

“Stay your tongue”, he replied after clearing his throat. “As punishment, I order you to go and teach Offilo some fighting skills without crippling him. You do so until the late afternoon, when I will test the both of you.”

“Babysitting, really?”, it asked and glared at Offilo, who shrunk underneath its burning gaze.

“Or would you rather I use the black spike?”, asked Rosomil, tense.

“Yes, at least it’s a faster punishment”, it replied sullen, but a moment later a sarcastic grin contorted its features. “But I guess you're right. After all, why waste time scouting ahead and using my spells and abilities to secure Castle Eldebourg against the incoming threat? You’re indestructible, dare I say almighty? What could one measly, resurrected corpse and a fallen angel do to you anyway? Great. Divine. Lord.”

“Cease this mockery this instant!”

“Under one condition.”

“Which would be?”

“I’m allowed to finish my breakfast here without you saying a single word about it.”

Rosomil glared at the demon a moment. It continued to smile, albeit with a hint of danger.

“Fine”, he finally yielded and took a deep breath. “Eat whatever whenever you like.”

At this, the fake smile vanished into confusion for a second before being hidden by hollow triumph. Still, the demon seemed slightly taken aback by him giving in so easily. To ease his conflicting feelings, which had reared their head the second his demon had been confused, he turned away. With the same momentum, he went into the kitchen to prepare his own food, which he usually preferred to do since his days within the Order.

—

After Rosomil was done, he left the kitchen the same way. But this time only the empty plate of the demon as well as the half-eaten breakfast of Offilo remained. He regarded the table longer than he wanted. Loneliness bit into his soul like a vicious animal, killing his hunger and appetite. After a short glance at his breakfast, be placed the plate down beside the others on the table and left.