Beyond the Veil of the Dream lay nightmares.

Darian kicked a loose stone, watching it skitter across the ground. The cobbled road was emptying, and the light from a setting sun quickly faded beyond a horizon blocked by Mapleton's stone and wooden walls. The town bell had already recalled all of the field workers. Mapleton operated around that bell. Morning bell: Wake up. Noon bell: eat. Evening bell: Get inside the walls before you are locked out for the night and eaten by some magical monstrosity. Another pointless day, another day spent loading kilns, moving boards, stacking boards, and unstacking boards. He let out a growl. At least I don’t work outside the walls.

"What are you mad about this time?"

Darian turned to look at Mason. He was big for their age, not tall. No, Mason was wide. Thick and incredibly strong for a fourteen-year-old. He reminded Darian of a boulder. It fits considering his family name of "Stone."

"I'm not mad."

"You've been pouting since evening bell." Replied Mason in his low voice. "Thinking about work?"

Darian looked around them at the quiet streets. Everyone was settling in from the day's work, and the different shops were closed for the night. Darian gestured around them at the darkening town; Stone foundations, wooden walls, and the trees that lined the center of the thoroughfare were all dimly lit by softly glowing mage lamps.

“This can’t be all there is, Mason. It's all so… pointless. I’ve made up my mind: When I’m 18, I will enlist. At least in the baron's army, my life won’t be run by some stupid bell.”

Mason looked at him and sighed, "So it was the bell that set you off." Mason started walking again. "Why are you so obsessed with fighting, Darian? With how often you lose, I'd have thought you'd be sick of it by now."

Darian’s face warmed at the jab, "Do you want to stay a stonemason your whole life; don't you want to see the world?"

"Your way of seeing the world gets people killed. Besides, unlike some of my friends, I enjoy my work."

"Cutting stone can't compare to the feeling of a good brawl."

"I never did acquire a taste for getting hit in the head." This time, Mason gave Darian a lopsided grin. "I like the architecture and art side of it more than anything, and my dad has been teaching me how to read and write. He says I'll need to know that stuff properly to take over one day."

"Being stuck here isn't worth it, Mason." Darian could feel himself getting irritated with Mason. He looks like a boulder and is as stubborn as one.

"How is killing for some mage lord, you don't know for reasons you don't agree with better than a life of honest work, Darian?"

Darian flinched at the bubbling anger in his friend's words. "It—"

Mason cut him off, "It's stupid. The only reason to fight is to protect your home and family."

Darian deflated. "You told your dad," he accused. The betrayal stung. He had told Mason his plans in confidence. No, you confided in him to convince him to come. By now, the two friends had left the town center behind them and entered the residential district. The two—and three-story shops and trade buildings gave way to the single-story stone and wooden structures that housed the town's professional tradesmen.

"I didn't tell him," Mason said sheepishly, adding, "I asked for advice, and he put it together. Besides, after thinking about what he said, he's right," Mason's voice was heavy with finality.

"So I'll be going alone then," Darian said flatly.

He felt guilty. Ever since he and Mason had met, they'd been friends, maybe even brothers. Mason had watched his back and pulled him out of more than his fair share of rotten scraps. And how have I repaid him, The old insidious thought bubbled to the surface, By constantly getting him into trouble. Maybe its best, I—A hand grasping his shoulder shattered Darian’s mental fog and made him freeze.

Mason winced and removed his hand from Darian's shoulder. "Sorry, I know better."

Darian fought to control his rapidly beating heart and loosen his tensed muscles. Every time. He growled internally. Sometimes, he could control his reactions when he saw the contact coming. With Mason or his cousin Ava, it was easier. Sometimes, he lashed out. Other times, he'd freeze; every time, dread would make his heart race and his breathing ragged. Darian tried to turn his grimace into a smile.

"I'm fine."

Mason, frowning, continued, "It's better to stay here. Better to stay with family."

Darian could feel himself deflating. The weight of defeat made his chest feel hollow. "Not all of us have that option," Darian said, looking anywhere but at his friend.

Darian was beginning to realize that Mason would not be coming with him when he joined the army, whether baronial, ducal, or royal. I don't understand it, He thought.

He'd been fighting for as long as he could remember. It was one of the things he enjoyed most. Beating back those who tried to beat him down gave him strength. Even if he lost, he had always gotten back up. Like a distant light in the dark, being able to fight gave him hope. They are not just random fights.

They had a purpose. They had a reason. Every victory, every loss, they all meant something. Darian wasn't sure why or how, but he knew they were necessary. Necessary for his continued survival. None of them were pointless. It was a feeling he couldn't explain and had puzzled him for much of his life.

Maybe it wasn't just Mason he didn't understand; he puzzled over that as they walked, accompanied by the glowing mage lamps and listening to the sounds of a town readying for rest.

The sun had set, and they were almost to the east district when Darian nearly tripped as he walked into Mason. At some point on the quiet walk home, Mason had taken the lead and had come to a sudden stop, "What—"

"Braxton's just dragged Lucas into an alley."

"Who is Lucas?"

"Kid from one of the new families that moved here with Lord Blackwood." Mason was walking towards the alley. His gate increased in speed.

Darian moved to keep up, "I thought you didn't like fights."

"You going to let me go alone?."

Darian instinctively grasped the plain hilt of his long knife. Both boys had one hanging from their belts; they were a common item for anyone to carry in the duchies.

“I’ve got your back,” Darian said, a predatory grin creeping onto his face.

The scar running across one of Darian’s lower ribs started to itch at the thought of fighting Braxton again. Their last encounter had gone too far, but Darian had fled feeling victorious. He had gotten the better of the older boy for the first time, even forcing him to draw steel. Still, the scar on his rib reminded him of caution regarding Braxton.

Darian and Mason raced toward the alley, their boots skidding on the cobblestones. As they entered the shadowy passage, Braxton and his goons, looming over a figure, turned sharply toward the noise.

It was too dim to see the surprise on their faces, but there was a brief shock in their stiffening stances and small steps back. There was silence as the two groups measured each other up. The silhouette on the left was tall and thin. That has to be Lorn. Looking at the silhouette on the right, he was medium height but had more mass. Dael.

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The two were idiots perpetually stuck to Braxton like sap on an axehead. Lucas had to be the figure on the ground, curled into a fetal position. The smell of drink wafting off the three older boys made Darian wrinkle his nose.

Braxton's weasely voice stopped the two friends, breaking the silent standoff. "Who goesh there?" he said, his speech slurred.

Mason made to step forward, but Darian beat him to it, "Leave the kid alone, Braxton."

"Itsh Darian," Braxton boomed as he doubled over laughing. "Come back for more after I gave you good the last time?"

"You pulled a knife."

Braxton didn't seem to care. He raised a hand, pointed at Darian, and then moved it to Mason, "If you're Darian, then thatsh Mason."

The glee in Braxton's voice made the hair on the back of Darian's neck stand up. He's drunk enough to do something idiotic, like pulling a knife and killing someone. Darian shot a glance at Mason and groaned internally. Mason’s jaw was set and his shoulders squared.

He's on another one of his crusades, Thought Darian

"No one has to get hurt, Braxton. Leave Lucas be, and we all go home tonight."

Hells. Darian wanted to slap Mason upside the head.

Braxton began to laugh. Low and menacing. It was only made worse when his two friends began to echo it. "The threes of ush against the two butt boys." Braxton started to approach the duo, and Lorn and Dael followed slowly. "You won't be going home tonight. You'll be shleeping in this alley."

Mason looked to Darian, "Butt boys?"

Darian could feel his blood beginning to go cold, "He's talking about—"

Braxton interrupted him, "About how you spend your time with a nameless. It's something I've wondered about." Braxton had paused steps away from them. "You're getting something out of it." Braxton chuckled at his stupendous genius." Considering his mother was a whore, I think I know what it is."

Darian could feel his blood freeze, and all thoughts of running left his mind. He was going to beat Braxton bloody. As Darian lunged at Braxton, Mason's fist slammed into Lorn’s gut, doubling him over.

Darian ducked a wild swing and slammed into Braxton’s midriff with all the force he could muster, partially lifting him before taking the both of them to the ground. He landed on top of Braxton and began to pummel him. He wanted to make Braxton hurt. Pent-up rage surged to the forefront, fueling each blow, seeking catharsis with every strike. Darian rained blows down on Braxton. Braxton had managed to get his arms curled around his head, and his guard was the only thing preventing Darian from landing a solid strike.

Damn you! Damn Everyone!

Braxton's guard slipped, and a fist made it through, landing just above his eyebrow. Darian exulted at the contact instead of succumbing to panic and discomfort. He was in his element, where he functioned normally and where his barriers came down.

Braxton’s free fist slammed into the side of Darian’s face, sending him reeling. His vision blurred into blackness before a sharp pain snapped it back into painful clarity. He felt something in his face crack, and then the back of his head slammed against the alley floor. His ears rang, and his face felt like it was on fire. An impact to his stomach made him gasp, and Darian inhaled something hot and sticky. As his swimming vision slowly focused, he saw Braxton kneeling on top of him. Darian coughed, adding flecks of scarlet to a face already painted an angry red.

I know that look. There was something in Braxton's eyes—something that he had seen in a mirror. What is—? Another blow to the face interrupted Darian’s drifting thoughts. The pain in his nose flared to new heights, and the ringing in his ears stopped. To Darian's surprise, the night was quiet except for Mason and the others' scuffling. Then Braxton's face came into view through Darian's swimming vision.

Spittle flecked onto Darian's face as Braxton hissed, "You are nothing."

Breathing was becoming more difficult, and it was then that Darian realized something was wrapped around his throat. He clawed at Braxton's hands, trying to peel back the fingers to create any kind of gap he could use to breathe.

The pressure increased as Braxton leaned in closer, their noses almost touching, “You will never be anything. No family. No Friends. Nameless.”

Darian stopped struggling against the hands and weakly fumbled for Braxton’s face instead, trying to gouge his eyes, but his vision was already narrowing. Blackness encroached on all sides.

“Nothing you do will change that.” Darian didn’t know if it was his thoughts or Braxton, but the words drifted to him, easing through the black veil descending upon him.

The pressure around his neck was torn away, and Darian was gasping for breath through a burning throat, gulping down great lung fulls of air, coughing as he inhaled his own blood.

"Darian!" A hand reached down, grabbed him, and tried to pull him to his feet. It didn't work. Darian's limbs weren't listening to him. His useless legs refused to take any of his weight. All he succeeded in doing was getting dragged across the ground. Then Mason's face came into view. "Darian, you need to get up." Again, Mason reached down and hauled Darian to his feet.

"Thanks." Darian's voice was thick and distorted. He could feel blood leaking from his nose. Leaning on Mason, he gently touched it, causing himself to hiss in pain.

"Darian, I did something to my ankle. Can you stand?"

“Lorn and Dael,” Darian was struggling to think clearly.

“I’ve taken care of them.”

“Hells.” groaned Darian as his legs wobbled, and he was only saved from falling by Mason taking his weight. Darian heard Mason hiss in pain as he slouched into him.

“I think my ankle is broken,” Mason growled.

Darian’s head spun as he glanced down at Mason struggling to balance on one foot. 'Sorry,' he muttered, forcing his wobbly legs to bear his weight, still leaning on Mason for support. Slowly, his rattled brain returned to a semblance of coherency. Looking around the alley, he saw that Lorn and Braxton were on the ground. Dael and Lucas were both gone.

"Where’s Lucas?"

"Ran."

"And Dael?"

"Same."

Again, Darian's eyes fell upon Braxton. "He would have killed me." The revelation shocked him, and with shaking hands, Darian fumbled for his knife. He struggled to pull the straight, single-edged knife from the leather sheath on his belt. He was stopped by Mason's iron grip enveloping his wrist.

“What in the Caretaker’s ass cheeks are you doing,” demanded Mason.

“He would have killed me.”

"They will hang you." The iron wrapped around Darian's wrist loosened, "We can go to the watch. Your neck will be bruised; Lucas can tell his side of the story. They'll be punished."

Darian’s laugh turned into a cough, scattering droplets of spit and blood across the ground. "Not for me, they won't." Darian could feel his anger draining away. Leaving him exhausted and feeling the already forming bruises and protests of his battered flesh. He let his hand fall limply from the hilt of his knife. "I won't kill him, but..." Darian turned and, using the last fumes of his rage, kicked Braxton in the jaw. It wasn't nearly as hard as he wanted, but it was all he could get from his exhausted body.

Moving slowly to keep his balance, Darian returned to Mason and, bracing himself for the contact, let his friend lean on him. It made his skin crawl, but he would weather it for Mason. Helping to relieve pressure on his ankle the duo slowly made for Mason's home. Darian would have to go out of his way but Mason had saved his life.

He would have done it anyway. The streets were empty by now and dark enough that they could pass for two young men deep in their cups. Please don't let us run into any guards. Darian did not want to answer questions.

Mason gasped while passing under a light,

"Do you need me to carry you?" It was an empty gesture. Darian was barely able to help Mason walk. Besides, he doubted he could even lift Mason on a good day.

"No. I just realized how rough you look."

"That bad?" A lopsided grin crept onto Mason's face, and he began to chuckle.

Oh, here we go. Darian groaned internally.

"Well, it could have been worse, I guess."

Smiling hurt, but it couldn't stop him from returning Mason’s grin. "At least I'm not short,” and under a glowing mage lantern, the two boys burst into laughter. It hurt, but it also felt good. Stress drained away. From either the euphoria of victory or one too many blows to the head, Darian felt light on his feet. They had won. It was a painful victory, but they had won.

It didn't take long to get Mason home, and Darian deposited him just outside the front door. "Thanks for having my back, Mason."

Mason paused and sighed as he eyed the front door of his home." I put my foot in my mouth a lot tonight, Darian. I'm sorry if I sounded self-righteous."

Darian wanted to say something, to take the apology as a victory. He swallowed his ego. Mason doesn’t deserve that. He’s been a better friend than I deserve.

“Caretaker’s ass cheeks,” Darian said with a raised eyebrow, “What would Preacher Ailis say about that one?”

Mason chuckled shrilly, “That I was spending too much time around you.”

“That was much more than I thought it would be,” said Darian.

“I didn’t realize they were drunk.”

“What do you think they would have done to Lucas?”

Mason shuddered, “It could have been bad.”

"We are in a lot of trouble."

"Yeah," chuckled Mason.

"I should take the blame for this. It won’t make much difference to my situation, anyway."

Mason blinked at Darian before slowly shaking his head "I got you into that mess. I'm not letting you get the blame for it."

"It could save you from a head—"

"No." Mason was scowling now. "I don't care how convenient it is."

Darian sighed. Mason had that look—the one that made him resemble a boulder. No point in arguing. He nodded, "We went into it together."

Mason nodded and extended a hand. Darian clasped it. "Together," they said in unison.

Darian could see Mason wince when he looked at his face. "How bad is it?" It had

stopped bleeding at some point on their walk, and Darian had actively avoided looking down at his shirt.

"It's… bad."

Darian reached up and felt his face. Gasping as he touched the swollen, hot skin of his nose. It was bent. Badly bent. "It's not supposed to bend like that." Darian was wishing he had waited to inspect his nose. Fear and panic warred with the rising need to vomit. He was pulled out of the spiral by Mason speaking softly.

"Get home. Hopefully, you can still get it set tonight."

Darian nodded, turned, and, placing one heavy foot in front of the other, began the slow walk home.