Please wake up. The words tugged upon the man’s subconscious as he forced himself awake, a cold sweat beaded his forehead a tightness clutched his chest. Tentatively, he glanced around the darkened room – its familiar aspects washing away the nightmare that he had just endured.

            “Caldrice?” said Delarin, his muffled voice reverberating against the closed door. Slowly, he’d turn the brass knob, allowing himself into the room, the soft glow of a waning candle lighting the aged features of his kind, smiling face, “What’s with all of the noise? Is something amiss?”

            Caldrice sat up, his eyes struggling to focus on the light of the candle, “Huh, what?” He said, furrowing his brow as his senses sluggishly crawled back to him, “Oh, the noise.” The man murmured heavily under his breath, “It’s just the dreams again, that’s all.”

            “Well.” Master Delarin frowned, sending phlegm rattling through his throat, “Do you remember anything from it tonight? While it’s fresh, I mean. Anything that possibly stood out to you?”

            Caldrice closed his eyes and tried to grasp onto the voices, the images – anything – but as he tried to draw forth any detail it all slipped away grains of sand between his fingers. The more he tried to fill in the gaps – with what little he had – the more abstract it all became.

            Glancing at Master Delarin, Caldrice shook his head solemnly, “I can’t seem to focus on any one aspect for any period of time. It slips away from me. The details of the dream become more blurred, and it’s impossible to make them out.” Chuckling softly, he shook his head, “It’s like something’s scrambling my thoughts – my memories – in an attempt to make me forget.” He laughed, shaking his head, “That just makes me seem insane, though.”

            “Perhaps it’s the sign of an exhausted mind, and not one of insanity, hm?” He said, a stern expression creeping through the tangle of grey that hung down his face, “The moon is at its peak, Caldrice. The light of day won’t be piercing your window panes for another several hours.” Clearing his throat, Delarin gave a kind smile, “Go back to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

            Caldrice smiled in return, running his fingers through his ebony hair before nodding, “Thank you, Master.” He paused, resting his head upon his pillow, “For talking with me. It helps.”

            Master Delarin looked over his shoulder as he passed through the threshold, frowning, “I hope that it genuinely does. Truth be told, I’m worried about you.”  

            Then, he was gone – the only trace that he had ever been there was the lingering scent of incense that had infiltrated every fiber of the older man’s clothing. In a way, it unnerved him – made Caldrice feel suspicious as to how Master Delarin always seemed to stroll by his room during the worst of his night terrors. Did he truly cry out in the night, or was that an embellishment of details? These questions paled before the moments before he awoke from the dream with the withered man hovering over him with the occult gleam in his eyes, he couldn’t shake the intense, hollow, feeling that crept through him like the Winter’s chill through a vast, empty house. It was the same dream that he had been subjected to randomly over the course of the past thirteen years, but every time it came to him some details were clear, while others that he had previously been privy too slipped away from him. The man’s face – his withered, wrinkled face – like a corpse that had been left out in the sun for days, turning its skin to leather. His haunting eyes – through that ephemeral glow – so dark and sunken as if all that was human about him had been the vague appearance of one.

            This was not the only dream that he had which may have been connected to the distant past of his early life. At times, he wasn’t even aware that he was having the other dream – mistaking the darkness for a dreamless sleep – but unlike the other with the withered man, he remembers what he saw during this peculiar dream. Through the darkness, if he concentrated enough, he could feel his legs shifting through an endless void of nothing. He felt nothing, saw nothing, smelled nothing, and experienced nothing. He could feel things shifting in the darkness – things which kept him up at night – the distinct shape of something brushing against him in that place where senses should not exist.

            Enough. Caldrice whispered to himself – the hairs of his neck and arms standing end as he quickly tossed aside his thick, Erastian blanket before scrambling from his bed. I need to go outside. He thought, rubbing calloused hands across his pale face.

            Walking through the threshold into the darkened hall, he shouted towards the far end, “Master, I’m going into the courtyard to walk.”

            “At this time of night?” The echoing voice replied.

            “I need to get things off of my mind.”

            With an audible sigh the aged man stepped out of his room – his brows furrowed in a displeased manner. “Fine, fine,” He said, his hands waving Caldrice off dismissively, “I remember sneaking out and being scolded whenever I needed to distract myself at night, but I respect that you’re honest enough to tell me directly unlike Adelia. Just let the guards know on the way down and they shouldn’t bother you.” Rolling his eyes, he chuckled softly, “See if one of them will spar with you. It’s been a while since you’ve seen Kanreth, so you’d rather not fall behind.”

            “I’ll certainly keep that in mind.” Caldrice said offhandedly, giving a low bow before moving down the winding stairwell. Surrounding him were decorative armaments hanging from the wall – with the occasional painting of people he had never met. Perhaps they were ghosts of a distant past – or former apprentices. He never thought to ask. Often, he pondered if they were family that Master Delarin had lost during the plague two decades prior. Either way, he spoke little of them, and Caldrice thought that he should do the same. The lives of many were lost during the spread of rampant disease – and despite the efforts of all healers available in Kur, no effort was successful in curing, or containing it. Staring at the static, lifeless faces forever doomed to give pleasant expressions from within bronze frames sent the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

    Quickly, he moved past their painted gaze, before pushing himself against the heavy oaken doors that freed him from the confusing claustrophobia that his master’s spacious house had imposed upon him. Through the door, the walled courtyard was a mixture of dark green and white as the snow of Winter lightly dusted the decorative shrubbery and trees. Perhaps it was the frigid air he inhaled that helped him calm his nerves, or maybe it was the idyllic view that one could only hope to see in a painting held prisoner in a distant art gallery that only few would ever see.

            Shivering lightly, he sighed. Then he heard a cheerful, familiar feminine voice, “Well, well, well.” Adelia said as she ascended the stairs from the house’s Western wing with a light spring to her step. Her face beaming with a grin through the furred clothing that lined her lithe form. She stopped in front of him, naturally standing barely below his eye-level. “I heard you and Father talking, Mister Caldrice.” Playfully, she scolded him, “So much noise, almost enough to wake the dead!”

            “Of course, Adelia.” He snorted, nose wrinkled, “You’re never asleep when the rest of the world is.”

            “And I’m never awake when they are either.” She giggled softly, “I’m a night owl. What can I say? Father says it’s got something to do with me being born on the full moon, but.” Adelia shrugged, pulling a long strand of auburn hair back behind her ear. “Here.” She sighed, holding out an Irnul fur coat, “I figured you’d be too self-absorbed in your thoughts, as usual, to bundle up. It’s snowing for the Maker’s sake, Caldrice. You can’t be out here in your bedroom garb.”

            “Yet again, you’re right.” He remarked dully, before taking the coat. Caldrice’s expression softened as his gaze returned to his friend, “I appreciate it.”

            “Of course, Cal. I wouldn’t want to be stumbling over your stiff, frozen corpse in the morning.”

            “That would be absolutely unfortunate.”

            “So,” Adelia said, sitting down upon the door’s threshold, patting beside her for Caldrice to join, as he slid into the warm, dense fur of the coat, “I thought you were going for a nice, lovely midnight stroll?”

            He shook his head, clearing his throat – mesmerized by the steam of his breath, “No.” Blinking, he freed himself from the trance he had put himself in. “No. I thought about it, but no. I just needed to get some air – to get a grasp on some things.”

            “I did mention hearing you two talking earlier. Again.”

            “Again?” He parroted, confused.

            “Well, yeah. The dreams have become more and more frequent now. This is the third time this week, is it not?”

            “Fourth.” Caldrice corrected, rubbing his face lethargically.

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            “The same dream with the same old man that looks like something that Kur’s excavation team would dig out of an archaeological site?”

            “This time it was different – like I was experiencing the dream rather than simply observing it.”

            “That’s good! Right?”

            “I don’t know. It’s still all so cryptic – as if someone had taken my memories, and scrambled them like a Yetru egg.” He leaned back against the door – the aged wood creaking against his weight, “I can remember the man’s sunken, demented face – his warped, depraved features – but nothing else.”

            “You said this time it was different, though.” Adelia murmured, resting her elbows against her knees, “That all sounds the same.”

            “I don’t know. There was something that I do remember – something different. Something fresh.”

            “Why are you being so cryptic then? It’s obvious that you want to talk about it.”

            Frowning deeply, Caldrice shook his head, “It’s complicated because I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to get from it. It felt like I was in the center of the world – at the precipice of a vast vortex which spun ceaselessly into some abstract oblivion.” His gaze shifted to the ground, transfixed by the cobblestones as his voice became distant, “I felt like everything and nothing all at once.” He looked up at the cloudy sky, pursing his lips, “Then before everything melted away, and I saw that awful, pallid face once again I heard, in a unison of voices whose faces I could not see, one phrase repeated over and over again until I finally freed myself from my sleeping prison.” He recalled slowly, “Beware the Waygate.”

            “Hey.” Adelia said, resting a hand on his shoulder, “Look at me, Caldrice.” She’d smile, clearing her throat, “Look, it’s just a bad dream, right?” Her arms gestured out to the light snow falling into the courtyard, just out of reach of the lit lamps that dotted the cobblestone walkways, “You’re with a friend on this beautiful night.” Adelia snorted, bobbing her head appreciatively, “Just think how boring tonight would’ve been for both of us if you didn’t get startled by that dream?” She rolled her eyes, “Just think about it! Your eyes would close, then they’d open, and then it would be the morning! Ridiculous, right?”

            “You never seem to take anything seriously, but it’s almost endearing.” He finally said, chuckling softly placing his hand over hers to take it from his shoulder, “Do you think we could keep this from Master Delarin?”

            “A very peculiar request, Mister Caldrice. May I inquire why?” She uttered in a mock, haughty tone.

            “I told him once – about the Waygate that is.”

            “And? What did he say?”

            “He acted very strange about it.” Caldrice said softly, “It was as if he wasn’t himself – it was subtle – and if I hadn’t grown accustomed to him over the years, I would’ve missed it.”

            “My father? Not himself?” Adelia snorted lightly, “He wasn’t acting extremely stoic and all-knowing?”

            “No. He wouldn’t let the topic go.” Caldrice said, furrowing his brow, “He asked for every detail I could remember – as if there was something of value buried deep within.”

            “Like what?”

            Caldrice shook his head, “I don’t know. He kept prying, obsessively, but I couldn’t tell him anything else – and even then he tried to get more information. I just found it to be suspicious.”

            “It’s fine.” She said, rubbing his shoulder reassuringly, “Just take a deep breath, or two, maybe three? There’s nothing to think about except for the moment you’re living in right now. If it makes you feel better though, I won’t mention it to him.” Quickly, she sprung to her feet, rocking back and forth on her heels, “So, I’ve been working on something – you might like it.”

            Quirking a brow, Caldrice glanced up at the woman, confused at the sudden shift in tone, “Again, I admire how you can never seem to take anything seriously.” He admitted, “But I’ll need a bit more to go on than that.”

            “My Arcana, Caldrice!”

            “Adelia, don’t.” He implored. “Do you remember what happened last time?”

            Rolling her eyes, she sprung into the courtyard, shouting towards him, “That was years ago, Cal! We were children!” She grinned, twirling around, the bottom of her loose-fitting coat dragging against the floor, “Plus what would you know about Arcana?”

            He snorted, leaning back against his palms before shaking his head, “Not a thing.” Caldrice shouted back, his mind drifting back to the now-distant dream as his voice echoed across the empty yard, “Though, I also don’t have scars from being flash frozen by a spell that backfired!”

            “Whatever you say, Instructor. Sit back and be amazed!” She retorted, “Adelia Frostfall never admits defeat in the wake of an embarrassing defeat!”

            Skepticism. It was always his driving force – the force that kept him grounded in the reality he knew, only due to an uncertain past. His brow furrowed as he watched his only friend’s Arcana flare around her in a shroud of eldritch blue – bending the falling snow to orbit slowly around her form.

            Are we honestly going to go through this again? He thought to himself. “You know what happened last time!”

    “And it will happen again if you don’t stop distracting me.” She said calmly, “I’m not the same little girl that you first met when my father brought you to live with us, and neither are you the same traumatized little boy who had survived the Ebonshroud.” Her words clung to him like the heavy chill clung to his form. Heat formed in his cheeks as his mind flew around in his skull like an angry swarm of wasps. There wasn’t much that could irritate him, but the dismissiveness about the gravity of what she had just said instinctively made him clench his teeth together. He crossed his arms, eyes narrowed as he hid his balled fists in the crook of his elbows.

            The snow drifted across her form – vague shapes of both man and tree were slowly becoming visible before their silhouettes came to life against the canvas she had created. As the details became more defined, her delicate fingers, heavily laced with Arcana, began to weave the scene into place. The trees were bald and sagging – devoid of the life they might’ve once had – and the men’s heads were held high – a defiant gleam in their beady eyes. They marched onward, away from the landscape of death and decay – not knowing what they’d face next – though, Caldrice had hoped that what they found next would be better than what they had left behind.

            She bowed lowly, dismissing her control over the falling snow – the frigid powder falling to the ground around her – the only evidence that it had been tampered with was the quickly fading glow of Arcana from each individual flake. As it faded from the snow, so too did it fade from Adelia as she looked towards Caldrice. She grinned, jumping once into the air before sprinting over to him.

            As she came over to him, all the thoughts that were attempting to overwhelm his judgement slipped away, much like her control of the frigid element had. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before exhaling all the worldly woes which bound him, at least for a time.

            “How was it?!” She asked, “It’s something I’ve been putting together for the Remembrance this year. It’s being held in Kur.” Clearing her throat, she squatted lowly, softly whispering as if others were listening, “The High Lord will be there, and Father’s already said that I’m going to be leading the performance. It’s rough – a bit too rough for something that should’ve been polished a few months ago, but I still have several months to go.”

            “It was fine, Adelia.” He said, opening his eyes.

            “You think so?”

            Smiling, Caldrice nodded, “I think you embodied the defiant spirit of our land that the High Lord will love. Afterall he once said that tragedies do happen, but they’re to help us carve a path for a stronger tomorrow, hm?”

            “Thanks, Caldrice, and see! I didn’t freeze myself with a barrier spell this time!”

            “Impressive.”

            “I don’t know.” She sighed, shaking her head, “Rumor has it that the High Lord has been alive for a long time – at least since the first era. A little fluffy snow won’t impress an ancient warrior like him.” She threw her arms over her head, groaning, “Not to mention that there won’t be natural snowfall in Kur! Turning the water vapor in the room into a light flurry will tax my Arcana heavily.”

            “If they had someone better in mind to perform, then you probably wouldn’t be their choice.”

            “Well, I’m not without my connections.” Adelia said sarcastically. “Father is a Guardian, you know that, and as such he has a close connection to the High Lord.” Snorting lightly, Adelia shrugged, “I’m sure Father managed to talk him into letting me perform.”

            “Well.” Caldrice smiled, “Or, maybe he simply wishes to see if the daughter of one of his chosen advisors has the same natural talent for manipulating Arcana that they do?”

            Pursing her lips, she laughed vacantly, her eyes looking thoughtfully to the ground before clapping her hands together, “Maybe. The natural order of things mean that I’ll succeed him whenever I grow strong enough.” She rubbed her face, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She bluntly stated, “You might not be gifted with Arcana, but one could argue about the necessity for being able to weave together the spoken word. It’s not a talent that many people actually have.” She straightened her arms out in front of her before they fell limp by her side, “Thanks, but I think it’s time for me to finally go to bed. Maybe you should try to do the same?”

            “Perhaps.” He remarked, the irritation he had felt towards her slowly bubbled back to the surface. A mouthful of words formed, but he flinched, unable to bring himself to speak them aloud.

            Adelia gave another smile, furrowing her brow before opening her mouth. No words came, though, for the only that was shared between them was the distant howl of the early morning wind. Deep in her mind, she knew that any words she could offer him would fall on deaf ears, because no matter how reassuring the words he’d speak to her would sound, she understood that he was miles away from her – buried deep within the turmoil of his troubled mind; A troubled mind where fragmented ghosts of the past lived. Ghosts that only he could know, which manifested themselves through cryptic, nightmarish dreams that often kept him as far from the comforting embrace of his bed and blanket. As he watched her go, a wave of dread overwhelmed him at the thought of seeing that hideous, warped man glide through his mind yet again.

            No matter how hard he tried to evade him, Caldrice couldn’t shake the inevitable feeling of dread reminding him that their meeting was inevitable.