It's repulsive to be here again. To feel the sorrow that forces itself under my skin. It's hard to focus when I move across the dark blue grass. I keep the mirror tightly in my hand, but I don't dare to look into it yet.

In front of me lays the well, it somehow looks sadder than the last time I was here. I think of Clover's warnings, to never touch the liquid, no matter how much it may call on me.

When I'm sure I'm alone I lift the mirror and look into my own eyes – they don't feel like mine. It's different from the reflection in the crystal hall. There's nothing evil in these eyes, it's more like I'm watching someone through a window.

The reflection locks and no matter how I move it around, it won't change. Except the eyes, they follow me no matter the angle.

The mirror I keep angled towards the well; I take a deep breath. I close my eyes to shut out the sorrow and the desire – need – to submerge my entire body into the blue liquid. I think of Clover and the Fox, the one who was dressed in a black cloak and a fox-skull mask.

When I open my eyes I make a movement with my hand so the back of the mirror reflects the entire well. The green eyes follow me with every movement I make.

The air in front of me is visible and has become marked with all soul wanderers that has been here. Shapes of blue-green and moving air touches the entire area. There are hundreds of them and I cannot see color or details. I know who I'm looking for, he looks exactly like the other shapes. But the moment I lay my eyes on him I know that it's Clover, the one mark I've been searching for.

The reflection's eyes moves, this time they don't follow me. They turn inside out, so only the whites of the eyes are visible. All the shapes – except two – disappears. The details and the colors form in the air. It's hard to see, like they're still made of the same blue-green air with the slightest details. By appearance only I can barely recognize Clover. The entire area is woven into a heavy storm that you can see with the naked eye. I hold the mirror steadily and I don't dare to move, fearing that the scene in front of me would disappear.

I feel Clover's thoughts, his emotions. The nervousness, longing, and a worry. Strongest of all was the suspicions he had.

The hope was almost as strong. That was why he was there. If there was the slightest chance that the Raven was alive then it was worth meeting the strange soul wanderer. He had heard about him before, a man who had left and set out to the abandoned worlds. It wasn't the first time he had heard of soul wanderers who defied the guardians, they who gave up their purpose. But the Fox was young – too young to defy them without help from the outside.

He had expected someone to have helped and convinced him. He never suspected the Raven, not until the Fox came to him and claimed he was still alive.

It was the only reason why he had snuck out to this place that forced itself into his skin and suffocated him with a devastating sorrow.

He hated the well, a deep hatred for what it had forced him to go through when he had submerged his entire body in the vile liquid. But the well had its advantages. Here none could lie, the lies were written in their faces of those few who tried. Most knew it was futile. There were only a few that were so gifted with their silver tongues that could speak such lies that they themselves believed in it.

That's why Clover wanted to meet him here. He hoped and prayed that the Fox wasn't one of those few people with silver tongues. No lies would be voiced. He'd know if the Raven truly was alive, and if he'd let him believe he was dead for fifty years.

For his own mental health, Clover hoped that the Raven – if he was alive – had a really good reason for why he'd never told him, why he'd let him believe he was dead.

Clover tightened his fists when he watched the Fox, whose attention seemed to lie on the liquid beneath them. He turned around when he heard Clover walking up the stairs. He wore the same fox-skull mask he had seen him in the first time he met him. It had only been a few days since then. That was when he had told him the Raven was still alive – that he wanted to talk with him.

"Vile place... But I am here," the Fox began and observed Clover a long while before he continued, "the Raven wanted me to–"

"Take off the mask before you even think of uttering his name," Clover interrupted him.

The Fox slowly moved a pale hand against his face, pushed a few fingers against the fox-skull mask and if fell into his hand.

"Thus, vulnerable and bare," he said with a smile.

His face was covered in sorrow, the same emotion that likely sat upon Clover's face. It meant nothing yet. All that mattered was when he asked the heavy questions about the Raven – if there were any lies in the pale face.

"The Raven has sent me here for you."

No difference.

"You say that," Clover said and tensed up, "but how can I trust that? I was on his funeral. I saw them let his soul go. You mean this was all a game that the Raven created... for what?"

It annoyed him that the Fox saddened face hadn't changed, that he likely spoke the truth. Maybe it was a twisted truth, with such small lies woven into it that he couldn't notice it.

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"Put the blame on the guardians. Not on the Raven."

Anger. He felt the same respect that Clover had once felt – one he still might have felt. But if he was alive and had lied all these years...

"Is he truly alive?" Clover asked.

He couldn't care less about the guardians, he needed to know. To see if he lied.

"He is alive."

Clover tensed his jaw. No lie.

"The Raven... The Viking?"

He had to know for sure they were speaking of the same person, that he wasn't trying to lie by using another soul wanderer with the same name.

"Yes, he's alive, Clover. He asked me to–"

"Why? Why hasn't he said anything in fifty years?"

"Because he couldn't. The guardians faked his funeral and second death. If he entered your world – or some of the less inhabited worlds – then the guardians wouldn't hesitate. They'd imprison or abolish him. He has already put himself in enough danger to do what he had to. That's why he sent me as his messenger."

Truth. Each word he said was the truth.

"What does he want?"

The Fox hesitated and the entire face showed worry. "He'll explain everything himself."

"What does he want?" Clover repeated, this time harsher.

The worry was still visible in his features, he chose the next words carefully.

"He asked me to bring you with me."

"Just tell me what he wants!"

The Fox shook his head. "He asked me to bring you to him. I know there's a lot I'm asking of you, but I cannot say more than that."

Clover frowned. "You want me to leave these worlds..."

"Yes. I'm here to take you to the Raven. He's in Lyathus."

"Lyathus? Is that another abandoned world?"

The Fox nodded and took two more steps closer, in his hand he held the mask tightly.

Clover laughed bitterly. "If the Raven wants to tell me something he can come himself. Then I might think over it."

"I insist," the Fox said.

It laid something desperate in his eyes.

Clover took a step back. "Is that a threat? Did Raven say that you'd have to force me if I said no?"

He didn't know how strong the man was, nor what his plans were if he did decline his "offer". It would take too much time to create a door. The Fox stood close to the liquid and if he was quick enough he could push him into it if he tried something. But after experiencing the well's most vile parts he wasn't so sure he could subject someone else to it.

"No threat. You have the right to make your own decisions."

Truth again, but Clover couldn't let his guard down just yet.

"But?"

"I ask of you to think through them."

Clover took another step back. Disappointment and shame showed itself in the Fox's face; he knew he had failed.

"I understand," the Fox said and put the mask back on. "If you change your mind..."

He never finished his sentence. A gate was built up in between them and when it disappeared the man was gone.

I breathe in the sour air. I feel his thoughts and emotions like they were my own when they begin from the beginning again, like it is stuck in a loop. Over and over again.

I lower my arm and the scene disappears; the mirror blackens for a few seconds until it reflects the surroundings again.

He had said no. I don't understand why he'd never told the guardians, why Cerberus hadn't known this. Was he protecting the Raven or had he regretted his choice? There was still a chance that the Fox had looked him up again and taken him to the abandoned world to meet the Raven.

And who was the Fox?

I close my eyes tightly as my head start to pound. I focus and put my mirror back into my inner mind. It's hard to think here, clearly the presence of the dagger has wounded my mind.

Yet another problem I haven't the faintest idea on how to solve. I cannot stop thinking of what I've gotten myself into.

****

I stand naked in an eternal darkness with the dagger tightly gripped in my hands. I press it against my stomach, hard enough that it penetrates my skin and draws blood. I feel no pain in my abdomen, not the tip moving deeper into my skin as I move it in circles. But for each part I cut I feel the pain in my mind, in the same way I had felt when I had it in my head.

I continue slicing it over my skin. Over thighs, chest, arms, and hands. When I look down at my body I realize I've cut the very pattern that covers the blade of the dagger. Even my fingers are covered in blood and the deeply engraved symbols. I pull my fingertips over them, some have healed and feels softer and thicker like scars. The sorrow from the well settles itself underneath my scarred skin.

A creature is sitting in front of a fire and hits its hammer over a dagger on an anvil – the same one I'm holding in my scarred hands. The creatures skin looks metal-like, thicker and stronger than a human's fragile skin.

I take a step forward. "What are you doing?"

The voice echoes out over the darkness.

"I'm creating a weapon," the creature answers with a soft, fatherly voice.

"What for?"

I take another step forward and let the fire warm my bare skin.

"Defense. Protection. Punishment," he says and slams down the hammer for each word. He stares at me with fully black eyes. "The last resort."

His skin slowly starts breaking out in deep crevices. The black eyes plead. I take a step back and when he rises I notices he is well over two meters tall.

The crevices grow deeper and further. His eyes are desperate. I reach out an arm, and the creature in front of me breaks into thousands of pieces. Small stones falls onto my hands and burn my scarred skin like they are red-hot coal.

Slowly crevices grow upon my hand. I shake away the scorching stones from my palm, but they keep growing up my arms, my shoulder, my throat. My face.

And I scream when I feel myself shatter.

I sit up in my bed and stare out at the window on the eternal rainy day. I extend my hands and study them. They're whole, bare and pale. Not covered by blood and engraved symbols. Not scarred nor shattered.

Breathe, I remind myself. It was only a dream.

I kick off the blanket and put my feet down at the floor; I lean my torso over my lap. When I close my eyes I see the dagger, symbols, and scars in front of me. My stomach turns.

"It was only a dream," I say out loud and pull a hand through my hair.

Maybe telling Blomst or Cerberus, asking them to be forgiving could be a good choice. That I didn't mean to give the dagger to Azor, that I tried to send the weapon out over the platform. I doubt it'd do any difference. What I had done was treason, Azor had at the very least made it sound like that. They'd fade me or imprisoned me for what I had done. It was better to keep this to myself. There had to be a way to solve this, maybe I could learn who Azor had made the deal with. Azor wasn't the only problem. Clover and the Fox was still something I wasn't sure how to handle. The Raven was alive, and Clover hadn't told the guardians about him nor the Fox.

I pick myself up from the bed and keep my arms around me. The Fox. He is – or at the very least was – Vrana's soul wanderer. If I'm going to find out anything about him, I can start there. I can't talk to Clover. If I somehow find him, I'm sure he'd lie. Besides, I can't explain how I know he's lying. I stand by the window and put my hands on the windowsill. My head aches, like the dagger is still there.