#int. fharzai

[alrikhart]

@fharzai location: dreamscape (iskaran mines) notes: all good things start with horrific trauma

Most nights, he was restless because he found himself here again, blurring the line between unconsciousness and the waking world. Sleep was something he wished to avoid but was physically necessary; sleeping draughts helped, lulled his weary mind into the dreamscape, and for a few uninterrupted hours, he'd toss and whisper pleas for help into the dark of the night above him.

In the dark, it was hard to discern what was him and what was the cold echo of cavernous walls. Hot. Cold. The Iskarans had dug into the mountains, deeper than anyone should have gone, instead knocking at the halls of the damned. Murder, arduous labor, a sunless life, and hunger were enough to drive anyone towards desperation. In the dreamful hours, Alrik forgot what was and what wasn't; the escape he'd imagined and played over a hundred times in his head had to be a fantasy. Nobody got out, at least not alive; this place made monsters of anyone, he'd felt in the gray matter that squeezed between his fingers. In the shards of a broken skull that was splattered across the cavernous floor.

Where was Alessia? She was here - she must have been here? Had that been her? He should know if his sister was dead. He would have known if he had killed her, but then where had she gone -? It was dark and cold. So dark. The air lingered on his skin like damp, clammy fingers stretched greedily across his flesh. A breath fell from his lips as the haunting whisper of cruelty rattled like a hiss at the back of his synapses, it told him what was to come, and what was inevitable: the Norns had tied his thread long ago, and it was here in the depths of Helheim that he'd wander eternally. Cold and lost, nameless and forgotten.

Overhead, the infernal pitch of the cavern cracked open, and light poured down from above. Bit by bit it broke apart as the warmth of the sun washed over the miner's frame, bringing with it a chorus that rose from something Alrik couldn't place. For so long, hope was an enemy because it brought with it nothing but despair; there was a peace that came to Sisyphus's acceptance of his fate; the last hope of treachery against the Gods was to consign oneself to the trials ahead. But there it was, the sun, the sky, and when the ceiling of the mineshaft broke away, he found himself on his feet. Washed in the warmth of the day he stood before a man with gray eyes, a stranger.

"Who are you?" Asking how hadn't crossed his mind. He had no awareness that this was a dream, no control over what was happening around him, and no ability to truly question the changes. Instead, his fanatical mind went to what he knew, to the Gods he'd learned so much about growing up. If this was Sol, Mani had to be nearby, driving their chariots across the sky. There were stories about falling into pacts with deities, but Alrik did not think of himself first, instead another's name fell from his lips. "Where's my sister? Where's Alessia?" At his side Alrik's hands had balled into fists, mediocre magic met the arms of a blacksmith's son, but God or no he would not be parted from her.

[alrikhart]

@fharzai location: dreamscape notes: his leg isn't fucked up here :)

When Alrik closed his eyes, the druid was always there. Even without Fharzai's influence, Alrik thought he could conjure him now when he wanted to. When he needed him; lately, that had been more often than not.

There was a lightness that came in the waking hours when Alrik was liberated from his dreams, but the darkness remained, giving contrast to the scape that spread out from the hill in all directions. Clouds of pink and lavender, permeated by shallow rivets of a darker emerald and deep violet. In the distance a storm rumbled, flickers or thunder that sparked and flourished, a shadow stretched from their hill to the horizon - but it was a distant thought. One that Fharzai helped stave from Alrik's mind while he slept.

Idle, calloused fingers trailed against Fharzai's side as Alrik kept his cheek pressed to the top of the druid's head. Eyes fixed on the horizon as he ruminated over what was awaiting him in Lysara. What sort of life he'd have, and what he and Alessia would do when they were reunited. She'd spoken so often of the tower, but now when Alrik thought of his place in the world he thought of so many things; The Old Woman in the Mountains, the Legion of the Dead, and the Tower of Olympia. It wasn't possible to have everything, but now and again obscurity had its own appeal too.

Would that he could just dream forever.

"Will you show me something?" Alrik's head tilted from the horizon toward the man on his chest, unbroken legs stretched in front of him as the pain he felt in the waking world was a thing of the past. There was such an odd symmetry between not knowing the man at all, and feeling as though he had always known him. Fate was fickle in its machinations and, this feeling wasn't enough, he found he wanted to know him for real. All of him. "Anything, your past, your present - what you want for your future." Alrik thought briefly of his own story, "I'll share after."

[alrikhart]

@fharzai location: Hrimthur's Wasteland notes: The first night after the last night

The sun set over the refugees' first night since their last night at Nornwatch. Caked in ash and weary, Alrik didn't fight the pull of rest, in uncharacteristic fashion he jumped at the opportunity to close his eyes. Somewhere in this dream realm was a man he could press for information on Alessia, his sister was taken and somewhere out in this gods-forsaken-wasteland she was alive. Alrik knew beyond the shadow of any doubt that Alessia had survived the attack, he would know if she was dead.

In nothing but rags the witch opened his eyes to the dark of the cavern once more, years' worth of grime clung to his skin as he pulled himself to his feet. Made of resolve, Alrik closed his fist and found the talisman that he'd been given when last the druid had come to break him from this spell. Where Alrik had remembered Fharzai in his waking hours, dreams held a different power, consigned to these caves again and again, now he shouted-

"Fharzai!"

Alrik pressed forward as he shouted again, clutching the talisman tight as the world dissolved around him. Disintegrating as he trudged up the hill that Fharzai had set him upon before. This time the mountain followed, blight followed the hill as the grass and the tree atop it were eaten away by decay. "Fharzai!" Alrik shouted for a third time, "Show yourself!" The witch had no power over this realm, but the other had been certain of himself before. "I know you're there." Quieter now, more to himself than anything, "I know you can hear me."

[alrikhart]

There was the cruel thought that a dream might just be the dream, a product of a fractured mind that had been fragile from the start. Alrik hadn't seen Fharzai until after the attack - now that Alessia was gone he was seeing him again.

No. Alrik dismissed it; he felt it in the marrow of his bones that this dream was as real as anything the witch had ever held in his hands. The beating heart he felt under Fharzai's pulse wasn't imagined, and when he arrived in Haven the druid would be there waiting for him.

Another errant thought: even if this was a lie, Alrik was all too happy to be deceived.

This was the part where Alrik would have started reaching for layers, shedding them back, and peeling them away until the two of them were just skin pressed against skin. Instead, his touch lingered and his thoughts stilled as Alrik gave way to the moment instead, gave way to the soft movements of Fharzai's lips against his own - matching the witch's more dominant strides as he felt an ache that began to throb between his thighs; errant want and unabashed need.

There was more on his mind, like what Fharzai's gray eyes looked like in the morning when they were still lined with fatigue, or what those curls would feel like if Alrik turned them around his finger. He found himself wanting to ask the druid a myriad of questions - things that the man had been as stubborn as an Iskaran when it came to answering them. For a moment he was consumed by thoughts of the other, selfishly so as his lips spilled the story that Alrik's silver tongue longed to say.

Alrik felt his lips part to ask something- anything, he opened his eyes and saw the cloth of his tent above him. The twilight of dawn illuminated the material and an intrusive whisper rattled off the wind. He afforded himself a few moments of personal intimacy and then forced himself to greet the day.

Strength and resilience reverberated through Alrik as clear as his heartbeat. Those who fight, while supported in their own way, were hardly ever cherished to a keeper of peace. When powerful witches waged war proper balance became incredibly difficult to maintain. Fharzai despised conflict because he knew better than most that the aftermath could be just as brutal.

It was always him to counseled Warriors who returned to the Tower after battles. The human heart could only bear so much, and he'd seen it reach a breaking point countless times over. He no longer needed to imagine the chasms Iskaldrik was able to inflict upon its people thanks to Alrik. Cracks formed and widened day by day, only to be filled by further darkness preventing healing altogether. It was tragic in a way that he hadn't seen in Lysara and yet Alrik was not defined by what he endured.

That's what made him so fascinating, and made Fharzai want to learn even more. There was compassion beating beneath his sturdy frame, tenderness dwelling in his calloused hands. Yes, he was a warrior capable of going places even someone as powerful as Fharzai would dare go, but that didn't mean he was undeserving of peace before he encountered his eternal dream of golden fields and rainbow bridges. "If your preference is for darkness, then I will have to try that much harder to change your mind, won't I? Even if that means venturing further into the darkness you cling to."

The push he received from their conflicting ideals, the pull of his touch, they both served to stoke his fascination with Alrik. No part of healing this Iskaran would be easy and yet Fharzai was so sure he'd see it through. It may not have been possible to completely pull him free of the cavern that infected his dreamscape, but that fact wouldn't absolve Fharzai from trying.

His hands slid slowly, yet just as deliberately across Alrik's chest. It made it easy to grip his neck when Alrik kissed him, giving him something to hold on to as his breath was stolen from him. Fharzai's lips received Alrik's, his tongue relished in the taste. He embraced it getting deeper and even peppered more along Alrik's jaw as he spoke, not letting any distance slip in between them. "I here, Alrik. For however long you need me. This is your dream, your draumskrok, and I won't let it end until you're ready."

Stroking Alrik's hair and kissing his cheeks weren't just for the witch's benefit. This was the closest Fharzai had felt to another in such a long time. He didn't want the dream to end either. "I am here, I am real, and you are safe in this realm. I promise." With the glimpses of cold he captured from Alrik's consciousness, he knew as soon as the witch opened his eyes he'd be thrust back into the hell of survival. Fharzai felt Alrik deserved as long as a reprieve as he could get. So he craned his head and dove in to kiss Alrik again, drinking up every drop of passion Alrik could offer.

[alrikhart]

They were all prisoners, Fharzai did not see the cage for what it was but the wheel had tethered them all to the pattern. They would rise, live, suffer, and die- then maybe years later their spirit would return to this world to do it all over again. Alrik's hope was not for this age, but for the age that would come after this one. His actions and how he affected the pattern would make a brighter future. Alrik was already damned, one could say that his next life was already damned as well, but if his efforts rippled down the annals of time to create something brighter than the darkness that had made him, then he'd consider these sacrifices a success.

More blood ran from his hands than he'd ever admit, but killing an innocent before they were given the chance to become one of the damned did not make for sweet dreams or a happy ending. At Fharzai's words, he thought of a few, the witchers who'd hunted him and his sister, the Iskaran nobility that perpetuated these laws. Peace. Death could be peaceful, that was the only happiness Alrik would approve of them gleaning.

"And lose myself in your draumskrok?" Alrik smirked, "I think not, dúnedain." Wake up. Alrik bid, he squeezed his palm as his nails bit into his palms, "Until then." the pain jerked Alrik from the dreamscape as he opened his eyes on the cold, stone floor of the Keep. Dawn was peering through the slot in the wall, for the first time in years, Alrik had overslept. Already the night's events were slipping from his mind, but he remembered gray eyes, and into the pale morning light, he whispered a name before it evaded him.

"Fharzai."

END

There was far more to Alrik than what Fharzai could hope to glean upon contact with his psyche, but even then he found the combative response to be in line with his assessment of the other. True, it's been some time since he's actually conversed with an Iskaran. It was easy to forget how hardy that nation made its people. Embracing a glorious death and getting comfortable with nightmares seemed like such Iskaran sentiments, and in a way, Alrik's expression of them was a relief despite how frustrating it was to hear.

Yet Fharzai looked to him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Alrik was so willful it was almost intimidating, which is why he knew the witch wouldn't lie about his spite. Helping a stubborn cynic may have been more than Fharzai should be signing up for, but there was something there, he could feel it. Saving Alrik from his nightmares was the right thing to do.

How could it not? The dream he let out when his spirit was finally free from darkness was beautiful. Fharzai had seen a great many dreams in his time, but it'd been a while since he'd seen someone else's be so vast and golden. He understood that a cry for help would never fall from the lips of someone like him, so the combative invitation was the best Fharzai could hope to get. "No one is undeserving of peace. I want to see you through, to see you dream like this again, and therefore will shatter your nightmares however many times I must before you are free of them. Because Alrik, you are not a prisoner anymore." Fharzai pushed because he couldn't help himself. It wasn't deep, but he did see Alrik's liberation. Iskaldrik was certainly a different place.

"There is no need to thank me. The decision to help is mine, and no amount of stubbornness or attempts to darken my worldview will stop me. I believe you are at a crossroads, and I get a sense that seeing you through is why we've been brought together." Alrik was fascinatingly complex, however the look of calm on his features was the same as anyone else's. "You can thank me again once all you feel when you enter the realm of dreams is warmth. Alrik–" The words please don't forget me were hot between Fharzai's partially parted lips. Instead, he took a few more moments to stare distantly at Alrik before continuing. "–you should take your time and enjoy. Rest, when your body is ready to wake you'll be called back to it."

[alrikhart]

A thread wove from the branch to Alrik, tying itself in a knot around the witch's finger. If the witch looked hard enough he could see the pattern written within; the delicate thread of spirit that created the weave this druid managed with little more than a gesture. If Alrik was better studied, then he would know how to make use of it, grabbing hold of threads of air or fire was easy. Natural in their own way after observing the repetitious force of air and fire beaten against elements of the heart to change the matter of the black metal.

Alrik turned his palm as he touched the thread as he would any other, this was different from the others because the impressions from the dúnedain covered. Yet, there was a notable familiarity to it; he understood the fundamentals of magic only because Alessia was determined to learn whatever she could. Earth, air, fire, water - building blocks for the physical world; spirit for the soul, and for tethering to places like this.

"I'm comfortable with my nightmares," Alrik challenged, "if you don't come find me I might just choose to remain there out of spite." Iskaran stubbornness at its finest, he moved past Fharzai and moved to stand at the edge of the hillside; in front of him was the golden canvas of the dreamscape. Untouched by the shadows that lingered behind him. Lashes closed as he created something not from memory but from his overactive imagination. The skaldic smith kept prose on the edge of his tongue while hiding a knife under his belt.

His lashes closed as he held tight to the thread he'd wound around his fist, closing it as he often did as if he were wielding a hammer once more. "Here comes the story of Baldr, son of Odin and Frigg, so beautiful they denoted him the God of Light: arbiter of disputes between Gods and men, slain by mistletoe, and for whom the sky was bid to weep, as were the trees, the stones, and every blade of grass." In his mind's eye, he felt the rhythmic pulse of iron beating underhand as the threads of air were smashed from within to make room for something more. "In Asgard, no home was more beautiful than his, Breiðablik. Lined by twin peaks, with columns of gold and roofs of silver, where nothing impure may tread." Alrik opened his eyes and saw it painted on the horizon ahead, heaven across a rainbow bridge where the smell of sweet mead lofted over the gilded clouds between them. He put his back to it as he gripped Fharzai's talisman and stood closer now than before, "I have dreamt long enough, I should wake before your draumskrok causes me to waste my day away." He waited just a beat, "But you have my thanks, Fharzai, rulebreaker of the dúnedain."

Fharzai minded the politics of the lands he touched. There was no way to know Alrik's circumstances and blurring the line between dream and reality was trickier the further he roamed from his physical form, but the combination of his magic with a witch's might allow Fharzai to leave some simple remembrance. "Press it into your palm. Press so hard that your body remembers the sensation. Do this and your sleeping self will remember the way." Though Fharzai knew it'd be near impossible for anyone else to find their way through an ever-changing dreamscape without him. He does give Alrik a helping hand in that regarding, weaving an invisible thread from his finger to a branch of the tree. No matter the depths of his nightmares, the lifeline would be there for him to pull should he ever need to escape. If his spirit memorized the pull of this site.

"Here, you'll be free to dream about whatever makes you happiest," Fharzai promises, though he hesitates to continue. When he does, it's with a sad smile on his face. "If your desire to see me is strong enough, perhaps I'll hear. I think it'd make me incredibly happy to see you find your way back here." He leaves off how the mind can struggle to retain dreams in their entirety so a full rendering of a druid of his Circle can be difficult to hold onto. Chances were, Alrik wouldn't remember enough to call out across the dream realm for him.

Sat upon a mossy boulder, he finds himself staring up at Alrik struggling to find his next words. He ends up laughing with gentle exasperation. "If I were a better druid, I would've vanished the moment you stood," he acknowledges, cheekily confirming Alrik's guess at his identity. "Let's just say that even if you don't remember me, I'll probably wander into your dreams again. I feel like I must." Fharzai doesn't want to elaborate since he doesn't want even the mention of that cavern to taint this dreamscape even if to say he wants to heal Alrik of it completely "If there is to be some great shift in my worldview, it'd stand to reason that someone like you would be the catalyst. Though I suspect my real purpose for being here is getting you to see things my way."

[alrikhart]

Lifted through the air, Alrik felt the warmth of the wind as it rushed past him and the expanse of the dream realm as it swelled about his person. When he was a child he used to dream of taking a boat out to see, of going so far out that he was surrounded by nothing but boundless horizon. Far from the daunting peaks of the Iskaran ranges, and free to listen to the sounds of salt and seafoam sloshing against the side of an ironwood dragonboat. Back then he couldn't fathom a Kingdom that would simply accept him, maybe if he could his dreams would have looked different: painted in colours of acceptance rather than flight. This was why he liked the old stories most of all, in a good story, everyone could be made equal with the brush of a pen or the stroke of a tongue.

Evan as Alrik's feet landed on the soft moss of the hilltop, there was a part of him that was consigned to his own beliefs. Dreaming was all well and good, but everyone had to wake up eventually. Still, the notion that he could close his eyes and land somewhere other than the fractured tomb of his addled mind was a boon that Alrik would run to if he were strong enough to shed the shadows on his own.

"Protection." Alrik mumbled lightly as he crouched and brushed his fingers over the rune; it was far more intricate than the rudimentary carvins that he'd familiarized himself with in his youth, but he knew enough to piece together the meaning of the lines. Tranquility. He thought only to himself as he looked to another stone and ran the rough pad of his thumb across it. After a beat he stood at height and welcomed the gilded surroundings to wash over him.

"There's something my father told me that Iskarans love to forget," their runic alphabet was an echo of a translation that harkened to an age when countless druids had been hunted from Iskaran shores. Their sacred sites remained as little more than ruins and shattered waygates. "You're one of the Dúnedain." Clearly one with some power over dreams, but the man's temperament was beginning to make sense. Instead what Alrik asked next surprised him, "Will I see you again?"

Fharzai lends his curious gaze to Alrik, peering at him with expressionless intensity. The longer he stayed in another's mind, the more likely it was for them to wake up. Upon contact, he got a sense for who Alrik was when he was a boy trapped in the dark cavern his nightmares created. Now that the witch was gaining some lucidity, Fharzai wondered what else he could learn if he were to touch Alrik's subconscious now.

It was tempting, and doing so could prepare him even more for the healing he knew Alrik needed, but Fharzai withheld his reach. He'd gotten too involved as is. What he needed to focus on now was helping as he was without getting too attached to the Iskarans. "Even though you do not see things the way I do, I am glad you could smile. Dreams may not be "real" by your standards, but to me they are everything. Powerful, but most importantly safe. There's no shame in wanting to feel safe for a night."

Dropping some pretense, Fharzai decides to show off a bit. He falls backward but begins levitating once more. With an impish smile, he soars straight to the top of the hill. "Come along, traveler. The view is much better from up here." With a flick of his finger, Alrik's form is tugged to the top too in a high arch through the air. He lands safely on his feet where Fharzai is, amidst moss-covered rocks that share the same runes. They read protection and tranquility, a site designed to keep his Circle safe. If Alrik's spirit were to come here when he slept in the physical world, then maybe the nightmares wouldn't reach him for a time. "I can't speak to the things you've seen, but the world is meant for more than mere survival. Just because you stand in the dark doesn't mean you must remain in the dark. It's okay to hope for light, and even feel it yourself from time to time. Otherwise, what are you even fighting for?"

From the willow tree hanging over them, Fharzai plucks a disc from the bark that shares the same rune etched into the stones. He takes it and presses it firmly into Alrik's palm rune-side down, as if to will it into solid form. "Hold this and rest for a moment. I may not be able to destroy that dark place completely, but at least if you can reach this peak then maybe you can find a respite from the shadows. Perhaps with a little distance from time to time, you can have restful dreams yourself."

[alrikhart]

Not that Alrik could say that Fharzai had given him much of a choice, but he did not begrudge their meeting. This dream was far more pleasant than the one he'd been having previously - but that did not change the root of his subconsciousness. The shadows remained, if only to give contrast to the light.

Doubt and cynicism pervaded the notion that nations beyond Iskaldrik were in a much better standing. Iskaran dogma ridiculed Lysarans at every turn, witch-lovers and demon-bedders. Meddling like theirs almost undid the pattern once, now they tamper with fate further? How much Alrik prescribed was another question entirely, he couldn't say he knew enough about any of it; this fractured, broken world. The lines of division across Taravell and the hatred that persisted was the scar tissue that their forebears left behind as an inheritance.

Their destination rose at last, a hill that at first glance seemed innocuous but felt anything but. A sense of peace washed across Alrik, for the first time that he could readily recall, the witch thought that dreaming might be better than waking. His addled mindset put aside any confusion over his past; he'd left that cave long ago, it lingered but he was never going to be anyone's prisoner again.

Laughter boomed from the core of Alrik's chest, "I did not say that I wasn't enjoying your company." The nature of the witch seemed to challenge those around him, but neither was Alrik someone who could be pushed around easily. "But this is just a dream, Fharzai: the real world isn't hills of light and well wishes. It's predictable and cruel. You enter, you survive. you die." It was clear that the druid truly believed this rhetoric, this nonsensical jargon that a happy dream and a few shafts of light could heal the world. So long as there were people, there would be contempt, wars, prejudice, and worse. A chill ran up his back as he looked upon the mound that Fharzai had made or led him towards, it lifted the small hairs on the back of Alrik's neck as he looked over his shoulder and saw his shadow stretched long behind him. The cave, fixed in the distance. "Someone has to be willing to stand in the dark to serve the light."

Looking up at Alrik from his lower, levitating seat, Fharzai felt intimidated by the witch's intensity. Was it a simple byproduct of his Iskaran roots or the result of anguish exclusive to his story? "It's fortunate then that I have no intention of doing you harm. You'd make a fearsome enemy." Though there was a sense of awe in Fharzai's gaze, there was a sadness too. He never did come to understand warriors despite exploring the depths of many during his tenure at the Tower. The battles he waged in the minds and hearts of others relied on his spirit and tongue, not the sword.

And yet a unique kind of resilience had bloomed within Fharzai that made him certain he would not leave Alrik to suffer even though the magnitude of the task seemed to grow heavier with each phrase from the Iskaran's tongue. "A pebble dropped in a pond can send ripples all the way to the edge," Fharzai says, reaching up to touch nothing yet creating ripples of his own in the scape they can both visualize. "I've done a great many things to ensure peace for people. My fate is to be an effector of change on a grand scale. I will not betray my duty as it has never betrayed me, and yet no matter how hard I try I could never turn my back on those my thread weaves around."

Naive it may have been, Fharzai's tendency to wander had to have been by design. He found himself in many places he'd have no business being if he saw himself as ambassador first. As a Keeper of the Veil, his ability to be where he was needed was one he cherished. Alrik saw him, spoke to him, and Fharzai felt in his core that this encounter wasn't mere happenstance. "If one was alone with a festering wound, then perhaps severing the limb would be the answer. But something amazing happens when come together. Fate's tapestry is never fixed, and choices have unforeseen echoes. The hope of one can inspire the genius of another which in turn can lead to healing. I admit, my eyes have been turned from Iskaldrik for some time now, so perhaps things are different than when I last peered, however..."

A tall hill appears before them, one that immediately washes a sense of serenity over Fharzai. As he returns to his feet, his spirit projection almost starts to glow, attuning itself to the site on instinct. "...I do not regret the nightmares I broke through, not even yours. Healing is never a waste of time or effort, be it for a Queen, child, or witch. You can't know how healing a cut will impact the grand design until you make that choice. And I've made mine." He's done it again, allowed his empathy to stretch too far. Alrik was right in that Fharzai had the potential to always do more, but what he failed to see was that the druid firmly believed he was exactly where he was meant to be. "When infection runs deep, you do hope it doesn't spread but you also work to mitigate the symptoms until a cure is found." Runes appear on the hillside, signaling that Fharzai and the traveler he guided are welcome to ascend. With a wide smile, he nods for Alrik to walk up to their destination as he does. "No matter the outcome, I will not regret bringing you here Alrik. Call me naive all you want, nothing will make me believe this time we've spent was a waste."

[alrikhart]

Tension etched perpetually at Alrik's shoulders as he drank in Fharzai's words; there was no thread behind the borderline pedantic manner in which the guide had spoken. Just the same; many had tried to do just as the man had said, and all of them had failed. By Alessia's hand, by Alrik's, or by the siblings working in tandem. Every child loved their stories, growing up Alrik had been no different, to this day he collected them; he knew the history of most Iskaran deities, major, minor, and the epithets that ran between. Their epics and their sagas; how the world was fated to end and what golden halls awaited them. Fate did not scare him, quite the contrary, Alrik looked forward to a death that was worthy of the Harts.

"The Norns have already decided for us how we are meant to die, should my sister's fate be to fall by your hand, then try as I may, I would be powerless to stop it." Iskaran intonation gravitated about Alrik's tongue as he closed what distance there was between them, "But should you ever lay a hand on Alessia neither your gods nor mine would keep me from making sure your last breath was spent cursing the first kiss your mother ever gave your father." The corner of Alrik's mouth quirked, eyes bright like the sparks over the kindling fated to burn a forest to the ground. "We don't get to choose how we die, only the moments that come before- only children stand idle until pain proofs them into action."

"You sound naive," but Alrik had invited the interloper to try and convince the witch otherwise. He and his sister worked in the dark to serve the light, spreading hope over balms in dreams did nothing to stop the darkness from seeping in. "what you're doing is placing bandages over hemorrhaging wounds, treating symptoms while the disease runs rampant." Alrik kept pace with the guide as they walked side by side, the dreamscape melding and shaping about them with an array of sights and sounds that Alrik couldn't place. There'd be a note of familiarity but as soon as the witch attuned his sense to it, the familiarity would be gone and it'd take on an unfamiliar shape. So this was the world of dreams. "When infection runs deep, you sever the limb; you don't hope the rot won't reach the heart."

Alrik spoke extensively about pain, and Fharzai could hear pain in his voice as well. If the shadowy cavern that tainted the light of the dream he wanted to bestow upon the witch told him anything, it was that Alrik had experienced much to reaffirm his worldview. Fharzai had seen a great many things too, and though great atrocities did exist he knew that mortals had much more to offer than darkness. Light did dwell in all and often shined brightest at the most unexpected times. That's where Fharzai's hope came from. Even witches who carried around their strife thicker than the blood on their hands could overcome the cruelest patterns of their fate when given a chance.

"Alessia," he responds plainly, though the corners of his mouth did turn upwards some as he did. "Before I knew anything else about you, I knew you cared for her. You showed me as much. Without knowledge of where you were or what had become of her, you were prepared to go to war for her sake. If it were her fate to perish cruelly by my hand, would you stare it head on with her? Would you do nothing simply because the truth of her demise is easier to bear than the hope she can be saved?"

As Fharzai leads Alrik, the dreamscape bends around them. The combination of them moving through the realm of dreams while it moved for them created an array for the senses, but so long as their wrists remained bound he knew Alrik's psyche would not get lost even as they moved beyond the personal bounds of his dream. "I am not ignorant to suffering. It haunts me whenever I encounter it and will continue to forever. I cannot solve all of the world's pain, but I will try. Because people are more than their worst moments, and hope is never futile. Even if suffering happened to be the tie that bound your heart to hers, it touched me to see how ready you were to fight for her. Even though you couldn't have meant to, that act alone gave me hope for you."

What Alrik didn't know was that the part of Fharzai capable of turning from this endless quest for balanced peace died in the Arches. He couldn't imagine now ever seeing the world the way the witch did. "You're more than your sins and suffering, Alrik. If I truly got to know you, I wouldn't start with your darkest parts. A spark, no matter how dim, can be nurtured. You may not think you can find light or peace, but I disagree. I think it'll be you who comes around to my way of thinking. Once you see our destination that is." And to this, Fharzai looked over his shoulder with the warmth he constantly tried to never express to the Lysarans he loved.

[alrikhart]

Stalwart, stubborn, and argumentative; no part of the Iskaran believed in the words coming out of Fharzai's mouth. Even if his guide put the entirety of his belief into this, that didn't make it true. Pain was common in Iskaldrik, but it didn't take a globe trotter to know that spouses were weeping over graves, or orphanages packed with plague all across the realm. The open seas, even the so-called gem, Lysara. Pain was the great equalizer and the one thing that everyone shared. "Hope," Alrik countered, arguing for argument's sake, "can be a very dangerous thing. Hope isn't anything more than a lie people tell themselves but there is more peace in the truth, in knowing your fate and staring it head on." Fleeting thoughts and empty wills did nothing to replace devotion and raw fortitude.

"Just by existing people cause others pain without ever realizing it. So long as we exist, hate will still exist. Light. Peace. There's no such thing here, not in this accursed world. Every war is just a crime paid for by the pain of defeat." Alrik and the other stood in the antithesis of one another, the witch thought perhaps he could see it now - what other reason did someone have to go rummaging through the minds of others unless he was trying to run away from himself? Whatever he was, whoever this Fharzai happened to be, he was just a man, and all men were composed of the same myriad of hurts that masqueraded as a person. "Even the most innocent child will eventually grow up, marred by death, by suffering, and by a means they have no power to control. Pain." Alrik thought about his father and the death of his own ego in this place. "Real pain: that's the only way people can understand one another."

There was no hiding from the guide now, now smile that Alrik could paint on his face, and no mask that he could put on to pretend to be someone else. The truth at his core stood stayed there, a bloated, rotten corpse wallowing around the witch's ego. "I'll follow if only to invite you to prove me wrong. But spirit, in time I think it's you who will come around to my thinking; what will you be then?"

Admittedly, Fharzai yet again found no room to debate Alrik's points. In fact, the other's words struck such a chord with the druid that a haunted expression stretched clearly across his features. It was a reality he had faced so long ago in the Arches, one that still popped up in his nightmares from time to time. Fharzai's lifelong pursuit of peace spanned many normal mortals'. That's why detachment was so important, because if he stopped to think about it he'd realize that most would perish before they saw his vision for the world realized. The hope Fharzai was attempting to nurture in this era would have reverberations in another few decades, but what good would that do for a tortured soul like Alrik?

His desire was as fleeting as the butterfly he wove, yet his resolve to see it through surged in a counter to the creeping despair he felt. Curiosity had his magic encroaching further, contributing to the feeling which is how Fharzai arrived at his decision. "I typically would not wander into Iskaldrik at all because of those attitudes, but the call was too strong. I realize now that it was you who needed me." He would do what he could for Alrik's sake. It mattered not if the witch would remember or if his efforts did little to actually heal the other's pain. The thread of Fate made this encounter possible, and if Fharzai could make even the smallest positive change, a good consequence would come from his choice to intervene. "There's always something to hope for, no matter how dark things may seem. Even the hope of one night's rest free of terrors can hold great power. I will show you."

There were sites made by Dúnedain of his circle that came before, sites that had strong ties to the dream realm. Their placement in the physical world correlated to their location in the dream realm, providing navigatable places for the spirits of Keepers to go when they wanted to tap into greater Circle of Dreams magic. To a witch, the site would be nothing special in astral form, and possibly in physical form too, but there were runes there that protected the spirit as well as the physical body it belonged to. Fharzai figured that if he could teach Alrik's mind to find it in his dreams, perhaps he could find restful sleep on nights when he does.

It was the best way Fharzai could think of to help without becoming more entwined with this stranger. He shifts his legs into a proper lotus position while still levitating, nodding his head as he floats in the direction beyond Alrik's dreamscape. So long as his spirit remained close, Fharzai could lead it away. Hopefully, that cavern wouldn't follow. "What you see may ... overwhelm you, but this journey will not harm you if you stick to my path. See?" Fharzai raises his hand and a shimmering thread immediately links his wrist to Alrik's. "Where I go, you can go. I shall guide you to a place that will hopefully grant you some semblance of serenity when you rest."

[alrikhart]

The name was a small victory, but one that Alrik would take anyway. It seemed clear to him that the man before him was resolved to reveal little. Idly, the witch wondered if Fharzai made a habit out of such discretion and if there was any point to the man lingering beyond this light, he was so intent on casting. The nightmare had ended, Fharzai was free to leave, but he remained intent on this mission that he'd stated so clearly.

"Fharzai." Alrik repeated the name unnecessarily, testing its curve across his Iskaran tongue and the weight that it carried alongside his accent. He didn't think about if it would linger somewhere in his mind when he finally opened his eyes after this dreamscape that had been carved out for him. Instead, he let it ride past his teeth into the space between them. Alrik observed the paths of the Gods, the weaves they wove, and the epithets they peddled; at least in Iskaldrik, the witch didn't know of any nymphs, spirits, or deities that went by the name Fharzai. "I'll take your word for it then."

"Most Iskarans would have us believe that magic like ours broke the world three thousand years ago, and we've been battling the dark ever since." Alrik managed to approach, putting thoughts of the cave behind him as the butterfly that Fharzai had conjured danced about the air, casting sheaves of it from the iridescent fractals of its incandescent wings. "What hope could there possibly be in a world that's so broken? Not one that either of us will ever see in this lifetime." Alrik didn't believe that some primordial magic or evil had broken anything; people had evil in them - light and dark. Even a warlord could be kind, and even a saint could be a killer. Everyone had their demons; it only mattered which they chose to feed.

Alrik held no power here, at least none that he was aware of. The threads felt different, foreign to him. Not like the threads of air, water, or fire that he'd learned to bend into weaves before. Still, he thought that if he reached out, then maybe he could grab them, but Alrik refrained. "So, what now? Where does this stroll take us next?"

Fharzai had decided to help, but to what extent he was unsure. Was this encounter meant to be a sign or a warning? Was this witch a test or simply a troubled soul? Uncertainty came from the uniqueness of the nightmare he broke through. He was struggling to decide how best to balance his desire to heal with his duty to the Veil.

"No, you do not," Fharzai confirms, not elaborating further for a few beats. His identity didn't need to be some secret, yet he hesitated all the same. Sure he felt compelled to save the other, but his stance on remaining detached from those living in the present would be challenged if he allowed himself to become familiar with every person he encounters on his dream walks. There was a chance Fharzai would be forgotten as soon as the other woke up, but what if the memory of this dream lingered?

In the end, Fharzai decided to prioritize healing above all. He owed it to this one to help him find a peaceful dream somehow, some way, the threads of fate led the Dúnedain here. "You can call me Fharzai, Alrik," he says finally, dropping another quick demonstration of his magic's scope. A name was easy to glean, especially from someone whose sense of self was so strong. But to say Fharzai actually knew this witch would be a stretch. He'd have to spend much more time diving even deeper than this for that, which he felt he shouldn't. He was already too involved as it was. "There's no quest, you've nothing to prove to me, yourself, or anyone. Think of it as a journey, or a stroll. I promise, there will be no toll for you."

Though he acknowledged that Alrik had no reason to believe him, or that some deception wasn't lurking behind his offer, Fharzai still extended his fist out to offer another relatively meaningless gesture. As he opened his hand, a butterfly swirls out of nothing, spreading its wings to catch the rays of dreamscape sunlight around them. "I'm merely a guide. And like I said, my only desire is to see the light of hope shine within you."

[alrikhart]

If Alrik had any fear left in his heart, it would have been easy enough for him to kill; that was a fact of his training. The wheel spat out threats to the pattern, and Alrik's duty was to cut them out before they could cause any damage. Their deeds were wiped away before they ever came to pass, but that did not discriminate the seemingly innocent from the blatantly cruel. If Alrik ever held reservations, then whatever frightened child raged inside of him would be snuffed out like so many people marked the coins he carried now.

Someplace quiet where Alrik didn't have to look over his shoulder - witches in Iskaldrik spent their lives looking over their shoulders; if they didn't, their fate was generally the same. Alessia had lost her mom because of this, and Alrik's had died on a distant shore that put his kind to the flame. What sort of life did this stranger talk about? What memory could Alrik possibly hold? There were brief moments of forgetting and childish simplicities when he felt the earth beneath his feet or the heat of the forge on his face. The rush of salt from the sea and the smell of brine in the air.

Once more, Alrik appraised the man in front of him, the creature who bent the dreamscape about himself and leaned into the air as if it was made of solid ground. Alrik didn't know how something like this was possible, and he couldn't say with any definitiveness that this man wasn't someone the Hidden One couldn't trust. He could paint a smile on his face now, but it was too late to try and pull the wool over the eyes of someone standing amid Alrik's mind.

"I don't even know your name." It was perhaps the only thing stopping him right now, a truth that the self-proclaimed spirit guide in front of the witch was a stranger just the same. "Give me that much, and I'll go wherever you want to take me through this -," Alrik looked around briefly before his eyes landed on the man above. "quest."

The true nature of dreams was their whimsy. The mind could flow in countless directions, as Fharzai's own dreams still reminded him. Such was his magic, spreading far across this pocket of the dream realm. One step and Fharzai was able to fish what was necessary to construct a better dream for this one. "I'm not a witch, not like you, but I am quite fond of them." Yes, a "spirit guide" was the best way for Fharzai to make his acquaintance. Someone fleeting like the wanderer he was, it was easier that way.

Fharzai's brows furrowed once more as he chose to look at the cavern, however. Its darkness was boundless, stretching as endlessly as the warmth he had brought to this one's mind. It lingered because it was clearly something deeply ingrained in the man. He carried it with him always, even in his dreams. How tragic Fharzai thought, though knew better than to say it aloud. He could not debate the other's point of view because it was exactly right. In all things there had to be balance. The only issue was that his spirit carried a cavern Fharzai's light failed to reach.

"I see," he says solemnly, understanding that whatever pain plagued this western dreamer couldn't be healed in a night. "You cast a long enough shadow as is, though that doesn't mean you should run from the light. It's okay to have hope." Unfortunately, Fharzai carried no proof of that with him now save for the endless fields of gold that stretched across the dream of light he willed. "If there's one thing that I do want from others is to see that spark within them. That way, I can send them forth knowing hope can warm them when they rest."

There could be no balance if despair ran too deep. Those who cursed their fates would reject the world and become deterrents of the peace Fharzai hoped to protect. "I think I'd like to try with you. There's a chance I can lead you far enough away from that place that you can't feel its pull," Fharzai says as he leans back to sit on nothing, levitating in mid-air to further demonstrate instead of explain. The who and what of encounters were best left for the dreamers to wonder. After all, there was never any guarantee they would remember Fharzai. "Someplace quiet, where you don't have to look over your shoulder. It exists somewhere I'm sure, and we can find it."

[alrikhart]

The longer they went without trading blows, the more Alrik's tension seemed to ease; though it remained, it only simmered. Flesh was weak; in the mines, they'd broken him; in the Spine, his body was battered and left for dead. Alrik should have been carrion, but the Norns had other plans for his end. He wouldn't let it be at the hands of some interloper, his story would never make it to a skald's lips, and there would be no songs in his honor when his turn at the wheel finally ceased, but Alrik would fight with bitterness and battered breaths every moment he had left. Flesh was weak, but steel endured.

Every answer the stranger provided was laced with only a half-truth; he answered Alrik without answering anything at all. He painted for the witch what he could be called but said nothing about what he was or who he was. Stubbornnes defined the Iskaran, his temperament lent itself well to observation on most counts, but fresh from what he'd just been lifted from his wit was still held in reserve - fight winning out over flight.

"Spirit guide." The remark made Alrik scoff outright, perhaps some spirit of dreams, a lesser nymph of the slumbering realm but not a God. All the same, Alrik preferred to walk his own path. "Magic then." Truthfully, the Iskaran knew little about it beyond the threads he'd woven with his own fingers. Tricks of the mind were well beyond his understanding, but his people were fond of their stories. Harrowing, foreboding warnings: never give a witch your name; they can use anything against you. Perhaps that's what this was, some delusional spell or farce meant to put him off his senses. A test from the Old Woman. "Are you a witch?"

Behind him, Alrik looked towards the cavern, the long shadow stretching from his feet into the blackest depths below. Even now, under the light that this dreamwalker had flooded his mind, he could hear it calling to him. "The closer to the light you get, the longer your shadow becomes." Spoken under his breath into the cold air at his back before the witch's eyes found the self-proclaimed spirit guide ahead of him. "I haven't met many people who help just for the sake of helping; everyone wants something. Everyone has their price, but you're the guide, right? You tell me."

Normally, when someone enters a dream after being released from a nightmare, they experience something between relief and elation. Reactions were a spectrum and Fharzai had seen every flavor of them across his time travelling the dream realm. This man seemed so guarded and combative still that Fharzai couldn't help but wonder what tribulations in his waking life had created his nightmares. Perhaps they were the reason for his readiness to stand against unknown, mysterious forces.

Of course, such a reaction was within expectation, shocking though it was to see firsthand. Fharzai knew the moment his spirit crossed the threshold of the man's dreams that he was in the mind of an especially troubled individual. It's why the druid appeared before the other as he was in the realm of the flesh, any deceptions on his part would be poorly received. "Believe me, I seek no repayment from you. There is nothing divine in our meeting. I am–"

It was hard to decide what was best to say to explain his being there. Fharzai didn't want to unsettle the other nor did he want to lie either. His ability to fully enjoy the peace of his rest hinged on Fharzai keeping him in a dream. Should he wake then the dreamer could lose the connection entirely and may never get another chance to soothe this particular soul again. "Think of me as a spirit guide. You needed to leave where you were, so I made it possible. I did so for no other reason than I wanted to," Fharzai states, offering a gentle smile.

The dream belonged to the witch, but the realm was his to command. He threw his head back and inhaled deeply, feeling the pulse of sunlight reverberate around them as he did. "I was certain that freedom was your solution, that if I brought the sun to you your spirit would immediately find peace." Every other mind he touched during this trip was easily soothed, but not this one. Honestly, Fharzai should have moved on as soon as he destroyed the nightmare, but he had to know: What had this man experienced to make him so different? "It didn't. In fact, I get the sense that you would stay ready to fight me even if I could assure you I hold no ill will. Why? Do you not yearn for rest?

[alrikhart]

Light washed the darkness from his mind, though the closer Alrik drew to it, the longer his shadow became. The warmth of the sun and reprieve washed across him for the first time in an age, and the trickle of truth punctured the reality of this concocted dreamscape. He remembered now - this mine was not his end, but rather where he'd been broken before he'd been mended into something new. Alrik's bones shattered so they could heal twice as strong.

Murderer. Killer. Murderer. Assassin. Killer. Killer. Killer. Alrik stood upon the bones of every person he'd cut down along the way. The miner with the shattered skull, those who'd tried their hand at the madman who whispered to himself over his pickaxe. The witcher, his guard, the green-blooded, and those whose coins rattled in Alrik's purse.

Tension bubbled under his skin; he was without any weapons to speak of, but cold resolve washed from the witch as he looked towards the man that Alrik had perceived to be some sort of deity. There were few lessons in magic within Isaldrik that Alrik had not learned himself, there were stories from those who traveled the seas, but the truth of the mystical world was reserved for those who hunted through it. Ignorance bred fear and fear bred a desire for simplicity; chains of command.

Alessia remained at the periphery of his mind, not forgotten, but momentarily understood that she was safe. He would know if she had died. "I have heard of the pacts between men and Gods; if you're here to collect, I am not for sale."

He was there when Iskaldrik ignored the call. A friendship destroyed, and for what? Fharzai had too many concerns to investigate at the time. Queen Damodred stated their silence spoke volumes, and as her ambassador, he had to accept her ruling. Fharzai said he would focus on his duties and turn his mind from Iskaldrik. For a time he did, but his spirit still wandered west from time to time.

The strife beyond Hrimthur's Pass was distinct from what his spirit encountered across Lysara, and though he never dove deep enough to fully understand the scope of their lives, he knew darkness and how to usher it away from even the most battered minds. Feelings of anguish, stress, and fear always cumulated into the worst nightmares. Fharzai knew there was little healing to be done from so far away, but at the very least he could destroy the shadows of the place where his spirit was called.

He wandered from mind to mind, fracturing nightmares with a single touch. Fharzai let the light into their minds and could only hope it would find its way to their hearts. It was a gift, one that would sustain itself through the rest of their sleep, and one he intended to share with as many as he could. There wasn't time to peer past the wall of terrors each mind had, his purpose was to shatter the darkness and move on. It was a feat so simple Fharzai didn't even bother to count or learn much about the individuals he helped. In fact, this one was no different to him at first.

"Hello, traveler," he responds with curiosity. Reactions to nightmares abruptly ending varied, but he hadn't experienced one like this in ... ever. The man carried such concern for this Alessia that it stayed with him even in sleep. The tension in his body and readiness to fight were apparent, drawing Fharzai's eyebrows closer together in concern. "I have no way of knowing where she is, but I can make a promise." Without pushing further into his subconscious, Fharzai had no way of knowing who she was and what she meant to the man, and frankly, this brief exchange was already more of an entanglement than intended. But he was there to do what he could, and if destroying the nightmare wasn't enough to ease the other then he'd take the extra step. "If she lives close to your heart, then I can find her. She can see the sun too because I will it. So enjoy, you have nothing to run from for now."

[alrikhart]

Affection and empathy sat quietly on either side of Alrik's lonely, they laced their fingers through his rage and made the flame feel colder now. Not empty, but warm, like it was something that he could sit beside without burning. Safe and contained in its circle of stone, it wouldn't crackle or catch, his world that had felt like ash was something more akin to falling snow and the comfort that a nice fire could provide.

Maybe this was the light Fharzai spoke of, but while a contained fire wouldn't serve him for now, he felt the other's hands over his chest and suddenly became cognisant of his own heart. Despite everything that he'd endured so far it was still beating within his breast, defiant and steady, he breathed again and looked at Fharzai with the same fixed certainly he had always brought to the druid.

Alrik's fingers found their trail, a path down Fharzai's temple, the height of the druid's cheekbone, then it fell only enough for his hand to settle on the other's hip, quickly joined in symmetry by the other. Fharzai's body fixed against his, Alrik asked the druid whose hands had landed on the witch's considerable chest. "And if you find that I prefer the dark?" Fharzai might wish to stand on the fringes of the shadow for a time, peering within and shining light on the corners that others couldn't see, but standing on the edge of the abyss and stepping forward were two different paths entirely.

Alrik didn't know how much of him was left and if there was anything that could even be saved. He was a rotted dog fed cruelty from the time he was a pup, that harrowing violence had settled within him and Alrik masked it all with a smile that showed his teeth. Fharzai would try, maybe he would succeed, but there was no Hart without the other half of it, and in the darkened parts of the pattern, Alrik did his finest work.

A secret tugged at the edge of his tongue, but he wouldn't speak it; Alrik had sworn vows against divulging secrets that could lead to the Old Woman and the order that Alrik was indebted. He thrived in the dark and the shadows that haunted him extended far beyond the cavern. Instead, Alrik braced himself against Fharzai, hip abandoned for the small of the druid's back, and the nape of his neck. He had something else to say before he died, so he pulled the druid's head toward his own and kissed him, tasting the light Fharzai was so fond of spelling.

"Stay." For as long as the dream could hold them, so he might awaken rested and prepared to face whatever brutal cold these Wastelands had to offer. He'd march until his feet bled, until his mind fractured further until the blood on his hands passed his wrists - until he was bathing in it. Alrik kissed him again, deeper now.

"Be patient with me."

Fharzai found himself slipping into a bad habit that hadn't gripped him in decades. He didn't experience intrigue and fascination like most people. Curiosity shimmered in his eyes, turning his gaze from distant to directed right at Alrik. An unplanned tether, he wouldn't be able to look at the witch any other way until he understood every thread that made up the Iskaran's fabric. Fharzai wanted to know what it would take to unravel him, weave him stronger, stitch the gaps, and clean his tapestry. He desired to see Fate shift around him and converge as he walked a path even the druid himself lacked the courage to. He needed to learn how this moment was even possible.

He pried last time, only a little, and by all accounts, there was no reason someone as willful as Alrik would be willing to leap into Fate like this. Fharzai could tell that it didn't come from a place of desperation, Alrik was willing to take a risk. His heart was still capable of hope, cynical though he may be. The gravity of such a truth was not lost on Fharzai, and internally he vowed to not squander such a gift.

"Hold me to my word, call when you need me. The Iskarans won't be abandoned. You won't be forgotten. I know what I must do to balance the scales, and so I shall. I want–" Fharzai had to stop himself. Saying too much could've been dangerous, especially since the threads connecting them seemed to span so much further beyond them. Their meeting wasn't random, it was an act of Fate and his eagerness to see Alrik's pattern play out almost got the better of him. "Haven? Yes, I had a feeling it'd be there," he says rather cryptically, also not bothering to finish his interrupted thought. However, an uncharacteristic amusement graced Fharzai's features. He knew he'd have to get closer to the Mist for what he needed to do. Any of the druidic sites would do, but when a tether tugged for his presence, Fharzai it as the sign it truly was.

And he had a sense that this wouldn't be the last one. He was starting to feel an atmosphere of auspice when he came to Alrik's dreams. "One year. One year of restful nights without relying on my protection. If I can give you that, then I know you'll be saved from your shadows for good," he says, finding himself either unwilling or unable to end their proximity. Fharzai welcomed Alrik's touch, nonverbally inviting it with his own. Hands smoothed down the witch's neck until they rested at the center of his chest. "I say this knowing the mountain of darkness that haunts you. It will be no easy undertaking, but fortunately for you, I am very patient. No one is beyond saving, Alrik. Not even you. I'll weave as many dreams as I must until your spirit learns to do it without me."

[alrikhart]

Fharzai's age and the expanse of his influence was still unknown to Alrik, how far those gray eyes could see, and how far his reach could go remained beyond him. Alrik had already resolved himself to put his faith in the druid and he had no doubt that there were others among the refugees who'd taken to alternative methods of contacting the outside world. He had to believe that there were others looking for them, others fighting for them - Alrik was inherently pessimistic, but in this he chose to look toward the light. Perhaps Fharzai's influence on him was more tangible than Alrik had originally believed.

"There's nothing to forgive. Do what you can, that's all I'll ever ask." Breathed against the other's skin, Alrik suddenly became cognizant of their proximity. The Iskaran didn't think much about the physical, simple release, and temporary bliss were just a part of life - but he couldn't remember the last time he'd ever felt close to someone in this way that transcended just their physical proximity. It wasn't anything to entertain now, he couldn't even be sure if the druid had considered the same errant though - but those gray eyes continued to hold Alrik's attention, and the feeling of Fharzai's frame against his own was far from undesirable. Fharzai's touch raised the fine hair at the nape of Alrik's neck, bristling as telling static crept up his spine.

But now wasn't the time. As long as Alessia was in danger Alrik couldn't consider much else, at least nothing with the gravity it warranted.

The hands of someone who wove magic like a commoner breathed air landed on Alrik's temples. Across his synapses the druidic protection fell across his mind, threads of tightly woven spirit that were far more intricate than someone like Alrik could ever comprehend threaded over him. It was warm at first, then faded, the spell was present but not hidden from the witch's purview. It wasn't a trick and while he would never allow someone else to meddle with his mind, his mind was the only place where he could find the druid in front of him.

"Iskarans hold people to their word, I won't let you off easily." Alrik reprised what he'd threatened the first time the druid had wandered into his dreams. "If you don't, there's no end to the depths these horrors might drag me to." Fharzai was the light, deigned by design to find him here, Alrik accepted that now as he accepted that all things happened for a reason. His fingers brushed some of the other's hair from Fharzai's face, the witch's cadence low as the rough, calloused fingers of a blacksmith's son moved against the smooth expanse of golden skin that stretched the length of the druid's temple. "Meet me in Haven." That was the word of where they would land, Alrik knew little of the city of werewolves, but if they had a soft bed where he could land, then he would look forward to its embrace. Fharzai's as well.

Fharzai was more than a man. He made his choice to walk this path long ago, knowing just how perilous and lonely it would be. He was set apart so he kept himself apart. Besides another druid, there wasn't a soul alive who could grasp the weight of what he saw and knew. As such, this fracturing of his world hit hard even though he carried on. No one could know how much he was suffering, not when the very balance of all he held dear was in jeopardy.

Moreso than his shock at the ease with which his experience fell from his lips was his surprise at Alrik's comfort. Both that the witch could manage it and that his embrace felt good. Tranquility washed over his astral form in a way that resonated intensely with his body. "A warning. My dark reflection, the result of a waver. A reminder that the pattern is as it should be," Fharzai mutters in response, realizing he'd allowed himself to be haunted by the image of his Keeper brutalizing him to sift properly through the nightmare he endured. He knew exactly what he saw and that made the situation of the refugees more dire in his eyes.

Who knew how many more minds that abomination resided in. The Iskarans could've been harboring great darkness within their ranks, but that was a matter for him to resolve. Fharzai was the only one who could stand a chance against that thing, which meant that his time being idle was over. Looking into Alrik's eyes, he was reminded of his purpose in this pattern. "I have more sway than you know. Even if I have to arrange the aid myself, help will reach you. Keep holding on, this message will get passed along."

Something clicked within Fharzai's spirit as he said those words. It was like his dream unfolded before him with absolute clarity. He knew the steps to take and harbored no hesitation. The fear was there, but it wasn't debilitating anymore. He remembered who he was, permitting him to realign his spiritual center. Once he did, Fharzai pushed his hands down the length of Alrik's strong arms until he cradled the other's face as well. Except, his wasn't just a tender gesture. Fharzai's palms glowed brightly for a moment, pushing back whatever remnants of Alrik's mountain of shadows remained.

"I'll need to continue weaving protections into the minds of the other refugees, but hopefully this will protect your mind from an incursion by dark agents." He'd seen enough of the minds fleeing with Alrik to deduce that none possessed the skills to fight the abomination if it returned. In fact, Fharzai may have been the only one on the continent who stood a chance, which meant he really did need to embody Alrik's courage moving forward. At least now, even in this dream, holding Alrik's hands against his face made him feel close to the witch's unwavering beating heart. "Your own nightmares are a different story, but once I've gotten you and your sister to safety I'm sure we can begin healing you. I've not given up on you yet, Alrik. So if you can forgive my absence, trust I won't leave you alone again."