I'm back in the stream.

Water surrounds me. It is lower than before, barely reaching above my ankles as I take a tentative step into the murky darkness. The mountains are there. I sense them, their towering slopes rising high like crests of opposing waves. But I can't see them. I can't see anything, but I feel every particle of air as it collides with my skin.

Ducking, I grimace. It's heavy. It clings to me, thousands of leaden weights. Yet I have to keep moving. The water splashes up my legs as I force out a few hasty steps, then stop, hand clasped over my tightened chest. I can't breathe either.

This world seeks only to destroy me, and yet I cannot escape it. It is endless.

I fall to my knees. Oddly enough, the water is lighter to endure, lapping only gently over my legs. It is cool, too, beautifully cool. Reaching out, I submerge my hands within it, sighing at the icy hiss as the stream eats away the squirming heat within my bones.

It is the only sound, its echo slicing far and wide. Fear lances my spine as I jerk up. Someone will have heard.

Struggling against the air's protests, I climb to my feet, then take off running, every ragged breath shuddering my heart's beat faster. The stream shifts and writhes under my feet. It sends me skidding on, and yet in the same movement yanks away my strength.

I'm lost. The haze of darkness stretches on. I can't keep running forever.

Until I see her.

The water turns to ice, freezing my steps. It is really her, bright and shining, encased in a golden glow the sun could never compete with. The dark flees her touch. She moves slowly, but with confidence, as if she knows there is no need for haste. We have all the time in the world.

I don't share her patience. The world's weight forgotten, I dash forward, staggering into her circle of light. The water glints with crystalline clarity, its small ripples emulating from her steps picked out with ease.

Words lodge in my throat, but only silence emerges. She stands a child's pace away. All the colour this world has to offer has gathered in the gold of her hair, painted her eyes with the hues of a sky too clear for reality. Her outstretched hand closes the gap between us. She smiles, the action almost shy, as she dips her head. She has no reason to be modest. I long to tell her how beautiful she appears, yet my voice is stolen from me.

The air will not enter my lungs. This time, I don't mind, not when I have another force to breathe. My hand shakes as I offer it to her. It is bare, pale, almost white in comparison to her. That realisation should shove me backwards. I can't remember exactly why, so I stay.

She clasps my palm. I wait.

Her grip tightens. Electricity sparks over my fingertips, but it is static, burning, painful. Wrong. I pull at it, but I can't break away.

Let go, I will with all my heart where my voice fails. Please. It hurts.

My only answer is another agonising spike.

A cry finally bursts from my lips as I stumble away. She releases me, but the pain doesn't stop. I fall into the stream, shivering at its cold touch. When I press my hand into it, nothing changes.

The pain shoots up my arm. Pulling it close, I cradle it, my gasp falling soundless. Cracks weave up my skin. I know them, and yet at the same time they are foreign, blinding to look at, and so, so wrong. Such a harsh sensation should not appear so purely white.

Desperate, I look up at her, only to find her gone. The man I find in her place is enough to send another piercing wave singing through my veins.

Fiesi's eyes glow with all the light she held, but it is so much more intense, a weapon of its own to spear through my heart. His crooked smile widens as he tips his head sideways, observing me as I flinch back into the water.

My fire. I need my fire. Throwing up a hand, I point my palm at him, every muscle tensing as I dig deep into my core.

It's empty. My chest feels hollow.

Instead, all I gain is a glimpse of the web of white lines fragmenting the back of my hand, and the pleased slice of Fiesi's voice.

"You can't stop it, Nathaniel."

He drags over the words like sludge, enjoying every syllable. The name is worst of all. By its end, pain splits my shoulder blades, as if white-hot wires knit my bones together. I collapse into the stream, the ability to sit upright draining away all too quickly.

The water reflects a dull blue. It leaks shivering trails over my chest. Beneath, light seeps through.

"You should know that best of all," Fiesi adds. His footsteps vibrate through the ground underneath until he stands over me, then bends down, that slight grin still etched into his expression. I meet his gaze, and instantly regret it. Blue light claims my vision.

My lungs scream. Slitted blades cut into them. Snatching for breath, I squeeze my eyes shut, twisting away from the light. So much of me hopes that finding the darkness again will reawaken my flame, and then the pain will stop. But the light follows, chasing, white sparks pouncing on my closed eyelids. My chest remains empty.

Emptiness. Isn't that what Fiesi called Adeía?

It yawns wide, a pit splintered at the edges that digs into every nerve. A soundless sob chokes itself in my throat.

"Weak," Fiesi spits. His voice strikes at my ears where his eyes no longer can. "That's what you are, Nathan. You're nothing without that cursed flame."

He's right. I cannot do a thing as the writhing knives within me wind closer to my heart.

"In the end, evil always falls to the hero."

Water hisses like a mass of serpents, slicing into the gaps between his words, whispering of their truth. A pitiful whimper is all I can respond with. I'm going to die. Any second now, this will be it.

Maybe it's for the better. Then this might stop.

I want to lay motionless, to let the pain consume me and whisk me away into a kinder darkness, but still I squirm helplessly. The stream is alive beneath me. It prods cold and warm, sinking in fangs that only slow the path of the light. It won't stop. I claw at the earth beneath. It softens under my nails.

Then it vanishes, and I have the distinct sense of falling, out of control, until the ground greets me and the pain jolts away.

My eyes snap open. There is darkness, real darkness, but still it isn't right. When I blink, blue specs swell from the edges of my vision, dancing and flickering, yet when I twist sideways they flee from my grasp. They burn, pounding in my head, lashing ribbons I can't quite catch.

I jerk upright, and the world sways. At least the ground is hard. The blue glows brighter.

Stumbling forward, I swat at it, desperate to chase it away. It doesn't belong. Something cold claws from the palms of my hands, but I can't make it out, not in the dark, not when the blue overshadows it.

My outstretched hands meet something smooth. Leaning up against it, I drag my gaze up, only to flinch backwards.

Just beyond the smudged image of myself is Fiesi, his flaming knife held high.

Bracing myself on the glass, the mirror, I whip around. There is nothing. The empty air, clogged with darkness, sizzles with a light that only sears in the back of my mind. He's there. He must be. He's about to catch me, to kill me.

I turn back to the mirror. He's gone from there, too, but my reflection remains, and it stares back at me with twice the jarring presence. Light flickers in my eyes. Blue, golden, purple, I don't care. Whatever colour it shines is only here to bring me harm. It needs to leave me alone.

Energy surges in my veins. It's too hot. Gathering every drop of willpower I have left, I hurl it at the mirror.

With the sound of glass shattering, and the sharp slice of pain in my knuckles, reality dawns.

I barely manage to remain standing. Clutching at the air, I find the rough stone that forms the curve of the fireplace, and press my side into it, clinging to its furrows like the edge of a cliff. Dustings of glass form a brief shower from my right hand as my flame tosses out the shards. No wonder I struggled to fall asleep earlier with my gloves on. The fire bursts eagerly out around my hands, races over my skin, checking every inch of me for wounds it is certain lie there.

The cracks of light. It searches for them. But that must have been a dream, a false blade of memory looming back to taunt me, for I am back in Rovena's room. I blink again and again, letting the world drain back into focus.

As the whining ring in my ears fades, I catch the thump of footsteps drawing nearer, and dread floods my lungs.

Only a pace away, the broken mirror glares out at me. It is cracked in so many places that it forms a twisting spiderweb of a maze, all spreading from the indent my fist must have met, reflected blackness pooled in the spaces between. I wince.

A moment later, the door flies open, and I throw up a hand to shield my eyes from the sudden light. Real light, firelight. Holding the lantern is Rovena, her stride carrying her over the doorframe and to a spot just the other side of the mirror. She peers around it, her jaw dropping open in shock before her gaze lands on me.

I jolt upright, hands scraping over the stone as I compress them behind my back. I pray that the fire shows itself nowhere else.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out instinctively, gaze flitting from her to the mirror and back again. The last thing I need to see is the startled fear patterning my own expression. "It was an accident."

"I'm glad you didn't punch my mirror on purpose," she says, her tone dried out further by its tiredness. She lowers the lantern as she bends down, frowning at the shards decorating the floor. They glow amber as the flame hovers over them.

My hands envelop, nails digging into my palms where fire pricks. "I'll fix it," I say without any real thought. "Or... or buy you a new one, or I'll--"

"No." She severs my brittle voice with ease. "No, you won't. I'll handle it. This thing is old anyway." Tapping it with a knuckle, she turns fully to look at me, and I see the genuinity of her words firm in her eyes. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," I say. Too quickly, for her eyes narrow, but I can't prove my case. The faintest streak of my blood specs the glass, picked out by the lantern. It is sticky against my skin, too. I can't exactly explain away the fire that has knitted together any trace of a cut below.

"You sure?"

Shifting back into the stone, I nod.

"Alright then." Setting down her lantern, she makes a brief attempt to sweep the shards towards her, then shakes her head and rises again. "I'll clear up in the morning. Just keep away from this area for now, unless you want a whole load of injuries."

A pause settles. She draws back, though her eyes don't leave me. "Was it a bad dream?"

I swallow. "Yes."

The pity in her eyes clenches my stomach. My hands grip one another tighter. Until, with the lantern carefully held, she begins picking her way past the mirror and in my direction. She's barely an arm's length away.

Wrenching myself from the fireplace, I stagger back, darting a wide arc around her as I dash for the seat. Ignoring her baffled stare, I fumble beside its arm. I'm sure I left them here. Or the other end, perhaps. I claw at the back, grasp smooth leather, and yank both gloves towards me in a jerky motion.

Only once they are both firmly pulled onto my hands, my teeth gritted as I endure the usual wave of dizziness, do I look back up at Rovena. She takes a hesitant step towards me, checks I don't move away again, then closes the gap and kneels down beside the place I stand half-upright against the seat. Her lantern meets the ground at her side.

"Hey," she says, gently. "I'm not going to hurt you. You got that?"

But I might hurt you. I swallow the scraping words, leaving them heavy and unsaid. "I know."

"Good. Remember it." She reaches out, then pauses, clearly noticing the gloves. Their silver lace glints as she teases my hand away from my chest. I do my best not to pull away. "What's the deal with these gloves, then?" she asks.

"I..." A nervous laugh slips out. "I don't like touching people."

She lets go of my hand immediately. "Ah." Tilting her head, she offers the edge of a smile. "Should I ask why?"

"Probably not." I rub at my palm, agitated flame scratching at the skin beneath.

Letting out a breath, she stands, picking up her lantern. Concern flickers in her gaze. I twist away from it, fully sitting on the floor as I examine the floorboards. Perhaps I should tell her the truth. That would wipe away that look in an instant.

"You don't have to talk to me, Nathaniel." Her voice is too soft, settling weights on my shoulders. "But, sooner or later, you've got to tell someone what's going on inside your head. It's like ripping out an arrow from a wound. It hurts a whole bunch, and does plenty of damage on the way out, but it can't stay in there. Once it's out, you stand a chance of healing."

Her words draw my head up, although my flame stirs at their implications.

"I know," she says, shooting me a wry smile. "You can tell it's too early to be awake when I start getting deep and metaphorical." She takes a step back, then pauses, biting her lip. "Will you be alright here?"

Nodding, I try to convey my certainty through my gaze as my voice falls away.

"Okay. See you in the morning. Don't punch any more furniture." With the final word, she reaches the door, the light vanishing along with her.

As soon as the door clicks shut, I slump against the seat, eyes sliding closed. I'm exhausted, and yet the thought of sleep makes my heart race with the fresh touch of my dream, the lost adrenaline still lingering. My fire is still certain I am being chased. But the only weapon out to get me here is my own warring thoughts.

After a moment, I force myself to push off from the ground and, supporting myself on the seat, rise to my feet. I cast the soft chair a brief glance -- a comfort I struggled with a little last night, too used to hardened floors and sleeping against walls -- and give up on the idea altogether.

Instead, I cross the room, returning to my former spot by the fireplace, and catch another glimpse of myself in the mirror.

It reflects the slits of moonlight filtering through the window in a faint silvery hue. The cracks almost glow, like thin blades slicing through a starlit darkness. My skin stands out well against it. My eyes are hollows within that sheet, blending in seamlessly.

Wincing, I turn sharply. It's petty. I should be used to my own appearance by now. But still I stumble around the corner, leaning against the grate of the fireplace instead. Wiry bars. I laugh faintly, a joke only for myself that rapidly dies away. A thought that cannot venture outside my own head.

Like ripping an arrow out, healing a wound. My fingers curl around the bars. If only Rovena knew who she speaks to. Then she might choose her words differently.

I heal my own wounds at the cost of others. To take out the arrow is to plunge it into another's chest. What's to say her metaphor won't work in the exact same way? If she knew who I really am, wouldn't she pay for that knowledge?

Or maybe she'd simply take advantage of my vulnerability. Turn me into Neyaibet. Slit my throat. Then I'd pay, for once.

Straightening, I yank away from the fireplace, casting another glance at the broken glass shards. I can't stay here. I was a fool to allow myself to linger in the first place.

A quick tap at my side confirms I still have my dagger, and a sweep through my belt collects the two remaining coins I have from Woodrow. I slot them into my left glove, flex my hand to ensure they don't dig too hard into the back of my hand, and then make for the door, careful to keep my steps slow and deliberate. If my luck holds firm, Rovena will already be settling back off to sleep and won't hear a thing. I don't need her chasing after me.

As my hand clasps the doorknob, I sigh, surveying the room. Perhaps she is trustworthy. She seems to be so. But I can't risk it, not again, not when both of us stand a chance of getting hurt.

Besides, Aiden said it will only be so long until Neyaibet comes knocking. I can't be here when that happens.

With uneasy guilt coiled in my chest, I twist the handle and creep out into the night.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

No facts, only that I love dream sequences. But that's obvious. We can't have a Pup book without one. And no scene breaks, we confuse people like real writers :D

Yep, we're leaving Rovena behind already :/ But can you blame our boy? We don't want a repeat of Fiesi. Plus let's just think about the fact that Nathan is now running from a whole kingdom + one scary fire boy--

Which would be worse to be caught by, I wonder? *thinks*

- Pup