They came for him when the sun was well up in the sky, and the rays danced upon the streets and buildings. Rapier and Rowan all but ran into the room, having sensed disturbances in the air as soon as they had woken up. 

Draken was still upright on his bed, counting and breathing slowly, not having slept a wink.

"What happened? The protection spells are all in a mess? And you look horrible!"

"Are those new wounds," butted in Rowan. "They are! What happened? Those look nasty."

Draken only blinked, and counted, trying not to think of anything. 

"Hello? Mind answering us?" Rapier said sharply, angry at being ignored like this. Draken stayed silent for a little while more, and clearing his throat, started recounting the events of the mirage-sleep. He omitted what he had seen, only mentioning the dark sorcerer, whoever or whatever he was, had made certain scenes and pictures flash in his mind.

Both men, hardened warriors with nerves of iron and steel and all the other Outsider metals combined, gasped at the end of the recounting. Such experiences were dangerous, rare, and those who survived were looked upon with the highest respect and awe. Draken did not know that his fighting and strong will, strong enough to last him through the terrible ordeal, impressed the men greatly. He was just a screw-up son from the Isles with no family anymore. He was nothing special, except for the fact that he was in a book of prophecies, and the target of a sorcerer who was very, very powerful.

"Why," he began, his voice hoarse. "Why... did he target me? The... sorcerer? The... mage. Why?" 

"Because you are special, and important, and instrumental in a diabolical plan of his. Don't worry - I'll find out who the hell he is. And now he knows how powerful you really are. Now he knows you are a serious threat - which will not go unheeded."

"That's just what we needed," muttered Rowan, after Rapier had stopped talking. "On top of everything, we now have to evade the dark mages of the shadows and mirages and sleep-workers. Just great."

"You think I am content about this? You think I asked for this?" Now Draken was almost yelling, really fed up with everything. He just wanted to go home, and knowing that it would never happen hurt so, so much. Thankfully, he was now numbing his emotions expertly, so it did not hurt as much as it would have normally. 

Rowan backed off, holding out his hands in apology. "I know you did not ask for this. Forgive me. So many things are happening, and now this - it's just been a bad couple of days."

Draken and Rapier nodded in assent. There was nothing else really to say.

They brought him a foul-tasting broth that helped a little with the pain, and soon he was able to get out of bed in a somewhat normal fashion. He strapped on his weapons, ate a hunk of moldy bread, and joined the others outside. It was daytime again, and time to do some more fighting. 

This time, everything went according to plan. They visited several people, exchanging letters and gifts. They roamed the streets and met with shadowy persons that told of current news, and exchanged weapons and illicit herbs for information and certain spells. There was the occasional fight, with the creatures that roamed the streets and made the sky their domain, but nothing too serious. All of this fighting was making Draken brush up on techniques, and he found several new ways of wielding his weapons. Focusing on fighting was what mostly kept him going.

From time to time he would touch the pendant, with seemed to swirl in a color that became darker and darker black, and think of all the people that wanted him to fix their problems, and to set things in motion that have been stagnant for a long time. 

Rapier told him that they were not going to the capital soon, so he had a bit of time before that. But all those tasks that entailed things he knew not about weighed heavily on his mind. By the time it was night, and the lights of day had gone out, they all were exhausted. Hungry as well. Very hungry. 

It was Rapier who suggested a tavern, or an eating house. It seemed appropriate to eat out on a night like this, so both Rowan and Draken acquiesced. They went to an old, run-down storefront with a tattered wooden sign announcing 'The Lady of Luck.' It looked like a dive where those who fought the night and were involved in the illegal doings converged for a rest and a meal that was not stolen or stale. 

It was dim inside, and crowded, and had a strong smell. The food was simple, but good, and Draken forced himself to partake less of the drink than he usually did. He felt like having his wits about him tonight and in the morrow. He liked this, sitting at a table with others of his... ilk, one could say, just one in a crowd, unknown, not special or different in any way. Not the focus of the attention or expectations of others. Just food, drink, a bit of relaxing, and some chatting with his two companions. 

Rowan was curt, and did not speak much. Rapier was more free with his speech, but always careful with his words. 

"Hey. You ever see a soldier actually fighting with that gaudy thing?" Rapier murmured to him as some dandy of a soldier strutted in, all kitted out in fine armor that had not seen hard fights. At his waist was the most useless, bejeweled sword Draken had ever seen, looking like an ornament in a recreation that did not use real weapons. 

He snorted in his drink, and replied in the way of those from the Isles, "Those who focus on the outside looks are the first to be gutted, shamed. Never be one of these, lest it comes back to you in an unfortunate way."

"Well said. Personally, I know a lot of people like that - but none so arrogant and stupid as he. Some people..." he snorted.

"Some people," Draken replied, fighting a tiny smile. "Really, though, it would be impossible to fight with that excuse for a sword. Impossible."

Rowan looked at both of them, annoyed. "You two... Shush, will you, and let us eat in peace?"

Draken sighed, amused, and finished his meal. It was Rapier who got up, pulling his cloak tighter around him, and put the necessary amount of coins on the counter. They all got up after him and left, in a slightly better mood than before. 

That night, Draken slept again in that infernal room, and drank a tonic that Rowan had made for him. It was meant to bring him in the deepest sleep, and prevent the sorcerer or anyone else to invade his mind or rest. Still, he waited for a long time before sleeping, and slept fitfully, waking up once or twice in a blind panic. 

The next few days went quite like this one. Wake up in the morning, bleary-eyed, gobble something up that was more often than not almost completely inedible, spend the day fighting and gathering information and relaying messages, sometimes eat at a tavern at night. Sometimes they would visit places that housed thousands of dusty tomes, and reading up on certain things was certainly a break from the routine. Draken had to force himself not to think of Zachariah while doing this, however, or else it was much too painful. 

He did find few mentions of the creatures now burned into his flesh, but it was always scant and convoluted and never shed clear light on the situation. All he could figure out was that the specific image now forever part of him used to be the emblem of a respected, fearsome warrior who turned towards the shadow magyc and the darker side of things, someone who became less than human, and had not been seen for a long, long while.

"That does not bode well," Draken had said to himself when sharing his scant results with Rapier, who seemed an apt listener for such things.

"Yeah, I would say. Some dark sorcerer who has not been seen for a good long while, suddenly appearing among all the rest of the problems we have nowadays? Definitely does not bode well," said Rapier dryly. He had an annoying habit of listening in on a person's conversations with themselves. When around him, best not to think aloud.

So it went, days turning to weeks, almost the exact same thing. Sure, every day brought new challenges, new memorable events, but whenever Draken saw the sun rise, and hauled his stiff, aching body out of bed, all he could think of was, It's daytime again. 

Now, he knew that soon there would come a break in the almost-routine, something most likely unexpected and linked to bad news. He was resolved to be ready for this event, but to him, it seemed a long time in coming. The days were the same, always the same, and nothing ever really changed. 

Until it did. And Draken could finally say, "About time."

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I know this chapter is a bit short, in my standards, but that's where I wanted it to end, and I didn't want it dragging on for too long.

Thanks for reading! Please comment and vote!

This is for Catherinne_Clifford