The Night Hag wasn't a Night Hag at all.

"An Oneiroi?" asked Kaleb, bewildered. "A black-winged what?"

"Shapeshifting dream demon," said Hope and Landon in unison.

Already, it sounded terrible. Rhysaenya was ceasing to feel surprised each time a new creature emerged from Malivore. She would have thought a dragon would be the biggest weapon, but clearly, she turned out useless to him.

A gargoyle was vaguely familiar to her, and wouldn't have been threatening until he whipped out his grayscale-inducing claws. Zombies were pushing it, but she supposed it was easy to believe after her grandfather read that chapter of A Song of Ice and Fire to her. MG had called them walkers, so how different could they have been from White Walkers? They got lucky with them.

The Necromancer had proven the worst, and that was perhaps because he'd employed psychological manipulation instead of arriving with brute force. That being said, it seemed the Night Hag/Oneiroi might be in the running with The Necromancer if it was using everyone's worst fears as a weapon.

Hope continued despite the bleak looks on their faces, "I know it sounds bad, but now that we know what the creature is, we can fight it."

Raf held out his hands. "How the hell are we supposed to kill a dream demon?"

"Leave that part to me. But since I can't fall asleep without compromising the location of the urn, I need someone else to pull it out of the dream plane and into our waking reality."

"So, Freddy Krueger," said MG. "Like I said."

"And is there an instruction manual for this?" asked Rhysaenya. "Or are we just expected to go to sleep, grab hold, and hope for the best?"

"That'll be the case if it's anything like the movies," replied MG excitedly.

Kaleb laughed dryly. "Yeah, okay. Is it too late to get on the evacuation bus?"

"No," said Hope. "I mean, I'm not gonna ask all of you to stay for this, it has to be your choice."

Everyone was quiet for a moment. Landon stood up, "I'm not leaving unless Hope does."

"We already know the answer to that," murmured Hope.

"I'm not leaving Landon behind," offered Raf.

"And I'm not shying away from another adventure," said Rhysaenya, despite an itch in the back of her mind letting her know this was a bad idea.

MG stood up, patting his chest. "I'm a founding member of the Super Squad, so I can't bail."

Kaleb scoffed. "Y'all are gonna get yourselves killed." Apparently, everyone was on board with that. The vampire sighed. "If MG stays, I stay. No child left behind."

MG wasn't at all displeased with being called a child. In fact, it only made his smile grow, so contagious that Rhysaenya laughed lightly and shook her head.

Hope looked around, making sure they were all truly remaining there of their own volition. "In that case," she said, "it's naptime."

They gathered into the gym, setting out mats and pillows for their project. Hope was trying to convince Landon to stay awake with her so they could monitor the others' progress, but Landon stubbornly insisted on participating despite not having any supernatural abilities that might help them grab hold of the Oneiroi. Then again, Rhysaenya realized that maybe Hope was onto something. Landon had stolen both the knife and the urn unknowingly. Maybe he and the creature could connect on another level.

"If I die," said Rhysaenya, laying between Raf and MG and tucking her hands behind her head, "burn my body on a pyre then spread my ashes over the ocean."

"Do not go around saying things like that," warned MG. "You're going to bring some bad energy into this mission."

"It's not like we're going to be sharing a dream. Though that would be fun. I'd like to know what you dream about."

"I'll give you one hint," said MG. "Hot. Girls."

"Now that is a perfect dream. Add a bit more variety– I don't discriminate– and then it's a real party." She wove her hands over her head. "Hot people in bathing suits... a nice beach..."

She knocked out moments after closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she was standing in a field in Tērragoñh, fires blazing all around her, the stench of death filling her nostrils and screams so loud that her head ached.

This certainly wasn't a beach.

Bodies were littered all over the ground, charred beyond recognition, no doubt the product of dragon fire. As she began to move, she looked down at her own clothes, covered in ash as if she'd just come back from a flight where she bathed herself in a column of fire.

It became apparent that this destruction was all caused by her. No Targaryen could survive a blazing fire, she knew that. She was sure not even she could survive it in human form. Add a blast of flames and a stab to the throat, she was as vulnerable as everyone else. She could still get burns from another source.

Yet she was unharmed. The only one alive in the entire field. It had to mean she'd done. She was the killer, she was the destroyer of their world.

"Āpuȳ?" she asked shakily. "Āmeȳ?" (T: Papa? Mama?) She didn't see anyone she recognized, not that there was much to be found in the scorched remains. As she moved further down the field, she could see a body crouched over, wearing a veil similar to what Raf had described on the Oneiroi.

"I know what you want," she said slowly, cringing at the sight of its rotted flesh. "I can help you get it."

Bargaining had to work, right?

"And how will you help me?" the Oneiroi purred, turning to face her. Darkness seemed to consume her again, and she whimpered as it drew near enough that it was all she could see, the smell worsening and causing her to gag. "Will you lead me to my doom the way you did to your family?"

"No," she said in disbelief. "I never–"

"You insisted on visiting their homeland. You were the one that led them to their deaths, you fed them to Malivore on a silver platter. You lost your chance. You will be trapped here forever, knowing you are the reason they are gone. You will never be free. And thanks to you, neither will your mother. Your poor father will watch from the shadows, stuck in limbo because of you. All your ancestors... from every bloodline... how ashamed they'd be."

"Shut up," she said, hands feeling so heavy, she couldn't even begin to reach out. "It isn't true. This isn't real, it's a dream."

"Is it? Or are you finally acknowledging what you did? The lives you ruined. All those people you killed on the bus..." It reached out a hand, a claw poking at her shirt, where the five circular dots marked each kill she made. "You have yet to mark them. How many were there? Twenty? Thirty? All those people, visiting their families. You sought the knife and you killed them. And you didn't even complete your mission. It makes you a killer. A cold-blooded killer. Malivore ought to have released your mother, she would have gotten the job done. You are nothing but a weakling."

She let out a scream as her body fell, claws digging into her shirt and scraping more circles onto her flesh. She tried to swat it off, but all she felt in front of her was air. She couldn't grab hold of anything, she couldn't even wake up. She sobbed and screeched as she felt the marks being seared onto her abdomen, until at last she was shaken awake by Raf.

"Did it work?" Kaleb was asking as Rhysaenya looked around wildly, struggling to adjust to being awake again. "Did we do it?"

"I don't know," said Landon, offering Raf a water bottle to give to Rhysaenya. "I grabbed the monster like MG said but I don't know if it worked. And where is Hope?"

They heard a crash overhead. "I think that's our answer," said Kaleb.

The doors burst open, a black-winged figure tossed through and crashing to the floor as a result of Hope's magic. She had a broom in her hands, breaking it over her knee and stabbing the Oneiroi in the eyes and reducing it to dust efficiently, making the boys cheer appreciatively.

Rhysaenya promptly threw up.

"Oh, man," said MG, grabbing a nearby towel to clean it up. "Rhys, you have a weak ass stoma– oh, oh shit–" he turned away quickly, covering his face. "She's um, she's bleeding a lot."

Raf knelt down in front of her, lifting her shirt and seeing blood leaking out of the circles the Oneiroi had carved in. "Hey, stay with me," he said as she leaned back, moaning in pain. "Rhysaenya, stay awake. Goddamn... okay... uh, tell me, how do you usually make the circles? You had to have gotten them done somehow?"

"They're burns, not cuts," she whimpered, feeling everyone crowding around and trying to stop the bleeding. "I just... I think and it happens. My father– he used to burn himself. My mother and I could induce our own burns, fire from within– OW!"

"Sorry!" said Hope. "It'll only take a couple more seconds. Jeez, how many times–"

"Twenty-six," she said softly, a tear sliding down her cheek. "The amount of people on the bus, I heard it counting." As soon as she saw the wounds close, she concentrated, closing her eyes and replacing each of the carved-in circles with small circular burns.

"That is freaky as hell," said Raf, pulling her to her feet. "You good now?"

"Yeah. But I really need to sleep. Properly this time."

She didn't make it up to her room, knocking out on the library couch. Her sleep was dreamless, something she figured could be attributed to Hope, who must have realized she needed a night of peace.

Even without dreams, she couldn't stop herself from running the day's events through her head, thinking about the new circles on her body. She hadn't wanted to add them, but in the end she did. She had never counted how many circles had marked her father's body, but considering how small they were on her, barely filling a small strip of her skin, she could only imagine how high his kill count went with his chest, back, and arms filled with circles. Hell, if he'd lived longer, he'd have had to use his legs because he'd be out of room.

It was how she grew up, Alaric was right. Killing to survive and glory in battle was a big thing. The Īgñividus clan was fierce and thought their purpose was to enact justice through slaughter. She was raised with those same standards, but she didn't feel she held them as firmly as her father did. She'd leaned to the side her mother did. Kill only if necessary. Life is precious. That being said, her grandfather Kaeden always warned her that dragons had fiery tempers. Her anger could easily get the best of her. And it had, on multiple occasions.

What was she meant to be in this world? The culture was entirely different, the way people viewed bursts of anger had changed. Mental health mattered more, and she liked it, but didn't understand it. If she grew angry and hurt someone, she'd be punished now and made to sit through counseling when in the past she might've been revered for it. Her father would've been especially proud.

Was it really her fault? Had she been selfish in asking her parents to see Tērragoñh? Were their fates tied to her plea, to them making the choice to listen and indulge her curiosities?

She was angry enough to want to hurt people, to take her fury out on whoever blocked her path. It wasn't right, but all the same she felt it bubbling up and refusing to go away. She wanted to scream, but screaming wouldn't make it go away. A punching bag didn't bring her satisfaction. There was nothing like the feeling of blood running down her skin, a product of her rage, of her strength. Her father had taught her to relish in the power she had. She loved it. And she wanted to use it.

She had a thirst to kill. She needed to hurt Malivore for what he'd done, for tearing her family apart, for hurting so many creatures, for sending them here to torment her and her friends. She was prepared to slaughter anyone associated with Malivore. She made a promise that she would. If she killed, it would be to make him miserable. And if she got her hands on him, she'd tear him to shreds.

That soothed her as she slept. The image of Malivore, whatever he really looked like, crying out in agony as she stood over him, victorious.

What a beautiful sight.

Hope made a proposition the following morning, since spring break was due to start soon. She'd invited Landon and Rhysaenya to join her in New Orleans for the week they had off, figuring they could both use a vacation and a nice touch of family. She assured them that her aunts were very nice, her uncle was incredibly funny, and her brother/uncle/friend Marcel Gerard was going to have the very best recommendations of places to eat and hang out.

Their plans were put on a halt when Alaric realized he couldn't find the urn. Hope was certain she had stashed it somewhere safe, but come afternoon, they realized no one could find it. The last dream Alaric remembered having was just before Hope killed the Oneiroi, and considering he recalled holding the urn and tossing it in a river, it didn't bode well for them.

He'd tried to handle the search on his own, taking turns with Dorian to dive into the river and see what they could find. But when word reached them about plagues in nearby towns, they were able to deduce that the urn had become trapped in a man-made reservoir miles away, which meant they'd have to travel to retrieve it.

MG, Raf, and Landon had opted to stay at the Salvatore School to hold down the fort while Kaleb accompanied Hope, Rhysaenya, and the Saltzman twins to aid the adults in finding the urn.

"Dr. Saltzman," said Kaleb as they exited the Mystic Falls border, cruising toward Maple Hollows in a minivan, "this van is very... white of you."

"It's retro," said Alaric.

Lizzie piped up, "It's a gas-guzzling atrocity on wheels."

Hope leaned back to pass Rhysaenya a snack. "Here, much on these saltine crackers, they'll help with any motion sickness."

"Oh, sweet," said Lizzie as Rhysaenya stuffed them into her mouth. "Did you pack those before or after you decided to FOMO your way onto our trip?"

"What's FOMO?" asked Rhysaenya between mouthfuls.

"Fear Of Missing Out," replied Hope, rolling her eyes at Lizzie. "Like I'm gonna let you guys chase monsters without me?"

Lizzie shrugged. "I would've thought you wanted to spend the break canoodling with your hipster boyfriend in New Orleans. As far away from us as possible."

Hope spoke sarcastically, "Sorry for wanting to protect the outside world from my mistakes. You know, there's currently an urn on a river cruise spreading plagues across America because I thought nobody would figure out my hiding spot. It's called accountability. Maybe there's a bracelet for it."

Kaleb let out an 'oof,' before Lizzie shot back, "Or maybe you just wanted to ruin yet another Saltzman spring break."

"Another?" asked Rhysaenya, leaning onto Josie's seat.

"Girls," said Alaric loudly before Lizzie could burst out what she meant. "We're gonna be in this classic automobile for six hours, alright? So, no bickering."

"It would help if it wasn't a thousand degrees in here," said Hope, fanning her face. "I'm burning up."

"You're burning up?" asked Lizzie. "Now, that's ironic."

Rhysaenya threw up her hands. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, she knows," said Lizzie. "I see you, Hope, I see right through you."

"I don't even know what you're talking about! What happened to playing nice?"

"Over. Done. I'm getting back to me. I am who I am. Right, Josie?" She tapped her sister when she didn't respond.

Josie plucked one earbud away. "Sorry, what?"

"Josie," hissed Lizzie, "you cannot leave me alone with just her and the princess for company."

"Ouch," said Kaleb, looking at Rhysaenya through the rearview mirror and letting her know that Lizzie did not mean 'princess' as a compliment of any sort.

"Well, I get carsick, if I don't listen to music," said Josie, plugging her ear back up.

Lizzie smacked her angrily, hitting Hope in the process and making her lean away far enough that her hair tickled Rhysaenya's nose, making her sneeze and burst sparks into her own hands, starling Josie and making her cry out and hit Lizzie back.

"Girls!" said Alaric, nearly swerving off the road. "There's no reason to be tense or awkward, okay? Now knock it off. We're gonna get through this together. God help us all."

Kaleb shrugged. "Woot... road trip."

The entire ride consisted of one complaint after another. Hope was too hot, Lizzie was too cold, Josie was getting sicker even with the music, Rhsyaenya had finished all the saltine crackers and was now holding her head in her hands as the world seemed to spin, Kaleb was singing too loudly for Emma to take a nap, and Dorian had spilled his water all over the book he'd been trying to read.

Lizzie was bored enough to start a game of 'punch buggy,' which apparently gave her permission to punch everyone in the car. Her victims of choice were Hope and Rhysaenya. In response, Rhysaenya yanked her braid, making her cry out and demand that Rhysaenya be moved to another seat.

"Who's hungry?" asked Dorian, trying to ease the tension. "Okay, sandwiches–" he began to pass food out of the cooler to everyone in the car, all preferring to quiet down with food.

Josie wasn't satisfied with the sandwiches because they were only made of meat. Lizzie had devoured her sandwich and was still in the mood to punch people. How she was allowed to do it, Rhysaenya didn't understand. If she had tried to punch someone, she'd have been expelled for breaking their bones.

Alaric tried to start a chant that no one wanted to join in on, something about beer bottles, which apparently was gross enough that Josie promptly threw up three times in the span of ten minutes. Rhysaenya had her nose plugged, unable to tolerate the smell. They had to stop to throw the bag away, and Rhysaenya took her turn to throw up in the trash can, groaning and holding the edges as Hope kept her hair out of her face, awkwardly patting her back and practically begging her to get it all out before they got back to the car.

As they neared Maple Hollows, Josie started to sing, which was a good enough distraction from Lizzie demanding to know how much longer it would take to arrive. At last, they pulled up a bridge where the river bent and slowed, letting Dorian climb out to search while the rest of them made toward town to get something to eat and question the locals about the plagues.

"Fun fact," said Josie as they were walking around town square, "this town has the biggest ball of yarn in the county. And nobody's seen anything strange."

"This isn't exactly a hotspot of activity," complained Lizzie, even more bored. "Our hopes of finding anything are going up in smoke."

"What is with you and fire references toward Hope?" asked Rhysaenya.

"Wait," said Hope, "are you passively-aggressively referring to that fire in my dorm room three years ago?"

That seemed to be the answer. "You mean the one that you set on purpose to sabotage our spring break trip with our dad?" asked Lizzie. "No, Hope, why would I talk about that?"

"Dude, you've lost it!"

"The only thing that we lost was a week of quality family time. Dad had to cancel the trip to deal with the damage. So mission accomplished."

Rhysaenya groaned loudly. "Seriously, Lizzie, get over it. A week of quality family time? You've long since made up for that. Are you really clinging to something from three years ago when there are more important things to worry about?"

"She's right," said Josie. "You guys are justin about ancient history. Ow–" she held onto her arm. "Something stung me."

"Ew!" said Hope, seeing a large welt on her arm.

"Wait," said Rhysaenya, whirling around. "A buzzing, I hear buzzing." She pointed up at a dark cloud making its way toward them.

"That is plague-y," said Josie. "Let's get inside, quick."

They rushed into the nearest store, shutting the door behind them and watching as the bugs swarmed by the window, until suddenly, they all dropped dead on the floor.

"We need to find your dad," said Hope, opening the door and leading them back to the van. "This way."

"Does this way take us past the fire station?" asked Lizzie cheekily.

"Oh my god," said Hope, frustrated, "we barely just survived a Biblical plague. For the last time, I didn't start that fire and I've never ruined a spring break."

"Yeah, Lizzie," agreed Josie. "Now's not the time."

"Fifth grade," Lizzie piped up. "You callously gave me the flu while we were building our float for witch week. With global warming, I may never see the Florida Keys. That's on you."

Hope scoffed. "We built it with Alyssa Chang, who had pneumonia over spring break. It wasn't me and neither was that fire."

"Um, hey," said Josie, words not heard as Lizzie accused, "Why did I see you giving us a death glare through the window?"

"There's a boil on my boil!" said Josie, louder.

Rhysaenya cringed, seeing her wound was definitely getting worse. "Okay, let's hurry–"

As they turned the corner of the nearest building, they heard someone saying 'Single file' over a loudspeaker, prompting the citizens of the city to line up and wait for a series of yellow buses while men in hazmat suits swept up the bugs.

"You're going to be safe," said one of the men. "Get on the buses."

"Everyone's covered in those boils," said Rhysaenya gravely. "What if everyone dies?"

"They won't," said Hope. "Let's see where it leads."

They had no choice but to board the buses anyway, letting themselves be taken to a makeshift medical center where tents were arranged for patient examinations and triage. It was suspicious to them that these people were already there, ready to respond, mere minutes after the bugs had arrived. How could they have known about it beforehand? Considering no one in town had known about any plagues there, what information could the people in hazmat suits have to their advantage?

They made their way through the line along with the other patients, walking past a man in a blue jacket that stared strangely at Hope as she passed. She recognized him, whispering to Alaric and Rhysaenya that that man had been in Kansas when they went looking for Landon and his mother.

"Why are those guys transporting weapons?" whispered Rhysaenya, pointing to a truck with stacks of rifles and guns.

"Dr. Saltzman, their gear!" said Hope, panicked.

"They're here for the urn," Alaric realized. "Dorian..."