Death hung stagnant in the air. Black clouds choked the sky, locking the field in a deep darkness. A bitter wind whistled above the shattered ground, carrying the cloying, metallic scent of blood through the air. Scraps of discarded metal—a sword, a helmet, an arrowhead—fought to catch what little light remained, gathering it up in brief pinpricks of silver.

Asher blinked, his vision hazy as he slowly got to his feet. The silence was deafening. Bodies were strewn across the dry grass, caught in their final moments of life. Beneath Asher's feet, the dirt was churned and wet with blood. He gagged, twisting around. A young man laid only a foot away from him, his legs trapped beneath the body of his horse. His fingers were still curled around the hilt of his sword. Asher gazed into the man's dark, clouded eyes. They were horribly empty, the life they should have held long since snatched away.

The world blurred, and Asher pressed a hand to his head. His thoughts were slowly pulling themselves together, resolving into awareness. He felt as if he'd just woken up, but this was certainly still a dream. Flexing his hands, Asher sharply shook himself. The battlefield was too vivid, and only growing clearer as the seconds passed. He scoured his memory, confused. He remembered huddling against the wall of his cell, his brief escape to the washroom and finally ridding himself of some of the dirt and blood that caked his skin. He hadn't thought he'd be able to sleep, but his exhaustion from the journey from the mountains must have won out.

"I was wondering if this would happen."

Asher yelped, stumbling back at the sound of Rivas' voice. His foot caught on the broken blade of a sword, sending it clattering across the ground. The man stepped into Asher's field of view, his eyes flitting from the bodies to the sky to Asher.

Asher dragged a nail across one arm. A soft sting echoed the motion, mild but very real. He swallowed, confusion blurring his thoughts.

"You're asleep, if that's what you're wondering." Rivas lightly stepped across a body, casually examining their surroundings. "I think you've slipped into my dream."

"What?" Alarm prickled across Asher's skin, chasing away the last of the fog in his mind. "That's not possible."

"And yet here we are," Rivas said, spreading his arms. "This happens occasionally between more gifted magic-users if we're close by. When we sleep, we naturally open ourselves further to magic, and our consciousnesses can sometimes travel along it. Our magic draws us to one another, whether we like it or not."

"Then why hasn't it happened before?" Asher shot back.

"Like I said, it only happens occasionally. Rivas glanced over his shoulder. "Though I do believe we've had close brushes before."

Asher opened his mouth to argue, and then snapped it shut. "I've had nightmares..."

"But you didn't remember them?" Rivas nodded. "They weren't nightmares: you sensed me. And I sensed you."

Either this was a very strange, realistic dream, or there was some truth in Rivas' words. Asher shook his head, reeling. "I can't access magic right now, though." He lifted his hands weakly. "You drugged me only a few hours ago."

Rivas shrugged. "That, I can't answer. The drug just works differently with you."

The Valkir seemed real enough. Asher bit his lip, feeling slightly nauseous as he looked back at the battlefield. That felt real, too. He wished it didn't. "This is your dream?"

"It was an old battle Soren showed me once," Rivas explained vaguely. "Awful, isn't it?"

"...Yes." Asher hugged his arms to his chest. "As all wars are."

Rivas laughed, low and dry. "This wasn't a war. It wasn't even a battle."

"Then what was it?"

"Slaughter."

Asher flinched, looking back at the bodies. With a start, he realized that none bore the garb of soldiers. They had only mismatched armor, tattered clothes, secondhand weapons. A militia, perhaps, though there were far too many to be solely that. Asher searched the other faces, his gaze catching on their empty eyes or the wounds that had taken their lives. There were no bodies that stood out or wore different clothes. He swallowed, looking up at Rivas. "By whom?"

"Magic users." Rivas' face was blank, unreadable. "It was a long time ago. They raided a village: these were the men who tried to stop them."

Asher turned, letting the rest of the field slide across his vision. Now that his confusion had faded, he noticed deep rifts torn in the earth. The darkness and the cold weren't natural; an air of desperate, angry energy hung over the land. The wind shifted directions as he moved, clashing against itself as it raced across the battlefield in a wild, strange pattern.

"How many magi?" Asher asked, his voice oddly thick.

"Three."

There were at least fifty dead here. Asher closed his eyes, allowing himself a quick prayer before turning back to Rivas. "Is this where you tell me that this is the reason so many must die?"

"No," Rivas replied, his lips twitching upwards in a bitter smile.

Asher stiffened, glaring at the assassin. "Then why, exactly, was my sister murdered in the street?"

"Ask Soren." Rivas folded his arms and looked away. "If it's a debate on morals you desire, I'm sure he'd be happy to provide one."

Soren. A chill ran down Asher's spine at the reminder. He stared at the dirt beneath his feet, trying to yank himself back to reality. He was in a cell, pressed against the cold stone, helplessly asleep. Even with that in mind, however, he couldn't get the dream to feel any less real.

"How do I get out of here?" Asher asked after a moment.

"You don't." Rivas sighed, lifting his eyes to the sky. "We have to wait until one of us wakes up."

"Wonderful," Asher growled, a spark of nervous energy lighting in his chest. He rocked on his heels, the smell of blood briefly overwhelming his senses.

Rivas raised a brow. "Did you have somewhere else to be?"

"Doms es, rao ka oruma," Asher spat. "I have other things to worry about, and I don't want to be trapped in my own head."

A sudden wave of dizziness struck Asher, and the world blurred over for a moment. Rivas swayed and caught himself, staring sightlessly at the ground.

"You are no more trapped than if you were dreaming normally. Your body can still wake you. Speaking of which..." Rivas' voice slipped suddenly. He brought a hand to his head, blinked a few times. "It must be time."

"Time for what?" Asher stumbled as the field seemed to dip a few feet, once again drifting from reality. His thoughts tangled together; the sharp wind and the tang of blood faded, became nothing. He'd felt this before—caught in the whirlwind of a troubled dream, tugged in a thousand directions as his mind scattered.

If Rivas said anything more, Asher didn't hear him. He was already falling.

<><><>

Asher jerked up with a strangled cry, terror and confusion blazing through him. Nothing but the stone of the cell, far too close on every side, greeted him. He wrested a shuddering breath from the dry, cool air, ramming his back against the wall as he tried to reorient himself. His clothes stuck to his skin; a trickle of cold sweat ran down his cheek. He was pressed into one corner of the cell, facing the door. The torch was visible through it; its flames burned a soft golden-orange, hungrily licking at the wall. Their light stretched across the floor of the room in thick strips, picking out the soft layer of dust atop the stone.

Nobody was visible beyond it. Asher stared at the hallway, pressing his hands to either side of his head. He'd felt this fear before, this abrupt waking with no definite cause. But now he had a reason. The dream echoed in his mind, still far too vivid and real. How had that happened?

Asher hesitantly reached for the drug's barrier. It was still there, keeping the magic solidly out of sight. Asher swore and fell back, screwing his eyes shut. Having magic would be a comfort, even if he doubted he'd be able to escape by using it. Instead, he was left with nothing but the cold.

Another burst of panic speared through Asher's chest, irrational and frenzied. He twisted around and pressed his forehead into the stone wall, forcing himself to breathe. His fear had already spiked like this many times as he waited for whatever came next. It would pass eventually, fade into something more manageable. For now, however, his mind was a mess of terror. The chill of the cell seemed to worsen, sending new tremors through his body. Asher tugged his cloak tighter around himself, a half-whimper rising in his throat.

A clang, sharp and nearby, echoed through the hallway. Asher yelped and shot to his feet, fleeing to the corner from which he was out of the door's line of sight. It was a pathetic thing to do, but he didn't care. He leaned into the wall, pressing his fingers into the rough surface. After a few moments, he heard a pair of footsteps drawing nearer.

"He's awake. I heard him move," a voice said. Asher stiffened; it was a woman, one he didn't recognize. He hadn't known there were others besides Rivas watching him.

He had to sleep at some point. Asher shook his head, hating how sluggish and scattered his thoughts still were. If the Valkir really had been dreaming at the same time as Asher, it was obvious someone else must've taken watch.

The footsteps finally slowed to a halt. Nobody spoke, though Asher saw a shadow shift across the torchlight as someone gestured. A lighter pair of feet padded away, soon swallowed by the silence. Asher waited, his heart rising sickeningly in his throat. It's time, Rivas had said. He brought a hand over his mouth and wrapped his other arm around his stomach, trying to keep himself quiet.

"Asher?" Rivas finally called, his quiet voice snapping the silence.

Asher's heart jolted, and he screwed his eyes shut. He didn't want to answer. He didn't want to go anywhere. He didn't want this fear crawling through him, yanking at his throat, making it impossible to move or think.

A soft rattle; Asher felt the air shift as the door opened. He flinched, sensing more than he heard Rivas stepping inside. His skin crawled as he felt the man's gaze land on him. Asher knew it was stupid to let the Vakir see him like this, but he couldn't bring himself to look up.

"Ash..." Rivas cut himself off. A step, then another, and Asher felt a hand land on his shoulder. He flinched and opened his eyes, staring at his feet.

"Asher," Rivas continued, his voice insistent as he shifted his grip. "Don't make me drag you."

Breathe. In... Asher jerked his head up as he exhaled, dragging his eyes to Rivas'. For once, the Valkir wasn't wearing his cloak. It was strange to see him without it; Rivas seemed much more tired, the usual sharp edge of his gaze dull and faint. "Where are we going?"

"Soren called." Rivas released Asher and moved back. "Follow me."

Asher shifted one foot forward, then another, bracing himself as he went back into the hall. The warmth of the torch brushed against his face, faint but still there. Even if there was more space, the hallway was narrower than the cell; Asher felt just as caged within it, if not more so.

With a sigh, Rivas set off down the hall. Asher trailed after him, glancing into the other cells they passed. They were empty, as Asher had first guessed. None of them had windows, either, making it impossible to tell the time.

"Was that dream real?" Asher finally said, trying to distract himself.

Rivas turned at an open arch; the hallway continued for a few yards before steepening into a flight of narrow stairs. Torchlight flickered at the very top, dimly illuminating the way. Rivas glanced over his shoulder, silhouetted against the light. Then he turned around and started to climb. "Yes."

"How do you know so much?" Asher asked dully as he followed. His foot caught on a step, and he hastily corrected himself. The ceiling dipped lower; ahead, Rivas had to duck his head.

"I've shared a few of those dreams with Soren," the Valkir replied.

"You seem to know him well."

Rivas faltered. "You could say that," he finally said stiffly.

The air warmed as the neared the top of the staircase. When Asher finally emerged into the hall after Rivas, he hesitated and glanced up and down it. This area was wider than the previous network of passages, and far better lit. The doors were made of wood, and seemed well made.

However, the warmth was shadowed by something else. A dark chill, strange and unnatural, twined around Asher's heart. It was faint, the barest brush against his senses, but undeniably there. Asher whirled around and pressed his back into the wall, seeking out the source.

Rivas twisted on his heel, something like annoyance darkening his eyes. He took a step toward Asher, raising one hand. "Asher. Don't."

Asher went rigid, glancing at the Valkir. But as the cold pressed against his chest, desperate instinct took over. Asher ducked his head and rammed into Rivas' side, trying to force him off balance. Before he could run, however, Rivas yanked Asher closer. Shifting behind him, the Valkir snaked an arm around Asher's neck and yanked back, constricting his throat.

"Stop!" Asher gasped, his panic soaring. He needed to run—they both did. He writhed, his shoes sliding uselessly across the ground "It's a Raek—let me go, let go!"

"What..." Rivas trailed off, realization filtering through his tone. His grip loosened; Asher drove his elbow back, but the Valkir managed to avoid the blow.

The air around Asher solidified, freezing him in place. Asher struggled against it as Rivas slowly pulled away, glancing down the hall. There. The cold was coming from the other end.

Rivas moved in front of Asher and met his eyes. "Stop it—listen to me, listen. It's not a Raek."

"But the cold—"

"I know. But it's not the same. Hey," Rivas put a hand on Asher's shoulder and shook him a little. Asher tore his attention from the hall to the Valkir. "It's similar. But that's not a Raek."

"Idiot," Asher hissed, fear breaking through his voice. "I don't even have magic and I can feel it."

"Clearly, you can't," Rivas growled. "Or you'd notice that it's not the same. There is no Raek."

A fraction of the fear pulsing through Asher faded at the certainty in Rivas' eyes. He forced himself to move closer to the chill filtering through the drug's foggy barrier, picking out its patterns. Perhaps it wasn't as cold as the Raek, but the sense of wrongness it carried was even worse. With a shudder, Asher pulled away.

"What is it, then?" he choked out.

Rivas slowly released Asher; the bonds faded, allowing him to move again. "Good question."

With a loud click, a door a few feet down the hallway swung open. A girl pushed through it, dressed in a simple shirt and leggings. She flinched back as she noticed Asher and Rivas. "Rivas, what are you doing...?" The girl looked closer at Asher, and her eyes widened. "Oh, saev. Saev."

Asher stared at the girl, his feet rooted to the ground. Her hair was a rich, dark brown, falling just below her shoulders in soft waves. And her eyes—her eyes were a bright, icy blue, the exact same as Soren's. She couldn't have been more than fourteen.

"Laura, what are you doing here?" Rivas asked, shooting Asher a warning glance.

"I, uh..." Laura lifted a few papers clutched in her hand. "I was bringing these to Father."

Asher flinched, staring at the girl. The angles of her face mirrored what Asher remembered of Soren. He'd never taken much interest in the king; it was the Valkir he'd always worried about. And it wasn't unexpected for Soren to have a family. Even so, Asher felt horribly disoriented as the girl's eyes bored into him.

"...Well," Rivas said, stepping forward and plucking the papers from Laura's hand. "I can take these to him for you."

Laura tore her gaze from Asher. "Is that..."

"Laura." Rivas spoke sharply, but not unkindly. "Go."

The girl parted her lips, but seemed to think better of it. She gave the Valkir a sharp nod; with one last, nervous glance at Asher, she vanished.

"Come," Rivas said after a moment, as if nothing had happened. "Let's figure out what's going on."

Asher shook his head. One thing at a time. He followed Rivas down the other end of the hall, towards the cold. Despite the danger clawing at his instincts, Asher couldn't help but glance back at the place Laura had been.

Rivas stopped. Asher nearly walked into the Valkir's back, his thoughts jerking back to the present as the Valkir opened the door. The cold suddenly sharpened, still faint but much clearer than before. Rivas pushed him forward; Asher tripped over his own feet, found a bookshelf just inside the room, clung to it. In another time or place, he might've been taken aback by how large it was, stretching across the length of the room. It certainly held more books than he'd ever seen.

The rest of the room wasn't massive, but it was spacious. Two windows were set into the far wall, streaked with rain; through them, Asher could see the blurry shapes of a tree and the castle grounds. They were only on the second floor. The light from the dark clouds outside wasn't enough to light the room fully; atop a large table set in the center of the room, a few lanterns cast everything in a soft golden glow.

And sitting at the very end of the table, tracing paths across a large map of Eldernia, was Soren. This time, he wore a crown: a simple thing, thin and silver and almost delicate. It was tilted at a rather casual angle on his head, as if he'd knocked it aside and forgotten to correct it.

The king looked up at Asher as he entered, and the chill intensified a thousandfold. Everything about Soren felt wrong—the air around him seemed heavy and dark, and despite the barrier in his mind Asher could have sworn he felt another presence somewhere next to the man.

With another stab of fear, Asher realized Kain was also sitting at the table, scanning the map with narrowed eyes. He also glanced at Asher, but looked back down just as quickly.

Soren tapped the map, his attention drifting back to Kain. "We need more farmers up north, and this group of bandits have done little more than steal. We can allow them to work as indentured servants and try to redeem themselves. Maybe they'll even earn their own land one day. If they refuse, tell Rhea to kill them."

"Yes, sire," Kain replied, standing up. "Is that all?"

"For now. Leave."

Kain gave a stiff bow and walked out. As he brushed past, Asher noticed blood trickling down the corner of the man's mouth, and a smear of it along his left hand. The Valkir moved too quickly for Asher to get a better look, shutting the door behind him without so much as a backwards glance. Asher stared at the door, a twist of unease curling through his stomach.

Soren remained seated, his gaze flitting to Rivas. "You may leave as well."

"No." Rivas took a step toward the king, determination lighting his eyes. "I have questions."

"I could have you killed for speaking to me in such a manner," Soren said quietly, regarding the Valkir.

"You could."

There was a long, icy silence. Finally, Soren's lips twitched upwards. "Speak."

"The boy's a Nemai, isn't he?" Rivas asked immediately. He leaned forward, sliding the papers from Laura on top of the table. "Why would you not want him dead?"

Asher lifted his eyes, a flash of curiosity breaking through his terror. Nemai. Dreamer, in Nemarian, and similar to the name of the language itself. He gripped the bookshelf behind him tighter, waiting.

"Because I need him." Soren leaned back in his chair, turning to Asher. "Look at you. Terrified. You can sense the Raek, can't you? You've already met one..."

Rivas was between Asher and the door, so Asher resisted the urge to bolt and nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak. All he knew was that he wanted to be as far away from this man—and whatever the hell that awful, dark cold was—as possible.

"I feel no Raek," Rivas growled, unease lacing his words. "Soren, what is going on?"

Asher might have laughed. Rivas hadn't been lying—he clearly didn't know much either, and it seemed as if he was going to ask all of Asher's questions for him.

Soren still wore that faint smile. "Ah, but you sense something."

"I sense you." Rivas paused, his eyes darkening. "You're different. I thought it was because... but then I met that Raek."

"It's in you," Asher whispered, staring at the king in open horror as he realized. That was why it wasn't the same, why it was faint, why he could feel that awful chill.

"What's that?" Soren asked, tilting his head. His eyes glinted. "You can sit down if you'd like, boy. There's no need to hide in the corner, and I can't hear you very well."

Asher didn't move. "It's in you."

"How?" Rivas interjected, his eyes widening. The Valkir was allowing far more emotion to slip through now: his fingers tightened on the lip of the table.

Soren kept his focus on Asher. "Do you know what a Raek does to people?"

"Uh..." Asher glanced at Rivas, trying to steady himself. His voice came out weak, tilting up into a half-question. "They feed off the soul."

"Yes." Soren's face darkened. "Your soul, the magic that makes up your being. They tear it apart and consume it, piece by bleeding piece." The king looked at Rivas. "I encountered one, long ago. It latched onto me. I slowed its progress, so much so that it has not yet killed me. Nor am I sure it can..."

"Encountered?" Rivas echoed.

"That is not pertinent." Soren folded his hands, watching Asher expectantly.

Asher wet his lips. "How did you survive?"

Soren nodded. "That is the right question. It is because I am a Nemai, and one of the only ones who can destroy Raek—save their creators."

"Creators?"Asher asked weakly. Rivas had said they were made of dark magic, not created.

"Also not pertinent." Soren brought a hand to his temple, closing his eyes for a moment. "I suppose that Nemai are the only ones who can survive a Raek, too."

"...Nemai?" Asher tried. He wanted the king to get to the point, but his head was whirling with questions.

Soren took his crown off with one hand, spinning it around his fingers. "Magi who are especially close to magic."

"Still magic-users," Rivas said softly. "But... stronger. Much stronger."

Asher fell silent. Stronger. He thought of the Raek in the mountains, of how he'd finally fractured its cold, dark energy. "So I'm a Nemai, then. Is that it?"

Soren nodded. "Almost nothing is known about us; we're rare, excessively so. And yet"—he gestured widely—"here we are."

Asher found his eyes moving to Rivas. "And you?"

"A half-breed," Rivas muttered. "For lack of a better term."

"Which is why I need you, Asher," Soren continued.

"To kill the Raek," Asher guessed, feeling oddly numb.

"To remove the Raek. I can kill it myself once it's out of my head."

"And why," Asher hissed, anger starting to crack through him, "don't you let it die with you?"

Soren sighed, surveying Asher. "I can't kill myself: it's a separate being, and it will leave me and find more victims. I can't wait forever: I slowed it down, but now it's consuming me. Perhaps it's fusing with me. It's complicated." Soren paused, his eyes briefly flicking down. "Either way, I do not think either possibility will be safe for me or anybody else within a thousand miles. Trust me, boy. I have thought of a thousand options, none of which work and none of which are, to be frank, your business. All I need you to do is help me destroy it."

Rivas had bent his head, gaze distant, shoulders rigid. Asher stared at Soren, clenching his hands. "That's it?" he managed.

"Yes."

Asher pushed off of the bookshelf, hot rage spilling through his chest. "You took me from my home, attacked my family, and chased me halfway across the country because you want me to help you?"

Rivas lifted his head at the word family, frowning, but said nothing.

"Yes."

"No," Asher spat, quivering. "I'm not going anywhere near that.... thing. I don't even know how I would try. And I certainly won't lift a finger for you."

"What are your reasons for that?" Soren asked, lightly putting his crown down. "This Raek is dangerous, and not only to me. Innocent people might die."

Asher bared his teeth. "Then die first. Let the Raek break free; I'd kill it then."

"And leave Eldernia without a king?"

"I'm sure someone could work something out," Asher growled.

Soren was silent for a long moment. He slowly stood up, his eyes growing cold. "Come here."

Asher stepped forward, his legs moving automatically. His anger vanished in an instant; Asher fought to regain control of his movements, his heart thrashing in his chest. His feet stuttered to a halt, hesitating, before continuing. There was no manipulation of the air; nothing forced him forward. Suddenly, horribly, Asher realized that the king was controlling him, as if he were a puppet.

Finally, Asher stopped a few feet away from Soren. The cold of the king's magic grew sharper, crawling through his veins and sending goosebumps down his arms.

"You shouldn't be able to do this," Asher whispered, his voice faltering.

"I can." Soren tilted his head, and Asher stopped breathing. There was no force choking him; his lungs simply stilled, unwilling to move.

"I can make you do almost anything I want." Soren continued, his words perfectly flat. "I can make you suffocate yourself."

Asher's breathing had been frantic; without any air, his chest was already burning. He tried to suck in a sharp breath, stumble backwards, attack the man before him, something. His muscles didn't respond. Asher's vision flickered, growing dim.

Soren straightened after another moment, and Asher regained control. He staggered away from the king, gasping for air. Tears pricked his eyes, and he quickly turned his gaze to his feet.

"I can make you see things that aren't there," Soren continued. "Feel things that haven't happened."

Something flashed before Asher's eyes; a moment later, searing heat crawled across every inch of his body, burning straight through his skin and bones to his soul. Asher fell back with a scream, uselessly trying to escape the flames.

Then the agony vanished, and Asher's vision cleared. He'd fallen to the floor, his side pressed against the cool wall. He leaned into the stone with a ragged breath, still feeling the ghost of the fire crawling across his arms.

Soren walked forward and crouched down. Asher recoiled at the king's nearness, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Look at me."

Asher's head automatically lifted, and he met the king's gaze. He bit his tongue, trying to force himself to stop, but he couldn't.

"I bet you can't make me use magic," Asher spat, though the defiance in his voice was drowned by pain and fear. "You can't change my mind."

"I've waited thirty-three years, and can wait thirty-three more," Soren murmured, almost softly. "I'm in no rush. If I must torture you every day, I will."

"You'll kill me once I do it anyways," Asher said, faltering.

"But you'd avoid a lot of unnecessary suffering. And you won't be killed. I have other uses for you."

A shudder rippled down Asher's spine. His eyes were burning again, brought on by the fear writhing in his heart. "Like what?"

"Well," Soren began, "we know very little of Nemai. I'm not quite whole—haven't been for a long time—and Rivas, as he said, is a half-breed. It will be interesting to test your limits."

Asher's heart skipped a beat. "I... I am no experiment." He clenched his hands, forcing down the panic. "I am not your puppet. And I will not help you."

"Yes, you will." Soren's eyes glittered, and he stood up. Asher's body moved with him, still oblivious to Asher's own frantic commands. "You know, Rivas was much like you when he was younger."

Asher's eyes darted to the Valkir, who had yet to move from his place at the table.

"I'd imagine I listened to you more often, Soren," Rivas finally said, raising an eyebrow. His mask had returned, blocking out whatever emotion had been there before.

"Perhaps," Soren mused, barely loud enough for Asher to hear. "Come, Rivas."

The Valkir's eyebrows drew together, but he strode to Soren's side.

"Good. Break the boy's arm."

Suddenly, Asher was back in control of himself. He flinched and scrambled away as Rivas looked at him, something like pity flickering through his eyes. Saev, saev, saev!

Rivas closed his eyes and raised one hand; once again, Asher heard the sickening snap of his own bone. He screamed as the pain followed, slipping back to the ground. His left forearm must have been wreathed in fire, or cut off: there was nothing else that could cause such agony. When he glanced down, he saw with a wave of nausea that a white strip of bone had broken through his skin, blood already beading around its edges. He swore, raising one shaking hand but not daring to touch it.

"Please stop testing my loyalty, Soren," Rivas sighed. Asher lifted his head, woozy with pain, as the Valkir turned back around, his expression wiped clean. "It's annoying. And you know I don't like screaming..."

"Mm." Soren stepped away, trailing his hand across the surface of the table. "I have another meeting soon. Take Asher back; set the bone, but don't heal it for now."

"Es laeko vai," Asher hissed, wavering as a fresh wave of fire blazed up his arm. "Hurting me does not make me want to help you. I'd... saev... go so far as to say it's counterintuitive."

The corner of Soren's mouth twitched. "I'm testing different methods."

Rivas knelt in front of Asher, carefully pulling him upright. Asher twisted away as soon as he got his feet beneath him, a few more curses tumbling from his mouth as his arm shifted. He would have fallen if Rivas didn't grasp his good arm and help hold him up. The Valkir guided him to the exit, face flinty, jaw set. He refused to meet Asher's eyes.

As Rivas opened the door, Asher spared one last glance over his shoulder. Soren was still leaning against the table, watching him. The chill of the Raek—and whatever else had warped its darkness, made it even worse—tore through Asher again.

He quickly turned back around, feeling Soren's eyes on his back as he walked faster, all but fleeing from the room. The cold followed.