There is a song in the storm tonight.

The wind cries out, whimpering, and the sky lashes back with bright bolts in the distance and an angry roar. They form a strange kind of music between them and the rain, something regretful and low.

I hear sad shuffling noises as the winds run over my body and the grass. They're not used to having visitors, not here, and my presence throws off their orchestra.

My body is cold and burns like a young star, every limb extending outwards in a trail of pain and sensation so powerful that I can hardly think over the roar of it. Pain races up my spine and my breath is short, hardly able to escape the wreckage of my chest, but I manage, taking them one at a time, some part of me relieved when each comes.

Storms wait for no one. The winds pick up into a shrill cry, a battle call, and blistering cold assaults my body and senses. My nose begins to numb. My tail is ratted and immobile, lying damp in the grass. I can only imagine how the rest of my body looks, lying on my side in the middle of a thunderstorm, but I can't get up to survey myself. I just try to curl myself together between aching pains, too weak to complain as the winds roar over my head, furious.

I don't know how long I sit there, but there's a sudden shift and the world begins to slow about me, the wind's breath slowing to a steady sigh from the violent symphony of earlier. My eyes dart around for explanation, as I'm unable to move myself, and I catch her on the edge of my vision.

She is the most brilliant thing I have ever seen, like lightning given fur, a glistening white that fades to gold at the edge of her pelt, making her glisten in the thunderstorm. Even damp, her pelt is lustrous and wavy, and as she steps closer, I notice spots of noble brown, almost hazel, growing thick around her ears and dappling her face and sides. Most startling of all, however, are the six wings rising from her back and the three long horns that extend from either side of her canine head.

I try to flex my own two wings, small in comparison, but they're splayed at odd angles and scream in pain as I try to get them to respond. Panic bubbles up within me and my half-breaths get faster, my whole chest burning as well. I exhale and in the distance, the strange figure begins to sing.

The whole world quiets to listen to her. The trees in the distance stop shaking and the grass by my paws stills, the thunder all but a distant murmur. She calms the storm with a single, foreboding note, that goes up and up into a quiet, tranquil peace. The song picks up in speed, just slightly, as her paws tread the grass. It bends over before her, unworthy of her gentle step, and I wonder if she can see me lying here, covered in weeds and caked blood.

My question is answered as her eyes meet mine, beautiful jeweled emeralds that seem to encompass the sadness of a thousand summer storms. I want to get to my paws and fall into a bow, and so I begin quiet thrashing in the grass, those two fragile wings fluttering against my sides as I try to break free of the earth. They're still stinging, but the sensation is no longer as important as my desire to meet this mysterious figure. I pull myself to my paws with a boost from my wings and stumble closer to her.

I half expect her to stop singing, and grow guilty to think I've interrupted her, but the song changes to a soft melody, a lullaby I recognize from when I was young. It is a wordless tune, as are most of the ones spoken by my kind, but it conjures images of still lakes and morning sunshine, of soft breezes and coming home.

I fall towards her, my legs giving out again, and everything past there is rain, song, and the blur of distant wings.

***

I awake in near darkness, the soothing grays and blues of the room not unlike those of a gathering storm just before it strikes. It reminds me, sadly, of the dream, of long-gone nights with a strange figure singing in the eye of a distant storm. Though the pain is intense, I doubt I'll ever forget the glory of Heilin quieting the winds and weather, even if I never have it again.

Sometimes I wonder if she was that glorious that night or if I imagined most of the details in retrospect. I was young, terrified, and on the brink of death, and yet I'm convinced that Heilin spared something incredible as one of her miracles for the likes of me.

I still shiver thinking about it.

I grab my bag in my teeth and sling it around my neck. It contains little besides the stories I took out yesterday for reading purposes, including the newest volume of Dreamlandian History, but it never hurts to be prepared. I stretch as I exit my room, padding through the halls on the way to my job.

One of the great things about living and working in a castle is the strange architecture and the stranger Sentients you meet there. All of the reasoning, Sentient species of Dreamland could likely be found between the walls, many of them blessed with miraculous talent among their kind. Though all of us inherently have magic, few possess the mental fortitude and physical ability required to hone those skills and those lucky enough to be part of that few often end up here, at the capital of our world. As for the architecture, her Grand Auspicia, divine monarch of Dreamland, has a tendency to redecorate with every new incarnation, and the marks of many of the greatest minds across time have been incorporated into the design.

To make it brief, it's not easy getting around, but after living here for seven years I've memorized at least thirteen floors. The rest is underground and I don't go down there often. (Gives me the creeps anyways.)

I burst into the library as quietly as possible, though Maple's ear flicks and I know she's registered my entrance. She's a Canis, the same species as Heilin, the current Grand Auspicia, but aside from the horns protruding from the back of her head and long, floppy ears it's hard to see a resemblance. They're both canine in shape and form, as am I, though Heilin is a strange and luminous being while Maple's pelt is mousy and unassuming, and though I admire her expertise in her subject matter, she's also rather boring outside of a library.

Still, I've seen her recommend books to the Defenders before and suddenly any book you can think of is the most interesting novel in the entire world. She's partly to blame for my habit of squirreling away novels, and at this point I've read a good chunk of the collection here (by good chunk I mean the chunk that is good, seeing as we host a 'complete' selection that includes a lot of trashy contemporary works).

She goes about her work while watching me out of the corner of her eye, levitating large quantities of books and moving them around the shelves. It's a wonder there's ever any work for me to do with her here at all.

While she takes inventory of the library, I take inventory of the librarians. Maple's here. Quill is sprawled out on a table near the fiction section, writing. Bells could be anywhere, given her size. All of them aside, there's still one absence unaccounted for.

"Where's Aidan?" I ask.

"Field work." Maple replies, her maw stretching into a soft yawn. "You do realize this is your day off, Avery?"

"Well," I say, "I couldn't think of anywhere else to go..."
"Not even to breakfast?" asks Maple.

My stomach rumbles with distaste at being forgotten.

"I'm not hungry!" I yelp. "Not in the slightest."

"A mind unfed is walking dead, Avery. You'll eat this instant, and while we're at it, you're not to come back for the rest of the day." Maple says, dragging me out the door with her telekinesis. She's strong for her size, but has the unfortunate habit of prickling my fur... "Now get some food and be social."

The door slams behind me, louder than the noise I made when I came in for certain. Well, no accounting for some people. I begin to walk down the long, winding hall that leads to the dining hall, only for a huge, feathery marauder to pounce on me from around the corner and scare me half to death.

I lunge out of way, thanks to instinct, and turn to face my attacker, who peeps, "Hi."

My fur still raises every time she does that. Far as I can tell, Quill possesses no powers of teleportation, but it's been years since she came here and I still haven't figured out how she gets from one place to another so quickly.

Combine that with the crystal on her face that marks her Evelscan heritage along with her beak and odd, feathery body, which I will never get used to, and all around she's just... unnerving. However, the plucky griffon is still waving her tail and staring at me with excitement in her huge amber eyes, and it's hard to be intimidated by someone who writes historical fanfiction.

Speaking of such...

"How's the manuscript coming along?" Quill asks.

I shuffle my paws, remembering I've left it in my room, and say, "It's coming. Your work is good, although I'd try to dial it down on the references to contemporary culture. Keep in mind that since you're writing this in the time of the fourty-third Auspicia, having all the characters make jokes about things they shouldn't know about seems jarring, to say the least. Have you done research on the time period, by the way? I can lend you a few books on-"

"I'll work on it. You like it though, right?" she asks, waving me away.

"I like it." I say, truthfully.
"You're not just saying that? You like it. Not me. It. I want to keep this strictly professional. I've never had a real editor before... " She steps closer and I nod meekly.

"I'm afraid I have to get moving." I tell her. "Big day today. Kind of. You know, the High Auspicia wants me in her office later and I may have slept in late..."

"Heilin wants you again?" Quill always pronounces it like 'yellin', which for some petty reason never ceases to amuse me, even though she's botching the entire first syllable.

The Evelscans are always casual about there being the daughter of the goddess who created our planet living alongside us. I'm not sure if it's because most Evelscan residents look down upon the traditions of us common Ophemrians on the main continent or because they're secretly upset that the huge flipping castle, demigoddess included, is on our part of the planet and not theirs.

"Okay! I'll come with." announces Quill, bouncing alongside me. I'm glad to have some company, seeing as I usually eat alone. I know we're close because I can scent the meat and bread from here, along with a hint of syrup. I pick up the pace and enter the room at a very controlled sprint, though almost no one looks up to see Quill or I pass and those who do are giving me the stop sprinting through the castle look. I think Plumeria's the only one who seems genuinely pleased to see us, though that's just because she's scowling less than usual.

I know many of the inhabitants of the castle, though 'acquaintances' would be a better term. Many of them are civil enough, but most of them (Plumeria included) are Defenders, the task force in charge of protecting our world from threats, and none of them want to affiliate themselves with the librarians.

Either that or they think I've memorized the last fifty books they've checked out, which I have, but surprisingly enough very few of the residents' check-out histories make for good blackmail.

"Sweep's over there. We should go sit with her." Quill nudges me towards the back left of the room, not far from the kitchens and heating rooms, and I see her sitting there, alone in the corner, looking dismal.

Sweep is a strange mix of terrestrial beauty and otherworldly grace, a coppery mottled Canira with four wings that place her halfway between the mortal and the divine. She's no demigod herself, just a strange subspecies of Canira, but it's hard to see her in action and think of her as anything less. She has a nick in her ear from a self sustained-injury, but as far as I can tell she can still hear in it. She flicks it once before turning around, and her sullen posture drops from her immediately.

"Aves! Quill! How are my two favorite Sentients doin' this morning? Hungry, Aves? Don't worry, we've both eaten." Sweep casts a sidelong glance at Quill. "I can see those crumbs in your feathers, you know."
"It was only one loaf." Quill adds, feigning guilt.

"Griffins," Sweep sighs, spreading a wing over us both.

I sit down, feeling warm as I take several pastries and scarf them down myself. They're hard enough on the outside to rip through like meat, soft as clouds on the inside, and the sweet jam within makes the entire thing an experience of flavor. The recipes served here are not showy, especially in the morning, but the cooks are experts and generations of experience has made even the simplest of foods a work of art.

"So... care for a flight?" Sweep whispers in my ear as I finish.

My ears perk up and I almost choke on my last bite of bread. Trying to regain my composure, I nod with excessive enthusiasm, and Sweep tries not to break out laughing at how ridiculous I look.

"You two have fun," Quill says. "I'll just have to polish off our bread. Such is the fate of a land bound griffin." She doesn't look terribly sad about it as she hurls another morsel skywards and catches it in her mouth.

Sweep nods and flicks her ears towards the exit.

"Hold my books," I tell Quill, passing her my satchel, which she grabs and holds tenderly as a newborn.

Sweep mutters something about "book nerds" beneath her breath.

I reply, "I'm coming, I'm coming." as if I'm not holding back my excitement and she just goes.

Before I can say anything I'm whipped up in her whirlwind of spontaneity, the two of us barreling across the dining room and out into the open halls. They're clustered as they always are just after breakfast, but Sweep wedges herself between civilians under her rank and over it as if they're hardly there. I squeeze in through cracks and mumble hurried 'sorry's, nearly losing sight of her in the bottleneck at the entrance, which is surrounded by trees on either side.

Sweep jumps out of the crowd and into the sky, her back wings separating from her other pair and flapping in alternating intervals as she climbs higher and higher still. She's beautiful on land, but in the sky she's something more, if that's even possible. The wind currents greet her like a daughter and shift about her as she gains speed, her body curved into that perfect arc. She lets out a cheer of triumph, tasting the wind.

I, in comparison, am awkward as I stumble up after her, just brushing an irritated Defender on the way up. The wind is thick as water around me, and stirring it with my wings is exhausting. I'm already puffing by the time we're level, my tongue lolled out as the fresh air rolls over us.

Sweep grins in amusement as I draw closer to her, her white underbelly thrashing around in the air currents as she leans down to my side. She has to yell to made herself heard, but luckily for us both, she has big lungs. "Losing your touch, are we now?"

"I never had a touch." I reply, hoping she can hear me.

She must be able to, because she rolls her eyes and draws away, banking to the side and pulling into a flip. Her wings rotate around her lithe body and she ends up not far below me, turning again, this time just enough to guide her around into a u-turn. I follow, and we fly past the castle again, taking in the ancient marble and towering steeples. I didn't realize how high we were until I followed her gaze, but it makes me feel significantly better- we're over the spires, at a height that would make many experienced fliers dizzy.

"Looks small from here." Sweep says. "Does it feel small to you?" There's far more longing in her voice than I'd expected.

Unsure of how to comfort her, I just reply, "No, not at all... it feels like the whole world."

Sweep scoffs, but says nothing, still glancing down at the land beneath us. We're over the forests now, at the place where the land bends downwards from the castle, turning from white stone to deep, luscious greens and browns cut only by rivers, which in turn reflect the sky above. The land is heavy with vegetation, and as we descend over it the smell of forest fills my nose, alluring and foreign as ever. Taking in the broad scope of the land, my eyes trace the horizon skywards and I catch a glimpse of a shimmering purple energy flickering across the sky, disappearing as I move forwards.

The Veil is thick today. I catch another surge of bright violet, far sooner than I would have expected, and dark figures speckle the sky, perched on structures not unlike artificial clouds. The sentries are watching to make sure our sacred protection from other worlds holds, but the position is more of an honorary one than anything, an easy way to make a living since the Veil is supposed to hold out for decades to come.

Still, many of our winged brethren in the area have taken jobs there. There's even the rare dragon, which carries its own brand of irony, but for the most part winged Canira are the dutiful guards of Dreamland... and, I think bitterly, the first to go when the true danger erupts. If the Veil really was punctured from the sky, no one standing guard would survive to warn us.

"If things had gone differently, that could have been us." I say, so softly I'm amazed she hears it at all.

Sweep murmurs, "Geez, Avery, you're depressing." She locks both sets of wings to descend and I, too scared to pull into a full dive, lower myself with my single pair still extended. "Your meeting wouldn't happen to be soon, would it?" She says as she reaches the ground, and I fall onto my face besides her. She still has that winning, knowing grin as she helps me up, and I dust myself off, feeling my fur radiate with warmth and embarrassment.

Right. The meeting.

I look up at the sky and estimate out the time. "I'm not late yet, but..."

"We shouldn't risk it." Sweep says, with none of her usual warmth.

"Since when do you care about being so formal with the Auspicia?" I say, trying to return some levity to the conversation.

"I don't have to respect her as a demigoddess to respect her as a boss, Avery."

She leads me back inside, letting the sunlight slip from us both. I feel the chill of the castle and shiver slightly, and she draws a little nearer to my pelt, brushing against me just so that my whole body tingles. Luckily, all we have to do is go straight back, with few curves, so its far from a difficult journey. As we move further into the labyrinthine castle, modern curves change to pillars and then to stranger, more archaic structures, including the infamous "Thicket" which contains no less than eight levels worth of stairs piled over, under, and around each other. To this day, no one is sure if the architect was a mad genius or simply mad, but learning which stairs lead where is a mark of distinction I'm proud to bear. We go right-left-up-up and emerge into a new hallway, more archaic still. The stone is yellowed and the sunlight upon it and the inladen jewels over the doors on either side of us made the hallway shine like royal jewelry. We go up to the end, where the patch recedes back into shadow, and begin ascending the treacherous steps to Heilin's office.

The stairway is rife with stained glass windows which follow us as we rise, grand murals of metal and glass depicting Dreamland's greatest heroes smiting numerous foes, their faces rimmed by haloes of gold. A rainbow of figures I have revered since I was young stand shimmering in light, with eyes that seem to catch my gaze even through untold eons and layers of glass. Their foes, in a multitude of forms, are worked from metal and dark glass just outside the frame, so that no light falls on them. Instead, they bristle in the shadows, sharp iron teeth forever snapping at the luminous foes they have no hope of defeating.

At the top of the staircase, next to the most recent mural, lies a single door, a hulking oaken one just waiting to be pushed open. Even years after the timber was felled, it smells of the woods still, and I'm bitterly reminded of earlier. Heilin's magic enchants the place, her presence dusted like soft sunlight up the staircase and stronger still in this doorway, cold and foreboding.

"Good luck." Sweep tells me, eying the door as if it's about to come alive and eat us both.

"I don't know why everyone keeps saying 'good luck' before our meetings. First of all, she's not scary, and second of all, what is she going to do, fire me? I'm essential personnel here! Verhamera's tails, I'm the librarian!" I tell her, feigning confidence.

"The best librarian." Sweep adds with a soft chirruping laugh. She nudges me with her long muzzle, eyes glittering, and turns back to the stairway. The stained glass casts new colors on her fur, the blues and whites making it look as if the sky itself had descended upon her. "See you later." She dips past me and is gone with a flurry of wings. I should hope she has the common sense not to try to jump the spiral stairs.

My heart flutters in spite of myself. Alone in the dark, with just traces of distant stained-glass light catching on my pelt, the door looks larger than before. My patron and savior lies just behind it, generator of the Veil that protects our world, rightful ruler of the land, and queen of storms. One could ask why such a being would ever deign on me just a second of her time, and I don't know the answer- partially for fear all of this will disappear if I so much as hesitate.

There has to be something she needs from me. Something I possess worth saving.

The door has no time for my crises, the whorls in the wood watching me like eyes. I press my chest out with a deep inhale, regaining my composure, and push it open.