As she caught up to him in her chase, he spun around, shrieking in glee. He danced around her; his joyful laughter echoed in the misty but surprisingly warm air. She giggled too, spinning on the tips of her toes as she used to, feeling the air sift through her fingers.

“It is so warm here,” he said. His voice was light and chirpy.

Tia started, a delighted smile spreading on her face. “I can understand you!”

“Yes,” he said, with a cheeky grin. His face was much fuller and no longer pallid and dirt-streaked. “And nothing hurts now: not my head, my tummy or my chest. I feel so happy here.”

Tia stopped, curious. “Where is ‘here’?”

“Thank you, Tiamat.” His voice became fainter and her eyes fogged over. She blinked, but his outlines were merging with the mist.

“Humbaba!” She raised her voice when he didn’t reply. “Tell me – where are you? Humbaba!”

But he had vanished into the mist. Tia, puzzled, found herself talking to nobody. The only sound was a gentle background buzz.

Another set of happy giggles floated through the air. The child ducked behind a pillar, waving her fingers at Tia as she gave chase, laughing. Tia looked behind the large column but the flame-haired girl had disappeared. She turned around as the giggles came from a new spot.

Three people – two adults and one child – stood hand-in-hand, laughing and talking, their words indistinct, but the little girl’s melodic voice and striking red hair was very familiar.

“Aga?” Tia called out. The child turned. Her light eyes lit up as she recognised Tia. She let go, running forward and then stopping right in front of Tia, her arms outstretched as if she were about to throw herself at Tia for a hug. A confused expression was on her little pink-cheeked face.

“What is happening, Aga?” Tia said, confused.

“I… I don’t know. Why are you so far away, Tiamat?”

“Far away?” Tia was nonplussed. “But I am here… where are you?”

“With my mama and papa. It feels wonderful to not have to worry about the farm now, or about the food, or money.” Little Aga’s face was glowing, looking healthier than Tia had ever seen her. A smile stretched across each round, rosy cheek. She took a few steps back and linked hands with the two adults, who Tia guessed were her parents. She couldn’t make out their features except for the pale eyes on Namru, the tired farm owner. Even Namru looked healthy and relaxed. He had his arms around a woman with the same vibrant hair as Aga. His eyes twinkled at her, but he remained silent.

“I have done good things in life, Tiamat,” little Aga burbled. “I am in a happy place now, like Mama – we are all together.”

A fleeting, haunting realisation dawned and then drifted by again, just out of reach, almost like the Wind itself. She grasped at it, but the more she reached, the more indistinct it became, until she was left in a daze, certain that she was on the edge of some epiphany.

The background buzz was getting louder.

“That was not terrible,” said a neutral voice. The almost-praise filled Tia with a strange sense of satisfaction and a jolt of surprise. She gathered her belongings at once, eager to please. After a year of slaving with no rewards, she was finally getting her acknowledgement! “I suppose you will not be a massive failure at this rate.”

Tia bobbed a curtsey, arms full of scrolls and quills. A pen fell out of the pile and tumbled to the ground; before it made contact, it disappeared into the white mist that was covering the ground up to her knees.

“It seems that there is a brain in that head after all,” said the same dry voice. She turned round and round, trying to pinpoint the source. All around, the cloudy paleness was wafting gently in an undulating pattern. It was neither hot nor cold, nor was it unsettling. “It seems I was also able to spot talent, like your old Master.”

“I am doing well, Master Marduk?” Tia’s voice held a trace of anxiety in it. The cold steel-blue eyes of the speaker did not change expression.

“You cannot tell for yourself, Tiamat?”

“I do not wish to regret my decisions, Master,” she said, with a slight hesitation. The piercing eyes narrowed at her.

“Do you believe you have stayed true to your beliefs?”

“I do, Master.”

“And you have not veered from it during your journey?”

“No, Master.”

“Then there is no room for regret. Doubt in your ability or your actions will make room for error, for weakness. Are you weak, Tiamat?”

“No, Master Marduk.” Tia’s voice got stronger.

“Then it seems my work has not been wasted.” His usually merciless tone held a trace – just a tiny hint – of satisfaction. For some reason, despite the jibe and usual callousness in his words, Tia couldn’t help but feel that he was proud of her, and he was expressing that in his way. “Perhaps we can rely upon you, after all.”

“’Rely upon’ me?” Tia repeated astonished. She stepped forward, but she could no longer make out the details of the Ptarmigan Fortress Windcaster. In fact, he was no more than a rough, grey blur in the mist now. “Master Marduk…”

The bucket slipped out of her hand.

It turned slowly in the air, upending in slow-motion, the water spilling at a snail-like pace.

With a resounding splash and a thud of wood impacting on human skull, followed by a horrified gasp.

“M-Master!” Tia rushed down the wooden ladder. “I am so sorry! I—I–” She faltered, staring in dismay with her bright green eyes at the soaked Windcaster. “–thought you were Mommu,” she finished weakly, watching with an apprehensive expression as the old Caster grabbed with both hands the up-turned wooden bucket covering his head, lifted it, and cast it aside.

One disappointed glance from those sky-blue eyes and Tia knew she was in deep, deep trouble.

“You have grown up well, my dear.” His words took her by surprise. She glanced up and saw pride on his face. “You have matured in ways I would not have expected from that little girl left in my care twelve years ago.”

“Why does this feel like goodbye, Master?” Tia’s voice trembled.

“It is time for your next step, my child.” His tone was as sweet and gentle as always, and calmed her fears, just like how they used to on stormy nights and when she had nightmares. “Believe in yourself. Your friends, your family and I are all supportive of you. Do not lose faith. Do what you think is right.”

“Is this farewell?” she choked out. The mist was creeping in again. She reached out, wanting to bury her face in her Master’s chest and for him to pat her hair, saying comforting words. She wanted him to look after her again, to reprimand her when she slacked, and to encourage her when she failed.

The sensation of being left behind was horrible. Master Anu, like with all the others, smiled at her and began to fade.

“No… Master! No! Don’t go!”

She scrambled after him, but she was just out of reach.

“Master!”

She leapt forward again, but her fingers passed millimetres away from his pale blue cloak. His details became fuzzy and his outline merged with the whiteness, which was getting thicker.

Eventually, she was alone again. There was nothingness all around, except for the deafening background buzz in the air. She could barely hear any voices any more. Her heart ached as she withdrew her trembling arm, and instead wrapped both arms around her little body. She strained her eyes against the thickening white mist, but there was not a figure to be seen.

They were proud. But they were gone. They were far away.

What did these all mean?

****

A tear fell out of her eye and trickled down the side of her face as she jerked awake. A heavy burden on her chest made it difficult for her to breathe. She heaved a sigh, the overwhelming feeling from the dream drifting slowly away.

She couldn’t remember the details any more, but the sadness lingered, invoking enough guilt in her to make her try to recall the dream. Or was it actually a dream? She frowned. Parts of it had seemed familiar, almost like she was reliving memories. And yet there was unexpectedness when she had conversed with the speakers that felt new.

“Did you rest well?” said a voice from the other end of the room.

She jumped, suddenly realising that she was not alone.