Laughter lightly rings throughout the open night air- the first sensation I experience. Around me, bodies materialize into softly swaying couples with smiles as wide as the crescent moon in the sky- the merry laughter emitting from them. There's a soft hush which mixes well with the warm, darkish glow of the area, along with the warm orbs of light that hang by invisible threads from the dark sky overhead.

It's only once I look down at what I'm wearing do I recognize my familiar surroundings.

The scene oddly resembles the outside patio area of the Manor Hall back home- in fact, it's almost an exact replicate. I sit at the same table I sat at that fateful night, I watch the same couples sway melodiously on the dancefloor, their eyes locked solely on their partner's, it's all the same, even the intimate atmosphere in the air.

"Of all the places to dream up." I think bemoaningly to myself.

It's as though my life has been set on repeat and I'm doomed to play out this night again. Yet, this part of the night wasn't where the trouble began. Staring down at my lap at the ring that I wear on my finger, I feel like a fish out of water.

Suddenly, like the individual hairs on my body standing up, I sense him. At first, I want to refocus my attention back on my lap, hoping he'll lose interest, but his gaze is too piercing to ignore. Finally, I look over at him.

The moment I look over at him, he glances away but then tries to recover from his obvious aversion.

"What?"

I blink. Everything feels so surreal that I'm unsure if I should talk back. It's a dreamy vision of the past yet it's so eerily real it's almost unnerving.

"Nothing," I finally mutter.

"That's a lie. What's wrong?"

Even in my dreams he knows when I'm lying.

Glancing over at him, my eyes hold his gaze for a fleeting second before I rest my elbow on the table and inspect it as if something of worth is written on it.

"It's really nothing."

At first, I think he'll try to pursue the answer- pestering it out of me eventually- but he goes silent, allowing the music to waft over us, remaining that way for a while.

I can't figure out what on earth I need to say that'll make this dream version stop but I'm not actively trying anything to end it like I desperately want. I realize I'm the only one creating this rift right now in this dream of a memory, but I can't help the mounting resentment.

Though this night held happy memories, it also holds bitterly painful ones.

Turning to address him, I'm interrupted by the announcement of the last song. After that, I hear the familiar chords of a song subconsciously stored in the back of my mind.

I know full well what's going to come next, yet when he speaks to me my stomach drops.

"Do you want to dance?"

It's the same timeline, the same ordeal, except I know where this'll lead. Looking over at him, his hand outstretched, waiting to see my decision, I know I have a choice to make.

On one hand, I see disaster ahead if I accept his offer- I remember the heartache from the dagger in my chest, I still feel the repercussions of that night. Even though it's a dream and whatever I do won't have an effect on reality, mentally I'm at a roadblock. Yet, on the other hand, if I place my palm in his, I'll feel that shift I did the first time- I remember the best moment of my life dancing that one song with him, I remember how life felt rich then like it never had before. So it's between knowing this fantasy will be false or going along with it.

After staring in consideration for a moment, I wordlessly place my hand in his.

At this point, I don't think there's anything wrong with living in this reality for the time being. Perhaps I'm not being honest with myself about this, though. I don't have time to reconsider before he's already leading me to the edge of the floor. Surprisingly, I take it one step further and take us to the middle of the floor. I want to experience that moment again, the indescribable feeling of being free yet tethered safely to a lifeline. Just for tonight, when everything in my life is truly as wrecked as it can be, I want to live out this vivid memory that brought me so much joy the first time it played out.

Resting one hand on his shoulder, the other still holding his, I take a steady breath as if I were about to walk across a tightrope. His hand is on the same spot on my back as before. For a second, we do nothing, it's as if we're put on pause while everything else plays on as normal. I know he's waiting for me to look him in the eyes, signaling that I'm ready, but I let several seconds pass before I bring myself to gaze up into his sterling eyes.

Then, we begin.

I guess the jetlag from our first, real go has caught up in my dream because already we're a mess. Tripping over each other, not in sync, my focus is diverted by the cheery couples pressing around us and the music swirling in my head; it's overwhelming, but not in the positive light I remember it being. This isn't the experience I wanted, it wasn't the same.

Frustrated, I let go, trying to make my way off the floor but he still has a hold on me.

"What's wrong?"

Shaking my head, I don't face him, but he continues pressing me.

"Mallory, what's wrong?"

Ceasing in my struggle to break away, I visibly sigh then glance back at him.

"You wouldn't understand."

And he wouldn't. This just isn't the same. I can't reconstruct that night, those feelings, that freedom. I'm weighed down too much.

As if he heard my internal dilemma, he speaks up.

"Don't let your thoughts distract you, just focus. Focus on me."

He's the last person I want to focus on, but he's already leading me back to the center of the floor, placing my hand back on his shoulder and looking me in the eyes.

Inhaling sharply then exhaling warily, I keep his gaze.

"Focus. I have to focus."

But it's not focusing I have to worry about, it's the lack of focus. I'm tired of overthinking things, of worrying over everything and anything, of letting my mind become numb, so for once, I follow his advice and empty my mind of every major and minor worry and allow myself to bask in the moment.

It's only when I feel my dress flare in a soft twirl that I realize we're dancing.

"We're doing it." We're dancing in unison like we did the first time.

My hand is more comfortable on his shoulder and I look at him as I had the first time- with a budding happiness. He looks at me with a completely different expression. He, too, seems free. Neither of us are weighed down meaning both of us can float through the night.

His face is my sole source of sight, the only person I'm aware exist. If I glance away I know I'll sink, so my eyes remain on him, growing accustomed to the sight.

Suddenly, the couples that were once so impeding melt from the scene, their laughter echoing into silence. The music, too, now only plays out in my head. Despite this, the scene only glows brighter with the hanging orbs above us casting a warm halo. In contrast, the sky appears darker than possible yet none of it crosses my mind. I am absorbed by my sole focus on him. The moment my attention wavers my thoughts fall into disarray, so right now, he's my anchor in an untraditional way.

Though it'll never feel as exhilarating as before, I can't deny that I've achieved some familiar scrap of joy. We dance as though it's naturally what we're supposed to do; I twirl and smile and hold his hand as if this was something I could do forever and ever without ceasing- like if I stop I'd die.

Finally, the last note is strung and music fades, nevertheless we stay in position, our breathing irregularly synchronized. Even though it's a dream, my mind and body feels drained of its previous negativity and renewed with fresh vigor.

"It's quite frequent I say this, but thank you."

The line is familiar, I remember him saying it near the end our dance that night. It still takes me back though.

"For what?" I ask, genuinely baffled. Even now, I still don't understand the reason for his gratitude.

"You ought to know by this point."

Instead of brushing it off like I did the last time, I think about it, sifting through the past to seek for the answer to this expression of thanks.

Thinking to pursue this, I begin to ask for a further explanation but am sharply cut off by the icy pickling around me.

Without warning, the area has turned ice cold and the temperature unexpectedly plummets. I can see my breath in the next breath of air I exhale. Both noting this stark change in mood, everything becomes on edge. What was once a pleasant, intimate scene has become a cold, stark icebox. It's now apparent how empty and dark it is. An eerie silence has been cast, but it doesn't last long.

In a blink of an eye, I'm blasted back by a wall of ice. Shards continue to bite out at me as it grows in height, it's cold waves knocking me back further.

I'm dazed only for a second before being jostled back to the scene by a voice calling for me from the other side.

"Mallory?"

His voice is muffled by the wall's width. I can't even get too close in fear of having my eyes poked out by the icy shards. I try anyway to get as close as I can to speak through the barrier.

"Xalale!?"

"Are you hurt?"

"No, are you?"

Like a strike of lightning, I'm sent further back again by the threat of being impaled by the jagged shards raining down now.

Catching my breath, I freeze at the sound of a new voice that rings out clear and crisp as a rimy day.

"Time's running out for you, dear."

It makes my blood dry up, it makes me want to wither up.

She's nowhere in sight but I can hear her laughter echo throughout my head as though she was trapped inside of me. Ignoring her cool, taunting laughter I try again to get as close to the wall as I can to hear from Xalale, but again, she pushes me back with her ice.

"You lost your chance, dear, now you have to accept the consequences."

I could still hear him, faintly, above her laughter, above her taunts, over the pounding in my chest. It was instinctual, I have to reach him.

"Mallory?"

"I'm right-"

Then it struck me, it went through me. It froze me.

Jerked awake, my eyes bursting open to the bright morning light around me. As if my sudden awakening frightened them, a group of crows squawked overhead, their wings slapping against their black bodies as they hastily retreated across the sky. But as the streak across the sky, they leave in their wake one lone feather which drifts carelessly through the air, eventually landing on me.

My heart still pumping from the dream, I pluck up the dark, glossy feather and inspect it carefully. In a way, it speaks to me louder than anyone possibly could.

Though just a dream, I feel rather chilly as though an actual ice shard sliced right through my heart.

Sitting up, I stare at the feather for another minute before setting it aside and looking down at the ring on my hand. I went to bed conflicted but now everything is starting to fall into place- yet it's not a comforting conclusion.

Everyone else is still dead asleep so I can think in silence. And though they're only asleep, I feel numbingly alone. Resting my head in the palm of my hand, I think.

Absentmindedly, I brush the feather against the palm of my hand while I ponder.

"Why that dream? At that time? With that ending?" Things were actually making sense until the end. It was entirely dreamt up in my mind yet I felt like the passive passenger in my own conscious.

Sighing, I lie back down, staring up at the opening in the treetops which had allowed the birds to fly overhead and drop a feather.

One detail which churns in my mind is when he thanked me. He did it back in Cauldron on that night. Both times I've come up short on the answer of what he could possibly be thanking me for- even now, I'm still shaky on what it could be. He said I should know why, which means I'm over-thinking it.

"Maybe it's for all the crap he's put me through." Possibly.

Yet it feels even simpler than that.

I know the foolproof way to get the straight answer but that would require me getting another chance to speak to him- which I'm not leaping at. For now, it will just eat at the back of my brain like acid.

My next thoughts wander to the ending. Why interrupt everything?

This one seems easier to answer if I'm truly being open- which I'm trying to be.

Aelita intruding on everything is pretty much parallel to what played out in real life. It causes me think on a question I hadn't before: what if Aelita never interrupted our daily chain of events? I mean, though the universe wasn't right, Xalale and I were getting along, I was making new friends, and yet the universe felt pretty secure in those days. Maybe everything would have continued to be good if she hadn't dropped by. Yet, I know this is probably not the case- I was dead set on sending him home one way or another.

I come to the same conclusion I came to the night I thought I could talk this issue away. Xalale is a problem, but Aelita is the problem.

She is the puppet master in this twisted play. It's starting to show itself like a hidden constellation in the sky. She's been pulling strings since the day I ran into her, I just was ignorant of her destructive, manipulative nature. She's honed the art of preying on people in their most vulnerable states, and for Xalale that was the night of our falling out.

If I'm weighing every variable equally here, though, there's still a lot of fault on Xalale's part that can't be easily wiped away. It doesn't elude me that he's gruesomely killed so many people nor does the sensible voice in my mind let a day pass where it doesn't remind me of his evils.

Yet...

My thoughts flash back to just yesterday when I was recounting the story of Paul. It's easy to explain away his faults and look at all the good he's done- he was, is, the greatest missionary of all time- yet at the end of the day he used to persecute the very people he later helped.

"Ugh, my little voice is trying to steer me down a designated path again."

I mean, maybe all Xalale's missing is a flash of heavenly light to blind him for three days then maybe he'd change too (it sure would help our efforts out a lot). Still, I can't shy away from the fact I'm being quite arbitrary with this.

For once, out of this entire journey, I'm letting my little voice speak its thoughts freely.

At the end of the day, has Xalale killed people for extraneous reasons? Yes. But over the time that I've known him- especially in Cauldron- I've seen who he can be. He can be thoughtful, selfless, fair, even humorous in his own way. The biggest way I've seen the benevolent side of him is when he's with Clifford. Although a rocky start, I can see how patient he tries to be with the kid, how he cares (as much as he resents showing it), how he's looked out for him. And not just Clifford, but he was civil towards Ruthford, indulged Fall when she interacted with him, tolerated the oddballs of Cauldron (that's a pretty big achievement in my books).

Another key factor glares out at me.

They're not lying when they say location, location, location.

Here in Edalirwen, he's always on guard, always trying to prove something which in turn becomes disastrous for everyone else. In Cauldron, he made an effort, he was around different people, under a different guise with nothing held against him. Aelita is Edalirwen to him, someone he- for some reason- has the urge to please, but Cauldron doesn't have that unattainable standard for him.

The more I sit here thinking, allowing my little voice free rein, the more things begin to click and I start to see the bigger picture.

Glancing over at the others, I visibly sigh. I know that me changing my mind yet again is not going to go over smoothly- especially with Coxen- but I cannot sit idly here and be so passive about such a major course of action.

They may see a murderer but there's something below the surface I want them to witness. Xalale may always be a Saul to them, but maybe I could look past his sins and see a Paul.

The others eventually rouse a few minutes after my quiet epiphany and they're already rearing to go, ready for the home stretch.

Though I came to a consensus about this issue only minutes ago, I'm going along with the flow, not protesting, as I succumb to a bit of peer pressure. I don't know what's holding my tongue from speaking out- well, I do- but I allow us to start in our usual formation towards our set destination.

It's not until we enter a new province, now only a day- give or take- away from the lake that I start to tentatively voice my objectives.

"Hey, guys, let's take a break."

The mixed looks of confusion that cross their faces makes sense. We've only been walking for about an hour, if that, so stopping so soon seems silly but I need to get this off my chest.

Even though slightly muffled, they oblige and we steer off the road to rest. Still, with this opportunity in front of me, I'm ignoring the issue I want to bring up. We only rest for three minutes before I get up and explain that I'm ready again.

Another round of concerned glances are exchanged but they gather themselves and we start to push on. Meanwhile, keeping this knot of anxiety building up in me has made me gone mute, but finally I blurt it out-

"I can't do this."

"Subtle."

Everyone stops, even Clifford, who I interrupted by my outburst. Now they just stare in complete confusion.

"Can't do what?" Elle softly asks.

Taking a brief breath, I glance away uncertain for a second before looking back at them with a more determined resolve.

"I can't compromise my morals over this. I'm not going to toss that stone in the lake."

Coxen looks exasperated already. "Then you don't have to. You don't even have to travel the rest of the way with us."

I want to bite my lip but I know I have to seem firm about my decision.

"This isn't the way."

"Then what is the way?" He says. "Mallory, there's no other way. I wish there was but there isn't. I'm not doing this out of spite."

"I know...but what if we-"

"There are no what ifs. I want our worlds to be safe."

Glancing away for a second, I expect Clifford to have my back but he's off to the side, more interested in the vegetation than this conversation.

Sighing, I look back at him. "I know, but..."

"If you are not comfortable being at the lake then don't come, you don't have to," His voice becomes a bit gentler. "Just try to understand."

"I do understand, it's just something doesn't feel right about this- something deep inside."

"I know you don't agree but just put this past you, for the sake of your world and ours."

Though I previously had strong points against this, I deflate in the face of realization. There's still something holding me back.

I never fully jump on board with him nor voice my support, but he takes my silence as a cue to continue, the others letting out a collective sigh of relief that there will be no major fight over this issue.

"We have some time to make up," He says, starting to lead us on again.

Just as we're starting back up, I stop the convoy when I notice Clifford's absence (there wasn't as much useless chatter bouncing around).

Glancing over at the last place I spotted him, I'm more than a little alarmed when I see no sign of him.

"Relax, Mal, just breathe, he's prone to wandering off- he's a little kid."

Going over to the last place I saw him, I begin calling for him.

"Clifford? Clifford, it's time to go."

No answer.

Now I'm a mixture of nerves and agitation. Nerves because I don't see any sign of him anywhere and agitation because it's just like him to run off and upset my nerves.

The others begin to notice my mounting worry and come over to assist in my search. We comb through the area where he was only minutes ago, calling out for him but to no avail.

"Where could he have run off to?" I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

Elle rests a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, he couldn't have run off too far. We'll find him."

"Always making my life more difficult, that kid."

Continuing to call and search, we spend only a few more seconds in the forest before stepping back out onto the main road with negative results.

"Perhaps if we wait, he'll come back," Olivos weakly suggest.

I'm too through. "We have no time for this, he needs to come out of-"

"Mallory."

You could place me smack dab in a metropolitan filled with different voices, languages, and accents all calling out at the same time in disproportion and I would still be able to identify him without failure- his voice is seared in my mind, for better or worse.

Turning around, I see it's worst than I'd imagine.

Mounted high on Atlas, his eyes sharper than I've seen them in days, he watches me. Though he's a presence of his own, it's the other individual sitting in front of him who draws my eyes.

Clifford, in all his blissfully ignorant glory, is mounted on Atlas as well, a giddy glow about him. I'm sure he's over-the-moon about being able to talk with Xalale again, but he doesn't understand the situation he's put himself in or the disadvantage we're now looking at.

"Clifford!"

"What?" He calls back, his joy still apparent but noting the peeved undertone in my voice.

Xalale interjects.

"I'm tired of these games, Mallory. I'm allowing you one more opportunity to weigh your options wisely. Give me the stone."

"Damn, it's moments like this that make it hard to like him."

I know exactly what card he's going to play but I still feel the knot forming in my throat at the possibilities.

Giving a fleeting glance at Coxen and the others, I can see they've been taken off guard and equally on edge- especially Coxen whose sword is drawn and face is set in the ugliest of snarls.

Xalale, seeing Coxen's defenses on high alert, draws out his own sword and in an unprecedented, unpredicted move, places it at Clifford's neck. My panic level goes from 10 to 1,000.

Clifford, though still clueless, glances back slightly, a little confused by this action but not fighting against it.

Quickly, I step in front of Coxen, my hands up in a pacifying manner. Though my actions are submissive, my voice is anything but.

"Don't do anything stupid. Just let him-"

The closer I approach, the more the metal presses into the boy's neck, to the point where I finally have to stop just short of the stallion when he suddenly yelps out in pain.

Though I know deep down, instinctively, that Xalale would never purposefully hurt Clifford, I can't say for certain where his mindset is. He's desperate and that's a dangerous edge to be teetering on.

"The stone, Mallory."

Between a rock and a hard place, I briefly glance back at the others to see how they're taking this. They appear just as torn as me. We know the moment we hand this stone over it's a done deal- they win. Looking back at him, I inhale briskly.

Though I can't bet 100% on what he'll do (but then again, I never have), I'm going to bite the bullet on this one. We cannot lose this stone. I know it's more likely than not that he's not actually going to harm Clifford, so I take the risky maneuver and call his bluff.

"No," I take a step back. "You're not getting it."

His emotions flash like lightning but I catch most of them. There's a registered look of surprise that lasts less than a second before being replaced with frustration then eventually stormy indifference.

Thankfully, like I hoped he would, he sheaths his sword, though he doesn't let Clifford off. Instead, he glowers solely at me and announces-

"You have 'til the setting of the sun tomorrow to deliver that stone to me. The moment the first star comes out, your time is expired."

Before I can even process this information, he takes off, disturbing the dust in his wake. By the time I try running around them, wanting to yell for Clifford, they're gone and I'm left in the settling aftermath.