Despite the fear of bloody and painful death, Arn eventually dozed off. He wasn't fully asleep; instead, he floated in a kind of mid-way state. Thoughts mingled with dreams and memories, but the snarling and growling of the wolves persisted. Finally, exhaustion overcame reason, and he fell into a deep slumber.

Arn awoke in a forest - the same forest in which he slept presently. Echoes of the wolves' growls reached his ears. He turned towards them; the trees thinned before his gaze, their trunks shifted and disappeared, 'till finally, he saw the wolves.

They stalked and snarled around the tree he climbed to escape them nearly two hundred feet ahead of where he now stood. Their bodies lacked colour; they were as shadows, mere reflections of their true selves. He glanced up the tree and saw a bizarre disturbance where his sleeping form should be, belted to the trunk.

Space twisted and folded on itself, obscuring his shape and leaving an unsettling smudge in his vision. He sensed fear and confusion as they floated nearby, yet out of reach. As always in this place, they stalled before fully manifesting.

Arn paced towards the tree and the wolves, each step a lunge of many yards. Up above, the glittering stars and constellations shifted as he moved, only to shine once more against the black ink of the sky. He didn't know what it meant, but the wolves were gone when Arn looked back at the tree.

The unsettling disturbance - which he knew to be himself - slid down the tree and rested on the ground. Confusion mounted on the periphery of his consciousness.

Is it truly me? He wondered. Is this happening now, or did it pass, or is it the future? The questions slipped out of his thoughts and faded on the wind.

A thrash of wings erupted all about him. Black feathers, beaks, claws flashed before his eyes. A sea of ravens the likes of which he'd never seen. Fear mounted far away, buffeted by a haze, impotent and mute. A single, thundering croak boomed just as the ravens disappeared.

All were gone, but a single giant raven, his wings spread out before Arn, three times greater than any raven he'd ever seen. The beast appeared frozen mid-flap, wings barely moving, feathers oscillating with the light breeze.

Deep, amber eyes locked with his own, tugging at his consciousness. Another croak thundered from all directions at once. The raven's shape flickered; in that moment, Arn glimpsed a humanoid form.

"RUN," echoed all around him. The clear, deep baritone engulfed him with its power.

"FIGHT!"

Arn awoke back on the tree. The emotions that massed on the periphery of his thoughts crashed into him, and he had to take a moment to steady himself. Whatever it was, was not an ordinary dream - he was certain of that. He unbuckled the belt that held him to the trunk and climbed down, retracing the steps of his shadow that he saw from the Aether. It had to be the Aether Plane that he visited. The man who travelled with them from the Ar'Thorsan tower was probably right.

The wolves were gone, just as they were in the dream. The vision, Arn corrected himself. He hoped they wouldn't return, though the raven's final word, ordering him to fight, concerned Arn.

What is that thing anyway? Is that what kept appearing in my other dreams? But no, there were ravens in the waking world, too. Arn rubbed his temples; it was too much to figure out just now.

He tried to orient himself. The Sentinel Mountain stood to his right, which meant he got turned around last night. He sighed, turned westward, and started to walk again.

Arn heard the howls just as he came to a grove of young conifers, too young to climb, too young to support his weight. He had no choice but to run. The howls grew closer despite his aching muscles and burning lungs.

'Fight,' he heard the raven's voice, a mere echo of its former thunder. I'm losing it, that's it, this is how it all ends, Arn thought, fatigue mounted with every ragged breath.

He wanted to quit, to lie down in the snow, let the cold take him - hopefully numb his nerves before the wolves came. His dry throat scratched with every breath; he coughed and nearly fell but kept running.

The howls were so close he thought the wolves were just behind him. Black tendrils of fear shot up his spine, chilling him beyond anything the weather could inflict. Arn finally stopped, braced himself against his knees. He was so tired - of running, hiding, needing to be saved. He was so sick and tired.

The anxious thought persisted in his mind, transforming into an incessant vibrating ball of energy. It rushed through his body, a shockwave, assaulting the cold, the black tendrils of fear until they broke and vanished away.

Arn straightened; a familiar flame burned at his core. He glared in the direction of the howls, and his fear turned to exhilaration.

He no longer needed to hold his anger, contain his temper; he could let it all flare without restraint. Arn focused on his breath, inhaling deeply, and exhaling slowly. The flame within fanned, grew, brighter and hotter than ever. He took in the energy around him as one breathed air. He fed the inferno.

Everything came into focus; the trees, the snow, the rocks and the earth below it. Not through his sight, but as distant parts of him, distinct and yet connected. The new sensation both confused and reassured Arn.

The wolves appeared some hundred feet away, coming through the distant trees at a brisk run. The wolves, Arn sensed, resisted the connection to him. He followed an instinct and pulled at the energy; it flowed into him, a torrent of power that fed his flame. The wolves snarled and growled at Arn. They slowed their pace and were approaching him with some hesitation.

He picked up a branch that lay beside him, wondering whether he could make it act as the firestarter device. He visualized the flame and sent his Esarel into the stick. The wood resisted, more than anything he'd ever felt.

It mattered little now, for the flame within grew larger, fed by all the energy of nature around him, enough to overwhelm the pitiful defence of a mere twig.

Strange symbols burned into existence on the branch, looking almost like the ones upon the firestarter. It vibrated in his hand. Arn felt the heat from it. Arn knew it wasn't stable; he felt the unhinged nature of the thing he made. He glared at two of the wolves and threw the branch with all his might.

It flipped end over end as it soared through the air, smoked, then burst into flames. The two wolves howled, jumping out of the way. The twig impacted the snow between them. Steam hissed up in a column, followed by a fiery blast a second later. The wolves were still too close, caught by the shockwave, their twisting bodies crunched against nearby trees.

Something stung his eye.

Sweat?

He wiped the moisture away. Beads of it streamed down his temples. He was so hot; he sweated profusely.

How is this possible? The rush of battle? No, it can't be.

Anger roiled within him. The other wolves approached more carefully; heads lowered, ears sharp, lips curled into a sneer. Snarls and growls filled the air, though they held little of their former menace.

Arn sought another branch - if he could make a few of them, he'd blast the beasts. Perhaps even a single one would scare them away. But the snow lay bare all around. Fear bubbled up, only to be consumed by the anger. It drove him madder, and he growled at the wolves.

Arn swore. He didn't have the time to break off a sufficiently thick branch from a living tree; the timber would be too moist and flexible to break off easily.

Could he push Esarel directly into the wolves? He wasn't sure what would happen, but what else could he do?

Arn focused on the closest one, a large black wolf mere twenty feet away, and willed the Esarel to flow from him and into the beast. The wolf yelped and shrieked and pawed at its muzzle. Arn's Esarel didn't mix with the animal; it felt like pouring water into oil.

It's not an empty vessel - of course, it's alive, it has its own Esarel, Arn realized.

The other wolves continued their approach. Fear flashed in him, and once again was sucked into the vortex of his roiling anger. He pulled more energy from his surroundings - he felt a feeble resistance, but it broke quickly. The flame grew, and he refocused on the wolves. Perhaps he had to push more Esarel, or with more force - he could scare them away at least. He briefly glanced at the black wolf, who now lagged behind the others, almost ready to retreat.

A rolling, booming voice exploded in his mind. Arn fell to his knees and faintly heard the yelps and cries of the wolves as they, too, suffered.

"SAR PYNEDAR'AR," the voice boomed without an echo. Arn looked around but saw no one. The wolves crawled away, their eyes wide with terror, tails between their legs.

"DEKATH," the voice boomed, "DEKATH," it boomed once more, "DEKATH!"

The pain in his ears was so great that Arn thought his eardrums ruptured. A loud ringing filled his mind after the third 'dekath'. He glanced about himself and saw that he remained alone.

Only void remained in place of the flame that burned mere moments earlier. Arn couldn't feel the trees and snow, nor the earth as he did before. All was back to normal.

He felt drained and empty, beyond anything he'd yet felt. The pain slowly subsided, and a great weakness overcame him. Arn fell forward upon the snow and passed out.