They had to regroup, but they were all far away from each other, and so Rusk had time to think and dream while he and Mandy trekked their way to the others. And he dreamt of the necromancer. In the dream the necromancer was young, naïve, and had a smile full of cheer as he stood at the edge of a forest, Rusk’s forest. Rusk in the way of dreams saw the scene from all perspectives, and felt the eagerness of the necromancer, the sense of adventure, as well as the hunger of the forest itself. There was a monster beyond the tree line, and it looked at the necromancer with sheer giddiness. Evil.

Rusk knew it as the same monster who had tried to murder him as a child. He shivered, both in the dream and in the waking world. Mandy saw and tugged his blanket higher. They were camping out, exposed in the middle of a forest much like their own. She feared he might catch cold.

Back in the dream the monster approached the necromancer, looming, towering, foreboding. The slightest twinge of doubt crept into the necromancer’s dream self, and Rusk hoped and prayed for him to just run. To run far away and never speak to this monster again. But Rusk knew that wouldn’t happen. He knew in the way of dreams that this was a memory, and whatever happened had already happened. There was no changing it now. And maybe even then, whenever this was, it might’ve been hopeless once the monster showed itself into the clearing.

The monster’s grin was toothy as it slunk down to see the necromancer eye to eye.

“The tales say you can bring me great power,” said the necromancer. So juvenile. So young. “Are those tales true?”

“Mm, yes.” The monster smiled wider. “What will you provide for me in exchange?”

“Exchange?”

“Yes. I require a payment if you are to use me. My power.”

“What about this?” The necromancer pulled from behind him a walking stick, and Rusk knew in that moment that he had stolen it from his old man. Perhaps a father or grandfather. Someone who didn’t deserve to be stolen from. “The tales did say you’d require an artifact to channel yourself through. They say you can’t leave your forest.”

Was the forest the monster’s? Rusk had never considered it before. That his home could be territory of something far more primordial. Something so hungry and eager to swallow up a naïve child no matter the intentions. No matter the honesty.

“That will do. But only a part of me can channel through such a tiny fragile thing. You know what works better?” The monster leaned in, smiling so wide. Its face was fangs and glowing red eyes, like a cat’s off the light of the moon. It was dark in the dream, and growing darker. “A living vessel. Oh, if I had one of those, I could go anywhere.”

The necromancer considered this. “All I have is myself.”

“Then I shall take you. Do you agree to these terms?”

“Yes,” said the necromancer, but when the monster descended upon him Rusk could feel in a visceral sense all the regret of the world falling open on his shoulders like a cloak, and the monster’s fangs dug hard into every bit of the necromancer. There was nothing left when the shadows cleared, only a husk of his former self. He was empty, and the only thing in him was the monster. The monster had killed the host.

And in the forest behind them both, or rather just the monster, there was exactly one spec of light, a dragon’s light, and it flickered to both the necromancer in the memory and to Rusk in the dream.

Then that light flooded outward, and Rusk was staring up at the sun.

“Thought you were gonna sleep all day,” said Mandy. “Were you dreaming?”

“Yes.”

“Was it good?”

“No.” Rusk groaned and collected himself and his things. They still had a ways to go before meeting up with the others, and even after that there was more to discuss. In the haze before full wakefulness he wondered how much of that dream had been real, and how much was his mind filling in gaps based on all the stories of the land he’d read during his time with Greil.

“I didn’t think it was. You called out in the night. I thought we were being stalked, that maybe something grabbed you.”

“Sorry.”

“No need. Let’s keep moving. Want some breakfast?” Mandy held up a skewered fish. It was on the end of an arrow, and had been cooked over the fire while Rusk slept. Ever prepared, that Mandra. Always prepared. For anything. How did she get so confident about everything? It seemed she’d always been that way, but now that Rusk thought about it it seemed unusual, for someone to be so worldly and respectful even as a young child.

Rusk bit into the fish, and it quelled his angry stomach.

“Iraiah sent word she’d meet us in half a day’s hike from here. Should make pretty good time if we keep a decent pace while we walk. It’s through the woods, but we both know how to survive in there, don’t we?”

“Yeah.” With breakfast finished they both walked onward. It was silent the entire way until they met with Iraiah and Gedresial.

Flow was notably absent.

“She’s out,” said Iraiah. “Said she wanted no more of this country’s nonsense.”

Rusk felt his hands balling into fists. “Then we do this without her.”

“Guess so.”

“But I did find another certain person.” Iraiah moved aside, and Elena stepped out from behind her.

“Elena!” Rusk pulled her into a brotherly hug in which he spun her around like a madman. It was the first thing to go right in a long time, and he didn’t care if he looked ridiculous. “You’re alive! I thought your grandfather might’ve had you killed or tortured or something.”

“Right, um. Wanna let go?”

Rusk released his grip and set her back on the ground.

That’s when he noticed she’d brought with her the dead portal. Gedresial flew around it in an orbit, seeming to make his own observations.

“Fear not, Rusk.” The Dragons Knock stirred even as Gedresial placated their fears. “I have it contained. We can use it to find the necromancer, to scheme. Aren’t you glad you added me to the team?”

“Only if you stop rhyming,” grumbled Elena.

“Rhyming helps with the magic’s rhythm. And so does alliteration.”

“Whatever. So we’re going to kill the king then?”

Iraiah had a glimmer of cleverness behind her eyes, an eagerness that reminded Rusk of the monster from his dream but brighter, and Mandy was ready as always, and Gedresial never stopped circling.

The portal swirled with Gedresial, seeming to be contained if nothing else, and Rusk glared at it.

When he did, it glared back. And it was the monster. The same one from his dream. The same one who gave him his scars. The very same monster. All this time. The source of all the evil in the world, or perhaps the catalyst for it.

“What do you know of the Elva?” Rusk demanded in a tone that would allow no argument at the portal itself.

Elena spun around to look behind her, confused at what he was speaking to. Well, she knew, but she didn’t know how anyone but her was able to see the dead portal. She’d assumed it was her curse and hers alone. The orphan and the death. Together intertwined until the end of time for this country. That’s what her omen had said so many years ago, when she’d had her fortunes told by the witch in the village where she was raised.

“Many things,” rumbled the dead portal in response to Rusk. “But the real question is, what do you know of me?”