ith the eyes of a hawk Vil watched Mey's hands as they worked their way on the mortar and pestle, crushing the wild mushrooms to squeeze the juice out of them. A part of him wanted to opt out of this already. "Are you sure it is safe to ingest? They look wild."

"They are wild," Mey replied, "but our shamans consume them on a daily basis, in many a religion they are holy, for their ichor shows you that which is hidden."

"You call them forest gods, we call them hallucinations," Vil said. "I'm not sure but . . . I don't know if I want to or not. What if I unknowingly take a dose too high?"

Mey laughed, looming over him like a birch tree, leaning over his armchair. "I took precautions for that, I gave you just as much as you should be able to ingest, provided I know your exact height and weight."

Vil shook his head, his trust of Meneldir conquering his fear. "What time is it?"

"Two minutes past seven," Mey replied, "The experience should last two hours, provided..."

"Provided what?" asked Vil, his levels of concern rising through the roof.

"Nothing, never mind, just eat it, don't let the juice stay too long on your tongue, the burning sensation is not very good."

Vil nodded, taking the cup in his hand and pouring it down his throat. The feeling was little different, these mushrooms tasted little different from the domestic mushrooms that went into his pierogi, albeit tastier and spicier.

Hope for the best, he told himself, rocking back and forth on his armchair.

The first few minutes went smooth; the anticipation was the only uncanny feeling that was happening, and maybe Mey's unbreaking stare at him. He sat there, rocking back and forth, trying to grasp the situation.

It first started as a slight tingle in his ears, which grew into a ringing voice. Before he could notice, it migrated to his eyes, his vision blurring, a strange burning sensation in his mouth. He wanted to throw up, but could not. A cat brushed against his legs, but he could not move.

"Aw, little kitten," Mey picked the cat up, stroking his head, kissing his ears. And Vil watched, unable to think.

And then he saw the sky, and trees spinning around him. He was in the middle of a forest, tribal shamans wandering around him, chanting spells in ancient tongues. Ghostly dragons swung to and fro, filling the air with music and might. The dancing trees left a trail behind, as the night sky went from a deep singe of purple to an incandescent green and then pink and then yellow, switching multiple times every moment.

And in the midst he heard chanting, drums banging like a stampede, witches danced naked around pyres that burned bright, smoke billowed up into the skies. And it terrified him.

"Please, stop!"

Something moved in the forests, at first it was a fairy, or a figure roughly in the shape of an elf, and then a white hart with golden horns, and then a black wolf with blue eyes, and then a great lizard with a clubbed tail and armoured plates.

He warped, involuntarily but he was still glad he did, and ended up where he knew not.

Time seemed to sweep by: millions of years a second. He saw the world barren and dark bombarded by flaming rocks, and then it cooled. Life emerged from the oceans, and died in fire five times over, until this time it stayed: their modern life.

And so his eyes closed, his vision ceased.

...

The world darkened and then brightened again, the room advancing in time and space, laden with objects of metal and wood, decorated with cloths and banners. Loud horns played outside mingled with sounds of valves and pistons. This world was much different from his.

And then Vil saw before him: a humble pauper, much in resemblance of him, yet no more than six feet, his eyes grey and hair tied on the top of his head into a bun, garbed in grey clothes with logos and writings he failed to decrypt. "Who are you?" asked Vil.

"I'm your creator," the boy answered, parting his eyes from the strange contraption in his hand.

Vil was baffled, "creator . . . are you a god?"

"Na, I'm as mortal as you are, probably a little more mortal."

Vil scratched his head, trying to think of better responses. A thousand questions came into his mind, yet his mouth was sewn shut. "So if you created me, then who created you?"

"Someone must've, innit?" he replied, and the vision ceased.

The world fell to darkness again, awash with faint lights of strange magic, or maybe technology. Before him now he saw Mey, sitting on a couch, a cup next to him in what looked like milk tea.

There were thick glasses on Mey's face, his hair cut short to eye-length, and before him was a device unto which he typed. The sound was like a woodpecker burrowing into wood, yet with a tinge of plastic and rubber.

"Oof," Mey sighed again in annoyance, "sweetie, please tone down your sarcasm. I know you like to imagine your characters before yourself, but this is too much."

Too much – those words rung in his ear, the world around started to shake, his vision fading away into nothingness. And again, there he was: lost in space, amongst the multitude of orbs dainty and dull wandering aimlessly in the din of the cosmos, enslaved by the stars big and blue.

"Vil, run away," he heard Prince Soren call aloud, holding back a horde of daemons.

"Don't worry, Vil, we'll be alright," Sareth reassured him.

And so it went, one by one he saw every face he knew. And it was painful; he didn't want his visions to continue. Ghosts of his past came up to him, his life flashed before his eyes, under the watchful eyes of the Wild Gods of Alledoria, they seemed to eye him down, judging his actions.

"Please stop!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

And so his vision ceased, and he awoke on the chair, in his room. Mey sat beside him, still playing with the cat. "W-what was that?"

"Ah, Vil, you're back," Mey greeted him happily, "that was faster than expected, how was it?"

"What was I doing?"

"To me: just sleeping. To yourself: talking to the gods."

Vil shook his head, letting his hair fly about. "I didn't see the gods, I saw demons and ghosts, I saw things I can't even fathom."

"Well, you know as they say: different people, different visions."