Annie lifted the hem of her dress, enticing the rowdy crowd. She knew what to do, and she knew how to do it. She was back where it all had started: The Singing Woman.

Last time she was here, she hid from Devan's crew, scrubbing pots in the kitchen instead of dancing and singing. It hadn't helped. They found her, found her and carried her away against her will. She had been absolutely sure that they were going to kill her that night. She knew when they snatched her. She saw it in their gleaming eyes. It wouldn't just be the regular rape they handed out every now and then.

She had screamed every single time the brutes forced themselves upon her, but no one had dared to step in as they were all afraid of the violent crew. Then he came: Milo. He had defeated them so easily. She couldn't even remember how it all played out, the Nyx's movements too fast to follow. What she did remember was his arms around her, and the feeling of safety. She had thrown herself in love, thinking that this was the man of her dreams, the man she had dreamt would carry her away from her horrible existence.

When she had spoken of such dreams the other girls, her so called friends, had rolled their eyes, calling her naïve. Yet she had gotten her wish. He was her white knight in shining armor, even if his eyes were cold and his hands bloody.

Now, she couldn't understand why she had abandoned that dream. It had been stupid to walk away. She couldn't fight for her love if he wasn't here. All her efforts were now useless. She had tried to leave her old life behind, tried to find real love. She hadn't even used any of her old tricks as she didn't want to be taken for a whore again. Instead she had thought that she could make him jealous by flirting with Vito, but the Nyx'gaian failed to see it, or he perhaps he didn't care. Then Vigilante came along, stirring things up with that hateful smile of hers. She noticed how Milo looked at the other woman's brown curls and slender body hidden beneath a man's clothes. She had seen it and hated it. Milo was hers. He was her dream, her rescuer. Now, if she didn't get him, Vigilante certainly couldn't have him either...

Looking up she saw the one of the Magisters, one of the men who upheld the law of the Council. She saw him stare with lust upon her exposed leg, she smiled, knowing exactly what to do. This wasn't over just yet...

Half an hour later she was sitting in his lap. He fondled her breasts while she whispered in his ear, "Did you hear about the man with the white eyes?" She leaned back a little and could see his eyebrows arching.

"I do not listen to gossip," the man said with contempt, but he didn't push her away. She smiled again, knowing that she had met the perfect candidate for setting her plan into action.

"Well, I know where he is going, and the two persons who retrieved him from your prison. I'll tell you where they are if you get me out of this hellhole."

He looked at her suspiciously, obviously assessing whether to take her seriously or not. "Where did you hear these rumors?" he asked, and she smiled in victory.

"I was there with them, but what they did was beyond awful so I fled here to come and tell you."

He seemed to swallow her lie as she batted her lashes. His hands were still around her, prodding her soft parts. She didn't mind, not now.

-----

Vito slumped in the saddle. He was tired, extremely tired. He hadn't been able to sleep enough thanks to the vivid dreams and shrieking voices. He rubbed his face, trying to stay awake. It had never been like this before. His dreams had become monsters in themselves, black masses of hate, agony and hunger. Much more intense than usual. Scary.

He looked over his shoulder. His mentor had neglected him since their departure from Bankor. Qumo talked to Milo, or perhaps he should call him Io. He didn't know what he felt about the notion. He was jealous for the attention the Nyx got, the attention he craved for himself. He needed support, no: he craved it, for he was lost in his own mind.

"I know you don't want my pity or my concern, Vito, but seriously, you're about to fall off that horse. I think we should stop so that you can rest for a bit."

He winced, Vigilante was right, he didn't want her pity. He didn't want her to be the one seeing his need for rest.

"No, I'm fine," he answered, although he was far from it.

"You're definitely not fine," she replied, but left it at that and pulled back. He was grudgingly grateful, but he repressed the emotion as much as he could. He didn't like her, and he wasn't planning on changing that feeling.

Half a minute later Qumo stopped them all and approached him, finally looking concerned.

"Vito? You look as white as your own eyes. What is the matter?" the old N'aian asked, and he found himself getting annoyed with Qumo's sudden attention. It came too late and it came because Vigilante had told him. However, he needed the comfort.

"I think I'm losing my mind," he whispered.

Qumo twitched his eyebrows slightly before resuming his concerned expression. Vito couldn't read his face. He didn't want to have to read him, he was too tired. He needed rest more than anything, more than comfort.

"You're not losing your mind Vito, but your mind is no longer only your own. You have to retrieve it, take control over your visions. I see that I have been neglecting you, we will meditate after you are rested." Qumo said, his voice filled with certainty, and Vito felt himself release some of the tension that stretched across his forehead.

A few minutes later he was lying on the ground, eyes closed. The voices in his head tormented him, but he was too tired to listen. He could feel their anger, but he let it go, he refused to care. As he did this, sleep crept upon him and the dreams he so desperately wanted to avoid took hold.

He saw nothing but darkness, or perhaps he couldn't see, perhaps he was blind. A light wind picked up and became a roar, a roar he couldn't hear, a storm that vanished as quickly as it had come. Then heat, a burning heat that consumed his flesh, he was burning alive, but he felt nothing, he smelled nothing. He screamed, but there were no sounds coming out, or no sounds to be heard. He breathed in, but breathed only water. He was drowning.

His heart was still beating, but his body was lost. He couldn't feel anything, his mind told him what was happening, but there was no body to feel it with. Then the earth rumbled inaudibly below him and he knew the end was near. He knew what this meant. He was seeing the last of days, the days when the elements would vanquish the World.

He woke up with a start and saw the colors of the forest, the colors of the sky, the light. He heard the birds chirping in the trees, and felt the scent of the greenery, the horses, their own unwashed bodies.

"Help me." he croaked, and his voice was restored. He was restored; his body still there.

"We must do something, we can't go on like this, he's just getting worse," he heard Vigilante's say. He couldn't understand the tone, he didn't think that he heard any malice, but he assumed there was so he refused to listen.

None of the others answered. Perhaps they shot each other looks that he couldn't see, or perhaps they didn't know what to say. He didn't want to look at them.

The fear the dream instilled in him still lingered, and adrenaline soared through his system. He wouldn't go to sleep again, although his body and mind was exhausted. However, that didn't prevent the next vision from coming. He felt the unwelcome surge, and he was thrown into the dark recesses of his own mind. He was sure he would die this time considering how much they took from him each time, and now he had nothing left to give.

For a while he was lost in the darkness, swirling around, floating in nothingness. Then images began to form. He saw men in dark clothing riding at a pace that would drain their horses. He saw whips being lashed to force them further. He glimpsed their coat of arms, and realized they were Magisters, and not the ordinary ones, but their elite force, the Judges. They looked right at him, and started to raise their swords. He wanted to run, but he couldn't.

He heard his friends behind him, readying themselves to fight back. He wanted to join them, but he was still rigid, still not in control. He saw Milo sweep forth, faster than any human. It was beautiful, deadly beautiful. His movements were those of a feline, smooth and precise. The Nyx had two sharp daggers in his hands, agile enough to come close to his victims although they carried swords and sat upon their horses. Vigilante was there too, fighting with her daggers in a breathtaking dance. They took down two of the men quickly enough, but they were outnumbered five to one.

"Get him out of here!" he heard Milo shout as a pair of strong arms took hold of him. Qumo.

He was hoisted up on a horse and carried away, useless in the battle. Worthless.

He woke up, and felt the same arms around him, holding him in the saddle. He looked back, and he saw the battle still raging. It wasn't a vision after all.