Raiten:

  Thraevirula wears a different dress for once: a layered, dark purple silk with back ends of scarlet that seemed to follow her arms—like moth wings. Very hypnotic stuff.

  She circles me now as the scenery of the void slowly transforms. The darkness is banished by sunlight and the floor replaced by soft, cushiony clouds that are illuminated golden. I push down on one of the clouds with my right foot—it bounces up.

  “Have a seat,” she says. I turn to find that same old tea table with a white umbrella shading it from the heavenly splendor of the sun.

  I’m too tired to resist this time. My mind is fogged by deceit. So, I surrender by sliding into my chair and kicking my legs onto the table, spilling my tea cup over. The hot brown of it trickles off the white sheets, traveling through their folds like a muddy river slicing down a snowy mountain.

  Thrae doesn’t seem to mind my lack of manners. She just sits opposite of me and takes a delicate, noble sort of bite out of a blueberry pastry. The witch studies me with an unblinking, uncanny gaze as she chews and swallows. Some of the purple paste slimes down her lip. She licks it off slowly. Very slowly.

  I scoff. “Can you even taste that?”

  Rather than answer, she gestures to the spread of sweets.

  I probably should hesitate more. But at this rate, I know what she’s after. And it's not to ‘dream poison me’ or anything. Besides, she treats me better than my allies at least.

  I take a small cookie and pop it into my mouth. An explosion of sweet, tarty flavor comes. I chew on it, savoring the taste.

  “Well?” she asks.

  “I stand corrected.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  I swallow the last crumbs. Then, I kick my feet off and fold my arms.

  “So, what do you want this time?”

  She smiles. “Nothing. I figured I’d give you a break.”

  “How generous of you.”

  “I am quite the merciful mistress, aren’t I?”

  And there it is again: that implication.

  Ignore it. Focus on the now.

  I shake my head. “You were right about Saegor, I’ll give you that much.” She just nods and takes a sip of her tea. I don’t think she needs me to elaborate—I assume she knows of our interaction. But I need to think about it out loud anyways. Get my thoughts straight. “The whole dice game was a farce. ‘Truth serums’ he said. Those were not truth serums at the end. He—” I hesitate. “He somehow lied and made me lie. Fucking hell he got me good. Made everyone doubt me while he gets off free as a bird.”

  “That’s Saegor for you.” She stands now and stretches her arms up, all cat-like, before circling my chair and trailing her fingers along my shoulders, my nape. They linger and tap and I shift uncomfortably as she leans closer.

  Her arms slither past my shoulders, down to my chest. Then, she pulls on the chair arms and lifts them back. My head jerks as the chair balances on two legs instead of four, with her hold over the arms keeping it steady. I peer into her face from an upside down angle.

  “How flattering,” I say in a deadpan voice.

  “What, you don’t like the view?” Her red eyes seem to scan every part of me in ways that I’m starting to fear. Then, she leans close to my ear. “I need a break too.” Her whisper shudders down my spine.

  I kick the chair down and spin out of it, standing away from her. Rather than back off, she laughs and shoves the chair aside—it goes flying off the cloud at her fleeting touch. My hips bang into the table, shaking the umbrella.

  “What is the real story, between you two? I know what he said is bullshit.”

  She pauses her approach. Her smile fades for a moment.

  I press on: “I don’t think you were just… born the way you are, like he implied. I think he made you this way. So what do you really want Thrae? Why continue this posturing of evil? Why—”

  Thraevirula puts a finger to my lips and presses her body against me. There’s nowhere else for me to back up.

  “I don’t want to talk about that. Now or ever. But, shouldn’t it be enough that you know I’m right? I do this for a reason. And our goals are…” she slides her hand behind my head and clutches my hair, pulling my head down to face hers.

  Endure it.

  “Aligned,” she says softly now. “So, what’s your answer Raiten? You're backed into a corner. Your allies are not your friends. You are entering a losing battle. But with me, if you contract with me, we can work together to end this.”

  Is she right? Am I really going to just accept this?

  A hundred different thoughts run rampant in my head. But a few stick though. Key memories fill the gaps.

  A smile slashes my face as the brain fog clears.

  And finally, I understand what I must do.

  “Alright. You win Thraevirula. I’ll give you a contract—”

  Before I can even finish, her lips are pressed against mine.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  I stiffen for a few moments. Then, I realize for any of this to work, I have to give in. Be close.

  I try distracting myself. The memory that incited this plan comes to mind. It is of Sorina sitting on my feet, knees tucked in,to balance me while I did situps in that dingy, dark basement of hers.

  It feels wrong to think of her while… well while this is happening. But I push through.

  “I have a question.”

  “And I probably have an answer,” she hummed.

  I did another situp to face her. “Your husband was born with an affinity to darkness. You were born with an affinity to wind. Is there a chance that I have some… hidden affinity that’s never been tapped into.”

  She pursed her lips. Then shrugged. “Probably not. Usually, those show up in one way or another during childhood. Why ask?” she pushed down forcefully and I groaned my way through another situp to meet her.

  “Because as much as I like my lightning, it's limited. And, it's not as though the Elders have found a way to ‘immerse’ themselves in it so that they can use it freely—otherwise, the very role of the Thunder Watcher would not exist.”

  “Well, in the first place, lightning isn’t an element.”

  “Really?”

  “Not officially no. Do another,” she said, pushing me down again. I huffed and puffed and squeezed my abs for all their worth to reach up to her again.

  Suddenly, I was very close to her. She had leaned in a little too much. For a moment, neither of us spoke—the only sounds being that of our sharp breathing. Eventually, we both pulled away.

  “So… can’t you like, teach me wind magicks or something?” I asked.

  “When you’re not born with an affinity, immersing yourself in magicks is the only way to learn them. But, in most cases, that requires learning runic. Servanta and Incanta. They are the raw math and language that would allow you to understand the fundamental basis of magicks. And from that, you can learn more after studying and playing with the type of magicks you want. Whether it be wind, darkness, ice… eldritch. Spirit. Whatever.”

  She stood and stretched before tossing me a towel.

  “And, could you teach me—”

  “I don’t know Incanta, nor Servanta. That’s something a scholar can do at a high academy, like the ones in Catolica. Very… secretive knowledge.”

  “Right,” I sighed. I wiped off my sweat and handed her the towel. But rather than use a different one, she just wiped herself off on it as well. I must have made some face, because she gave me a look.

  “What? Oh come on don’t be such a clean freak.”

  “Its amazing how I’m the one that lived alone in a tower for ten years, and yet somehow, I have better hygiene standards than a literal princess—”

  The towel hit my face.

  “Piss off,” she said, chuckling.

  I brushed it away and thought for a few more moments. “You said ‘in most cases’ that requires runic. What about… what about other cases?”

  She paused by her weapons table. “There have been exceptions in the past. People who, after constant exposure to certain magicks, have been able to replicate them.”

  “Really? Wait, so if you were to continue attacking with wind magicks or—”

  “Let’s not go there. I know you’re already thinking that you can exploit your regeneration and try to learn this. But, in the cases I’ve heard, it only works when the other person can also use the magicks.”

  I frown. “That doesn’t make sense. You have to use magicks to immerse yourself in magicks? ”

  “No that’s not—it’s not like—” she sighs in frustration. “I’m not very good at explaining this. So don’t take my word for it necessarily. But, there are certain magicks that have a push and pull mechanic. Contracts, for example, rely on both user and receiver to work. Some eldritch magicks have the same sort of push and pull. And from what I know… dream magicks and mental magicks also have that same push and pull—mostly because those enter the domain of the mind, which is a whole other can of worms that I can’t really explain to you. Even scholars have trouble with that.”

  “But theoretically, if someone were to constantly use mental or mind magicks against me, and I had some ‘pull’ or power I guess during those times, then I could immerse myself naturally in them? Learn mind magicks through immersion?”

  She picked up two batons. Tossed one to me. “Maybe. But it would be at the most basic of levels. Now, enough theory. Let’s do something more… Practical.”

  After she proceeded to beat the hell out of me, the idea of immersion kept me up that night. Stupidly, I left Erot’s shed and aimed my hand at the sky. I tried imagining what it felt to cast lightning—to sling it forth from the clouds.

  Nothing.

  I sighed and gave up on the idea. After all, I had to focus: it's not as if the Elders’ knew dream magicks.

  But maybe I do. Maybe now, after being subjected to dream after dream by the witch, I can employ them. The only limiting factor is my mind. I’m not very imaginative—that’s why I can’t lucidly navigate my normal dreams. That’s why I had to defeat Thrae by just employing my nightmares from so long ago.

  That’s why, right now, at this very moment, as she presses further against me and brings my head closer to hers—this is the only way I can imagine getting answers.

  After all, if she can delve into my memories and pick them apart, why can’t I do the same to her?

  I just have to merge our minds.

  Literally.

  Slowly, I press my forehead to hers. She giggles at first. Then the pressure increases. Thrae pulls away from the kiss, grunting.

  “What are you—”

  I pull her head to mine and push. My forehead hugs hers, shoves into hers. I keep on pushing, keep on imagining the sensation of our dreams. The way she transported me to memories of old—sometimes in my own body, sometimes as a spectator.

  Suddenly, the barrier between our heads slips. Phases.

  And she begins to yell. “Stop it. Stop it. Raiten stop it—”

  I push. Merge. My mind to yours. My brain to yours. My dreams to yours.

  Her red eyes slide into mine. Phase into and through mine. I see the imagined contours of her brain.

  “You don’t know what you are doing! Raiten, please stop—this—” she begs. Actually begs. It almost makes me halt.

  But I need the truth.

  In pursuit of that, I merge our minds. There’s a head splitting pain—a pressure so concentrated, that it's as if someone is repeatedly stabbing my brain over and over again. I scream along with her.

  And everything goes black.

  …

  I wake up in a field of flowers. Lilies, daisies, miasma-emitting spirit pollies. Craning my head up, I spot a small cottage with smoke rising from the chimney.

  A little red haired girl runs through the fields, smiling.

  At first, I think she’s running towards me. But when she passes me and her red hair phases through my body, I know I’m the spectator in this one.

  “Mommy mommy! The mancer is here!” she calls.

  Then, I see where she’s running too.

  And lo and behold, a dashing, lithe looking dark-haired male with a satchel waves to little Thraevirula—or should I say, little Tia— before scooping her up in a hug.

  “Where have you been, Saegor?” she asks.

  “Oh you know, here and there, traveling across the lands,” he says, spinning her around. I stand now and gaze upon them, a sick feeling of triumph and nausea spinning in my guts.

  “But I’ll always make time for my favorite little witch.”