Dreams and Nightmares. Both discernable illusions of the sleep and the night. Amongst the ethereal wares and clinging baubles of the lord of the night, Darion and Dismas kneels, captured by the strong clasps of steel cylinders and adamantine yellow ribbons rooted in the cold, rough grounds. The more they struggled, the more the steel cuffs tightened themselves. Ghoulish, mist-formed sentinels wreathed Darion and Dismas. Darion snarled as if a mad canine wanting to bite its master's flesh. "Ashen one, waste not your breath, for I am not your enemy." Calmed manner words fell upon deaf ears as Darion tried to stand up, to no avail. His strength waned more. As if the ribbons attached to the cuffs that held him slowly nipped away his vigor.
"Humans and their fragile heart... Once overcame with any fervors, their logic weakens. And what are they after that? A husk, filled with malign desires and abhorrent urges."
Formless and deprived of tangibility, the lord of the night hovered before them. Darion and Dismas saw nothing but a clump of thick haze coupled upon one place. That is its body — nothingness. Xydas sighed before phasing slowly from place to place in its halls. The faceless sentinels pointed their ethereal spears on their neck. So, Darion kept his kneels on the ground.
"If ya ain't, the enemy, then who is?" He uttered.
"The wench Lomllorieth, the shapeshifter," Xydas mumbled in a coarse, throaty voice. Darion's fists weakened as his eyes fixated upon Xydas's smog.
"I am merely a piece of a bigger whole, a pawn. It was not my intention to harm your family; I was promised to harm none. And yet, here you are."
The shackles on their wrists atomized into nothingness as if it wasn't there. Or it never has existed. After all, this is the realm of Xydas itself. It wills what it wants. Both stood up while rubbing their wrists, massaging the faint pain that the shackles left. Their body felt different. It's as if they were weightless, for everything felt light — this was a dream after all. Even so, their body is in the illusions of the night — not only their psyche.
"Then tell me where to find her," Dismas placed his hands upon his sheathed dagger's grip as he spoke.
"It is not easy as that; I have two tasks for the both of you. Complete what I ask for, and I will tell you the wench's domain," its voice rambled like thunders, clearly eager for them to execute Lomllorieth.
"Then we shall do what you ask," Dismas stepped in front of Xydas's miasma as he calmly vocalized his thoughts.
He is in this adventure, for better or worst. He would do anything to follow Darion, either in battle or death. A warm touch among the freezing halls' air pressured his shoulder. It was Darion's strong hands, a concerned smirk of pity painted upon his lips. Thinking that he was forcing the thieving child to accompany him in his journey for revenge. Xydas hovered at the throne before revealing its humanoid form. Though realistic, it looks artificial and poor-crafted. Its skin was semi-reflective and resembled glass more than the epidermis. Its eyes glistened like the pale moon. Even its orb's dreary, murky hues mirrored the eyes of the night's dead creatures.
"To Aleph, you go, find the mishappen wooden house beyond the fields of lilacs and other blossoms, kill the monstrosity inside it," Xydas spoke in a feminine voice. A more intelligible and comprehensible vox.
"Afterwards, beyond the rotting path of the yellow brick road, find the mounds of avarice. And exterminate the creature that scouring the golden mountains."
Both replied with a nod before sitting in a corner, resting for a minute or so. Dismas and Darion's travels brought suffering, and now hope has arisen, yet all of these follies, hopeful or dreading, felt no different from each other. The only thing it did was prolong their life in this world of absurdity. Even the halls they were in reeks of nonsensical features. The roof resembled the architectures from the elven realms, tall and etched with writings no men could comprehend. Yet, the narrowness of the stretch was claustrophobic, enough for an ill person to be choked by just the sight of it. The walls, too, were silly, for it warps and contorts into something else whenever they remove their eyes upon its bending surface. All around them are unfamiliar sights, and all of these were too dreading. Though they did not ponder upon these thoughts, their sight — their focus — lies beyond the place which the great dreamer described.
"Are you sure you want to come with me, kid?" Darion mumbled underneath his weary breath.
"I wouldn't be here I am not," Dismas simply replied before sheathing his prized dagger — placing it upon Darion's lap.
"This was the first thing I stole, a dagger from a guard. He... reminds me of you. He wasn't evil or greedy; He was unlike all of my victims. That guard even offered me food when he caught me. That goodness — that kindness — forged me to take this path. And he reminds me of you."
Darion just grunted as a coy smirk etched on his face. Even though he doesn't say much, he feels thankful that he met Dismas. Perhaps this is one of the anomalies that magus referenced — their meeting. Even so, he wouldn't have done the things he had done without the kid. He wouldn't be in the halls of Xydas, he wouldn't have found the eccentric mage, he probably would've been in a different place. Perhaps a vengeful wraith hunting for The Headsman. And then he remembered, The Headsman, he still craved for that bastard's death. To feel his blood trickle upon his hand would unencumber him of one of his many guilts. That could wait, he thought before standing up.
"Come, child, time to hunt," Darion spoke before walking out of the giant door of the dreamer's halls.
And so, they went to Aleph. To hunt for whoever or whatever that lies in the aforementioned wooden shack. Dismas followed Darion, his comrade, his companion, and most of all, his father figure.