Kard stumbled up the steps, a scream in the back of his head, a whisper in his ear. The arguments of ghosts and phantoms and the echoes of ghosts might have been in his head, might have been coming from the shadows of the black walls like cliffs that loomed over him.

There was the smell of burning, there was the sound of that scream, but that scream might have been in his head, or it might have been his. His hands sweat but his mouth was dry and his lips cracked, and his forehead pounded, throbbed, like a blacksmith hammering a steady beat, one, two, three, one two, three.

He couldn't remember why he was here but couldn't remember why he wouldn't be, and he tripped, and fell, and his body tumbled down some spiral, craggy steps, and his shoulders beat against the walls, forcing him down, down, down, and that blacksmith hammered that beat, one, two, three.

And that blacksmith hammered that beat, one, two, three.

And that blacksmith hammered that beat, one, two, three.

And he he stopped falling. And his ears ached, and his head ached, and the screams were either louder, or they had gone silent, and she was standing there.

Above him. And she was...

Not beautiful, like the girl he loved, with golden hair, and a laugh like bells and the happiest of the stringed instruments, plucked on a festival day, like pebbles falling against other pebbles, like the sound of a brook in the forest.

She was not like that. Her gown like a river of scarlet, like shadows of blood. Her hair was alive like the wind had picked it up... but there wasn't wind, it was so dry and dead down here, in the rocks, in the crags, in the black castle. But her hair was a tornado above her, and her skin was pale, and so delicate, but her eyes were glowing green with hate and confident passion.

"I... I..." Kard tried to speak, but he couldn't. And the woman above him lifted a staff, and the top of it, the wood carved like intertwined ivy, glowed as bright as her eyes.

"You came to free me," her voice said, and it sounded more real than the voices in his head, or the voices from the shadows, but he couldn't be sure.

Kard didn't answer.

The woman opened her mouth, and a laugh spilled out, but it couldn't be a laugh, because laughs don't carry so much hate in them, they don't carry fire, or they shouldn't.

And Kard cringed, down to the ground, his armor rattling around him.

"Thank you, I have so longed to be free."

And the woman was gone, and he thought he saw, or he dreamed he saw, or the ghosts told him he saw, a monstrous thing behind her, with a spiked back and wings, a dragon, a dragon...



Kard woke up. He leaped forward, but felt so little strength in him. The black castle, that dark place, was behind him. He didn't turn his head, he couldn't look at it. He crawled, just a little bit more, a little bit more...

A drink, finally, a drink. He buried his head into the creek winding along the edge of this scarred, dark land, drinking, drinking, how his throat burned!

His thirst not quite quenched, he took a breath, watching the creek before him. The water settled, and he looked at his reflection, and saw where his once blue eyes were. But in their place, burned green, glowing eyes, with more hate than the young man had known.