Once upon a time, deep within the forests of Remnant; there lived an old witch. The witch lived all alone, atop a great hill. Her isolation was not accidental; she desired the solitude of her lonely hut in the dark forest. The witch lived in the forest for many years seasons passing relentlessly, the witch's hut receiving countless visitors. Men sought out the witch for the power she held was enticing to man. As time passed the witch's heart grew bitter, man's lust for power sickening her.

Then came four brothers who plotted to steal the witch's power. The first brother was elegant and carried with him a bow. The first brother looked upon the witch's hut and said, "She is but a frail old woman!" he exclaimed, "I will demand she give the power to me, as it is right that the fittest should possess it."

The first brother approached the witch, and with bow poised said, "Witch! Relinquish your power to me, your body fails you while I am young and fit!"

The witch looked upon him and said "I will not, you are not worthy." With a wave of her hand, the man was sent away.

Then came the second brother, who was tall and strong. He carried a sword that was chipped and worn. The second brother looked upon the witch's hut and said "I will challenge the witch for her power, and with my strength take what is rightfully mine."

The second brother approached the witch, and with sword drawn said, "Witch! I challenge you, take up your arms and contest me for your power!"

The witch looked upon him and said, "I will not, you are not worthy." With a flick of her wrist, the man was sent away.

Then came the third brother, who was pallid and thin. He carried with him a scale, rusted and used. The third brother looked upon the witch's hut and said, "I will destroy the witch's crop, and when her hunger becomes too intense I will offer her food in exchange for power."

So the third brother went, and poured wine in the soil of the witch's crops. Soon after, the crops withered and died. Furious, the witch looked upon the four brothers and cried, "Begone, children of man! Your attempts to take what is not yours will all end the same each and every time!"

Seemingly thwarted the four brothers left the witch's hut. Later that night, however, after the witch had fallen asleep. The fourth brother approached the witch's hut. He was unremarkable in all aspects but one, a sensation of despair followed in his wake. His eyes held sadness within them, like a font of misery. The fourth brother gazed upon the witch's hut and wordlessly made his way inside.

The door did not creak, nor did the fourth brother's steps resound off the wooden floor. His sad eyes peered down at the sleeping form of the witch and with a whisper the fourth brother said, "I will grant death to the witch, so that I may bestow the power to my brothers."

The fourth brother plunged a knife deep within the witch's chest. As the witch lay dying in her bed she spoke, "I will. You are worthy." She gathered the vestiges of her great and terrible power, and intoned once more.

"To your first brother I grant the power of the white horse, so that he may bring Conquest to the cursed world of men. To your second brother I grant the power of the red horse, so that he may bring War to the woeful world of men. To your third brother I grant the power of the black horse, so that he may spread Famine to the feeble world of men."

She leveled a gaze at the man, her eyes as hollow as his own.

"To you, the fourth brother I grant the title Death. I bestow you the ashen horse, and dominion over all that dies."

Thus, the witch perished. The four brothers became the four horsemen, and they rode admist the world of man. Some say the four horsemen still wander to this day, cursed by the witch's power to forever spread discord upon humanity.

"...Lameeee…" drawled a young boy, no older than six. His hair and eyes were red like fire, a bored expression etched onto his boyish features. "There weren't any explosions or karate chops or anything!" he pouted, throwing his hands into the air while falling backwards onto the sheets of his worn bed.

A warm laugh resounded, not unfamiliar to the gentle pull of a fireplace. The origin of the laugh was a man. His laughter faded to chuckles, a small grin adorning his scarred face. His shoulders were broad, though not overly robust. His eyes were a light charcoal, much like his shoulder length hair; which cascaded down each side of his face wildly. "Not every story needs explosions to be a good story, Ekri."

Ekri huffed in indignation. "Does too! Explosions are the best part of any story!"

"I don't know Ekri, I liked the p-p-p…" Another young boy's voice, soft and shaky sounded from beside Ekri. This child had unnaturally white hair, which was cut short and cropped. The boy choked on his words, before lowering his head; face bright and red. The room grew silent for a moment, before the man spoke – voice reassuring and calm.

"Take your time, Alva. Just like we practiced."

"P-par-part. I l-liked the p-part where the second brother c-challenged the witch." His words were shaky, and though he struggled the words flowed – albeit rather sloppily. A small smile worked its way onto the boys face, and the man smiled back.

A third voice entered the fray, "I liked that part too, Alva." The boy's voice carried with it an air of excitement that was infectious. "He had a sword and everything! Like a knight," He cleared his throat and forced his voice to drop in pitch, "Witch! I challenge you! Have at thee!" His black hair, which was swept to the right, bounced wildly against his forehead as he caromed on his bed.

All at once, the older man sighed as he rose out of his chair. Calmly striding over to the bouncing boy, he grabbed him by the scruff of his pajamas; holding his small form in the air.

"Settle down Lavi, you know how Maddie feels about you jumping on the bed."

Lavi simply stuck his tongue out in response, but stopped jumping the moment he was set down.

The man tousled the excitable boy's hair, before turning to the final child. This boy was the oldest, it showed as he was largest amongst the four. His hair was a pale gray, his eyes a similar color, though if one looked closely a faint pale green crept around the edge of his iris. He had a pensive expression on his face, his nose scrunched in thought.

"What did you think of the story, Skoto?" He spoke expectantly, genuine curiosity lining his voice.

Skoto looked surprised for a moment; as though he had forgotten his presence within the room. He wet his lips before speaking.

"I don't really get why the fourth brother killed the witch. I know he said it was for his brothers, so that they could have her power. But the story never said that the witch was evil, just that she didn't like people. Did she really have to die?"

The man's eyes softened a bit staring down at the pensive young man. Reaching down, he tousled the boys head roughly; causing him to groan in annoyance.

"That talk is a bit heavy for a kid like you. Why don't you sleep on it, and we can talk about it some other time?" Though the sentence was posed as a question Skoto already knew – he wasn't going to get an answer tonight or 'some other time'. So instead Skoto stifled a yawn, fatigue worming it's way into his thoughts and muddling his mind. He laid back down, pulling his sheets up to his chin.

"Good night boys." he called out softly, body in the door frame.

"Night Uncle Khai." The boys responded in unison.

Skoto awoke to the smell of fire. Skoto had believed he knew the scent of fire, as he had spent a great deal of time sat beside campfires. Burning wood had a healthy and robust scent, often accompanied by roasting marshmallows and the company of his beloved brothers; their light laughter filling him with a warm entirely different from that of the campfire.

This was not that smell.

An overwhelming nebula of thick smoke clogged his nostrils. The smoke burnt his eyes, causing them to water; blurring his vision. The noxious fume was accompanied by a cacophony of screams and shouts. These were not whoops of joy or saccharine shrieks. These people were afraid, these people were in pain.

Skoto rose with fervent urgency, his eyes sweeping across the room rapidly. Thick plumes of fire licked hungrily at the wooden beams in his room. His eyes found the beds of his friends, each bed was emptied. They had been taken from him. The fire and pain had swallowed them, too. A thousands thoughts pounded at the door of his mind.

Where had his brothers gone?

How many people had been hurt?

How many people had died?

Why?

Why was this happening again?

His body shook involuntarily, but Skoto couldn't move. It was as if a terrible titan had been set on the pit of his chest, making any movement impossible. His body shook again, more desperate this time. A voice began to pierce through the countless others, but the words were muted; as if the speaker was underwater.

Pain blossomed across his left cheek, and the fire faded. Thick plumes of fire evaporated as though they were never there. The discord faded away, first to whispers then to a complete silence.

Then Skoto awoke a second time. His body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. His breath coming out in harsh, short gasps. Above him, holding him by both his shoulders, was Alva. His face was contorted into a grimace. His white, almost silvery eyes were calm and focused. His lips moved, but Skoto had trouble making out the words. After some rather difficult lip-reading he discerned the message.

"Breath with me, Skoto. It's just a nightmare. You're okay, I have nightmares too. All the time, even. None of it is real, just breath with me. In and out, okay? Just like that, we don't want to wake Ekri now do we? We both know how much of a pain it is to get him back to bed, right?"

Skoto felt himself nod, a breathless laugh escaping unbidden. A small smile graced Alva's lips.

"See? You're all right. Nightmares aren't real, remember? There's no reason to be scared."

Skoto just closed his eyes in response and kept breathing deeply. Sucking in air like his next breath would be his last. Idly, he noticed Alva shift his weight and body around until he was sat at the foot of his bed.

When he re-opened his eyes, they met with Alva's once more. Thinking back, he chuckled happily at his realization.

"What?" His voice was soft, so as not to wake the other two.

"Nothing…It's just, throughout that whole thing – you didn't stutter once."

Genuine surprise flashed across Alva's face, before his face lit up with a bright smile that stretched his cheeks.

"I-I guess I just wasn't thinking about it. The w-words just k-kinda flowed y'know?"

"Yeah, I heard." Skoto wet his lips. "Thanks for that, by the way. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's o-okay, I was already awake t-too." Things were silent for a moment. "Do you….want to talk about it, m-maybe? U-Uncle Khai does the same for m-me.

"No!" He began quickly, catching himself even faster. "I mean, no – it's okay. I don't even really remember it."

Alva gave him an unconvinced look. "Y-You sure?"

Skoto took one last deep breath. "Yeah. I'm good. Don't worry about it. Thanks, Alva."

Alva smiled hesitantly and whispered back, "I-If you're sure, I s-suppose." He made to leave to his own bunk, but hesitantly turned back.

"I-It isn't r-real. N-No matter how scary it i-is, it's just a b-bad dream."

"..Right, it just scared me. Night, Alva." Alva returned to his own bed, pulling his covers up.

Not real. They were just dreams, figments of his imagination. It must have been his dinner. Something he had eaten had caused that awful scene. It wasn't real, none of it.

Then why?

Why can he still feel the fire licking at his face?

Still hear the screams of terror?

Skoto did not sleep that night.