Chapter Four: Lord Reaver

It was well after dawn when Remus awoke. It was initially a confusing experience, waking up in a swirl of blankets rather than on the busy streets. But it was enough of a shock to stir him completely, and he sighed as he realized what a fool he'd been to shoot upwards in bed on the alert. Embarrassed, he let himself fall back against the mattress and pillows, draping his wrists over either side of the bed. It had been a long time since he had slept so well, and he would be remise to see the feeling go.

It took him a long time to come back to himself. Perhaps overwhelmed by just how much food and rest—and life-threatening circumstances—Remus had survived these last few days, his mind was groggy and his body creaked and groaned, swearing profusely that it was much older than a mere twenty-five if this exhaustion was evidence of anything. Now, he examined his expression in the mirror atop the bureau and found that he had a little more color in his freshly shaven face. The grooming tools were 19th century at best, which fit the theme of such a polished Victorian mansion. Remus wondered if he should have expected it after witnessing Reaver and his strange attire. But to say that he was surprised by anything this realm had to offer anymore would be something of a massive, gargantuan lie. What he couldn't do with the available tools, he substituted with magic. As he sent a comb through his mousey brown hair, he felt a slight waxy residue from soap crinkle in the wrinkles of his knuckles and content filled his belly.

Anders was already up when Remus crept into the hall. The mage's door was open fully and sunlight poured into the hall from the tall, narrow windows along the wall. The curtains had been neatly pulled back, and Anders had clambered onto the bed with a small selection of books from his room's bookshelf. A halo of dust swirled through the beam of golden glow from outside as it beat against his light blue robes and he shifted his attention as Remus appeared in his doorway, allowing another plume of dust to erupt from his feathered pauldrons. Remus thought they must be well-worn.

"Good morning," he said, waving Remus in. "I was wondering if I would be the only one who got up today."

Anders bore a pleasant tone, but Remus frowned. "Is it that late?"

"It should be about midday," Anders shrugged. "I've been reading for a couple of hours, trying to gather any information."

"And?" Remus covered the distance between them in a few short steps, and leaned over Anders' shoulder to spot the book's cover. Before he had finished reading it, his fingers had already snatched it up. "Grimm's Tales, here? But how-?"

"You know the book?" Anders didn't seem quite as astonished as Remus thought he should be under the circumstances.

"This is a fairy tale book from—from home! My home," he added quickly, not to be confused. Remus turned the cracked covers over in his hands, marveling at the thing. "They're Muggle stories, to teach lessons to children. How did it wind up here, of all places?"

Anders held up another book, one with a deep red leather cover and a handsome leather strapping. "I don't know. Maybe the same way we did? This one is in a language I've never seen before. There are a lot of them like that. It makes me wonder what else we'll find here."

Now Remus was curious. What other clues lay right under their feet? Together, the pair scanned through both of their bookshelves and dared the nearby rooms under discreet cover of silence. But nothing else of interest emerged, and suddenly they grew anxious. Anxious—and impatient.

"Naoya!" Anders called, rapping pale knuckles against the teen's bedroom door. "How can you still be asleep in there?"

It wasn't that Anders hadn't slept past noon before. Oh, on the contrary: he found himself living in cycles, where occasionally he could sleep all day and still be exhausted from the sheer act of living. It was more the feeling of pressure on his heels; that they had a limited window in which to explore this area, before they were eventually summoned by Lord Reaver. No proper host (as Reaver claimed to be) would leave their guests unattended for too long a period, and the quest for answers pushed hard on his nerves.

"Naoya!" he called again, knocking a little louder.

The sound of breaking glass came from inside the bedchamber, as well as someone's sluggish and dragging footsteps. When Naoya finally figured out how to open the door, the room behind him had its curtains drawn shut and his pale, exhausted face peered out at them from the crack in the door. His hazel hair was messy and stuck up in places; a bad case of bedhead.

"Whaaaat," he half-whined, sleepily rubbing his eyes with the sleeves of gray silken pajamas that were too big on him. One of the sleeves was noticeably wet. Deep bags were carved under his dull amber eyes, and he gave them both an irritated bleary look when neither of them answered him right away. "It's too early for this…" He motioned to the both of them. "This."

From the light in the hallway that snuck past the door, Anders caught a glimpse of the sheets sprawled over the bedframe as if a storm had just recently passed through the room. Just beside the bed, shards of broken glass lay in a darkened patch of carpet. Anders' eyes flickered over the wet patch on Naoya's sleeve, relieved when there was no hint of any growing redness.

Anders curled his nose. "You're hungover."

He blinked, squinting in the morning light coming from the large windows in the corridor. "You're hungover," Naoya childishly spat, wiping his face on a dryer part of his sleeve. Just as he was about to half-remark about something else, he clenched his eyes shut, his hands going for his temples, and shook his head as if he'd struck by something. "Company's coming."

No sooner had the words left his lips did a crisp, icy air reach the trio. There stood Alastor, quietly watching them from a few paces away, his golden eyes peering from behind his cheeks as if his face were a mask; he was carrying a small bundle of neatly-folded black clothing, with a pair of dingy tan sneakers resting on top. Further back from him was a balverine with auburn fur, sitting patiently with no hackles raised and with its head held up as it, too, watched them.

"I see you have all survived the night," Alastor said, his tone sounding vaguely like a scoff but it was hard to definitely tell. He glanced them over quickly, trying and failing to ignore the way that Naoya patted himself as the hungover teenager came the realization that he wasn't wearing the clothing he has arrived in. "I have your things here, Mr. Itsuki. It seemed proper to wash your clothing after last night."

Naoya gave the tall balverine an attempted scowl, reaching out to take his things expectantly. "I don't remember getting undressed," he commented, his breath almost unnoticeably fogging in the air. When Alastor handed him his clothing, he snatched it and eyed the pocket contents that had been placed inside his worn shoes. "Get a good peek, pervert?"

Alastor restrained a groan, but cast a look over his shoulder when the reddish balverine behind him let out an amused-sounding snort. "Of your vomit? Yes," he turned back to the three before him. His breath left no fog in the air. "You all slept through breakfast, however. But when you are all ready, there's a brunch spread set out in the breakfast nook. Lord Reaver is unfortunately busy until after noon, and he sends his apologies."

Anders looked to Remus, then to Naoya, and then back to Remus. There was an uncomfortable pause in which none of them made any motion to follow, and Alastor rolled his eyes. Wordlessly, he and his counterpart turned on their heels and began heading back down the hallway, boots and claws clicking on the stonework, and after another glance between them, the older mages reluctantly began to pursue.

Naoya bristled, throwing his clothes into the bedroom and beginning to unbutton his night shirt. "You're just going to leave me here? Wait for me!"

After another light meal to fill their grumbling stomachs—one rather more silent than the last—their dishes were collected by small, thin, golden-eyed maidens who worked with lightning speed. Their eyes were downcast and their movements precise, but it was the pale complexion and the singular focus that put Anders on edge. Slaves, perhaps? The thought was undoubtedly Justice's, but Anders couldn't help but wonder the same. He set his eyes on their hands, searching up the exposed skin on their forearms and then broadening his search over their postures. Years of running a hospice and seeing to thousands of refugees had taught him to look for certain signs in his patients: a limp, unusual scarring, anything "odd." But these servants bore no sign of mistreatment whatsoever. And yet they seemed to function as more machines than anything truly alive.

Before Anders could examine anything more, the trio were guided out into another hallway and out a fabulous glass door onto a spacious porch in the rear of the mansion. Shaped like a half-circle, it was supported every few feet by pillars as thick as tree trunks. The seamless vista was broken by a large gap in the center of it all, where another set of stairs led gently down to the grass where a stone path snaked into the expanding gardens in the grounds beyond. The Lord himself was seated in one of the lush lounge chairs spread across the floorplan, but he stirred at the sound of the door hinges swinging to allow them in.

He smiled at the sight of them. "Ah, there you all are. I was beginning to wonder when you would be stirring. Didn't strike me as the nocturnal types, at least not usually I would presume." His dark blue eyes shifted momentarily to Naoya, nodding in the slightest way, but his smile did not fade. Motioning with a black-gloved hand to the chairs beside him, he spoke: "Come, come, take a seat. We've much to discuss, don't we."

Naoya was the first to seat himself, not hesitating in the least bit, to Reaver's right. Anders sat down opposite from Reaver himself, with Remus sitting between Anders and Reaver. The three of them exchanged glances, and a single-minded determination formed their first question:

"What is this place?"

"Don't you mean 'where'?" Reaver smirked, fingering the stem of his drink. The annoyed look he received from the mage seemed to roll off him. "Though, I must say, you're very clever for noticing that this isn't exactly a 'where-are-we' scenario. Not many people get that," he chuckled, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "Good for you." He lifted the golden chalice to his lips, taking a sip, before putting it down again. "But, yes, this isn't exactly a favorable, comprehensible realm. This realm exists, yet it doesn't exist. It's connected to every single world out there, yet it sits just out of grasp of them. It takes people from all over and shoves them together here, into a positively cosmogyral hodgepodge of people."

Naoya sat and listened, trying to ease his way into a comfortable position in his own chair. Suddenly his expression changed, seeming less focused and more confused. He glanced over to the two mages, but didn't move beyond that.

The psychic's demeanor did not go unnoticed by Reaver. "Are you feeling lost, Itsuki, my boy? As you should be: we aren't actually speaking the same language. There are words that aren't translating correctly to you right now, I bet," the Lord stated, matter-of-factly. "Which was it? My money – and that's quite a large sum, I might add – is on 'cosmogyral'." He smirked, then looked to Anders and Remus. "It's not as likely to happen with you two as it is with him. You two and myself are lucky enough to share the same root language," he said, as if it were some fantastic accomplishment.

"What are you talking about?" Anders asked. He was leaning forward on his elbows with his wrists between his knees, ready to get up and move in a split-second's time. "We're all speaking the same language. I don't hear anything out of the ordinary at all."

Reaver settled Anders with a half-amused look, looking over to Remus and Naoya. "Did you boys catch that, by chance?"

Anders cast them a look, expecting them to be as bewildered as he was. But both of them were staring at him, mouths agape.

"Dwi ddim yn deal," Remus said, turning to Reaver, but stopped at the sound of his own voice. He fixated on the floor, his eyes swirling over the grain in the hardwood as he searched his thoughts. He looked to Naoya, who offered a vague shrug, and then to Anders, but he rounded on Reaver once more. "Ydych chi'n siarad Cymraeg?"

Reaver smiled again, nodding proudly. "Yn wir. A Siapan. Beth bynnag iaith angen i mi siarad, yr wyf yn siarad." He took another sip from his chalice, turning his gaze to Naoya. "Watashitachiha, onaji gengo o hanashimasu. Anata wa watashi, Itsuki-san, o rikai shite imasu ka?"

Naoya nodded, and Remus turned to Reaver again. "But how?" He blinked, hearing his voice changing again.

"How what?" Anders butted in, staring at all three of them as though he had been left out of the joke. "What did you do? Why couldn't I understand them?" He felt his ears burning as he bristled beneath the skin.

"Now, now," Reaver paused, putting up a hand. "No need to be so testy. You all wanted answers, remember?" There was a smugness dripping from his voice. "You see, right now, each of you is able to understand the other without any problem. As I mentioned, the three of us—", he indicated Anders, Remus, and himself—, "are all lucky enough to speak roughly the same primary language. Naoya, on the other hand, poor lad, is not speaking in this language at all. He's speaking his native language, his mother tongue. And the only reason you can hear him in this language is because the properties of this strange world provide a sort of filter. A translator, if you will. Luckily for me, all your languages were something I learned a long, long time ago in my own origins; so it's not really necessary… for me."

"If that's so," said Remus, "why did it affect me? English is my primary language."

"Ah," Reaver said, a bemused glint in his eye, "that is because it is not your first language. You may have grown up speaking the Archon's Alban, Mr. Lupin, but your first language was another, it seems."

"In a manner," Remus explained. "My mother spoke Welsh at home, and taught it to me as a boy. But that doesn't explain why I would revert to that if English is my dominant language."

Reaver's teeth gleamed as his broad grin was drowned in his chalice once more. "That was my doing."

Anders frowned. "We're supposed to believe you can control the properties of reality?"

Reaver pinned him from behind a cocked brow. "You have plants growing in your footsteps. You fell from the sky into an entirely new realm. And in less than a week, you survived an attack by my balverines and now end up in the company of the most lavish host in all the region. And yet, this is the one thing you can scarcely believe? I thought mages were supposed to be intelligent." He switched the way his legs were crossed. "Of course, 'intelligence' doesn't always equal 'common sense'. No wonder magic tends to die out."

Naoya laughed openly and Anders felt his cheeks become a more focused shade of red by the minute. "If we are to believe this, then what would you want with us? Why bring us here, when you obviously seem to have so much power of your own?"

"Oh, I didn't," Reaver breathed, as if he were surprised that they weren't aware of the act.

"So people just 'fall in' through chance," Naoya summed up the beginning of the conversation.

"Some by chance, others by fault of their own," Reaver went on.

"So how do we go home?"

"Why in the world would you want to do that?" Reaver half-scoffed. "There's so much more to do here. Granted, it's not like the city you hail from, my boy, but still. It's rather rude to insult your host."

"We're not the first, then," Remus said, to which Reaver nodded with approval.

"Hardly. This realm has taken many more before you, and you won't be the last. But not everyone is as lucky as you, to wind up here in the company of someone as gracious a host as I. A rare treat indeed."
Anders' brow furrowed, and he glanced at Reaver behind interwoven fingers he held pressed to his chin. "You've seen others. What happened to them?"

Reaver blinked, resting a youthful cheek on the knuckles of his free hand with his mouth scrunched in distaste. Anders thought he looked like he had taken a bite out of a lemon, and yet remained singularly unimpressed by the experience. "That's such a dull topic," the Lord yawned. "I can't keep track of every poor soul who wanders into my woods."

Something clicked for Anders and as he took his next breath he was simultaneously fighting Justice down, brutally aware of the blue that for a split second had spiderwebbed across his hands. He was right to have been suspicious. They all were. "There's something you want from us," he half spat. "That's why you brought us here. Your balverines weren't sent to fetch us—they were sent to kill us! What stopped you? Who are you, really? And why did you bring us to this place?"

Reaver took another sip from his chalice, and Anders thought to blast the thing right out of his hands. The Lord's eyes were fixed on Anders even as he lowered the goblet without the slightest hint of ire. "You are… unique," he said, chewing on his words and savoring their flavor. "But that assumption is so brutish, don't you think? You were brought you here because in the whole of this realm there is not a single person like the three of you. There isn't a single thing that goes on in my lands that I do not have some hand in, and yet here you three are." Reaver stood, leaving his now empty chalice on the small table between them and stretching the aches of a long morning out of his slender limbs. "Come with me," he said, and made for the staircase to the grounds.

As lush and trim as the décor of the mansion, the grounds were a cascading river of elegance and order that was strangely out of place in the wilderness outside the walls. Above the precisely trimmed hedges, gnarled trees and snowy mountaintops kissed the sky like the teeth of a wide, unforgiving mouth. The mansion and town were a world all of their own, safely nestled under the iron fist of their Lord. Reaver stepped off of the stone walkway and into the grass, only briefly frowning at the green pressed into his soles. But before the men could do the same, Reaver held out a gloved hand, halting them.

"Aside from naturally good looks and a tastes for fine décor, this is the only difference between you three and me," he said, inspecting each of their faces for signs of understanding as he gave a sweeping, motioning gesture to his boots.

Naoya's shoulders scrunched as he took in a breath. "The plants?"

"Precisely," Reaver beamed, patting the teen on the shoulder. He gingerly stepped back onto the paved path.

"You said you knew what the plants meant," Naoya went on.

"Oh, I do," Reaver rested both of his gloved hands on the head of his cane, tilting his chin upwards. "You three were sent here with purpose, and it was some sort of luck that brought you to my door." When he received semi-curious yet wary stares, he lightly rolled his eyes. "You know, most people would be delighted to hear that their life had a purpose." He stepped past them, making his way back to the mansion. "Unless, for one odd reason or another, you were quite content to throw your life away. Hearing that you have a purpose might make those thoughts of worthlessness seem quite selfish."

Remus and Anders begrudgingly followed behind Reaver, while Naoya hung back for a moment, playing idly with the zipper of his jacket before catching up to them.

Reaver chuckled, darkly amused, but did not look back at them. "Of course, there's still the task of discovering your exact purpose. There's always a catch to these sort of things, isn't there?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"I never claimed to know your precise purpose," Reaver pointed out. "And as you noted, I wasn't the one who brought you here." He stopped, tapping his chin in thought. "Well, I do suppose I'm the reason you were brought before me." Reaver shook his head, trying to stop himself before he began. "But the whole selection process is handled by… another party entirely."

"Who?"

"Not a who, but a what," Reaver said. "Astriferous."

The silence that passed between the four men was tense at best, and Reaver rolled his eyes as though each of his guests were mere school children. "Astriferous," he said again, purposely straining his mouth to work as slowly as possible. "That is what this place calls itself."

"'Calls itself'?" Naoya shook his head. "It named itself?"

"Oh, yes," Reaver went on. "This universe, as you might call it, is spectacularly unique. It is known by all, and is referenced in thousands of ancient scriptures and writings. Of course, none of them have any real understanding of what this place is, or else they would never speak of it again."

Anders felt his jaw give a painful click as he shifted his teeth to snare his tongue before it ruined him. He forced himself to sigh, slow and heavy, before he opened his lips to speak. "If I wanted to be teased like this, I would have come dressed in something else! Tell us something explicit, something tangible!"

Anders opened his clenched fists and flexed his fingers. Outbursts were not his usual style, but this-this, situation, the unknown realm and wild threats beyond anything he had ever seen-Anders would rather have faced a locked room and a broodmother than to sit here and be toyed with by an arrogant upper-cruster for the sake of entertainment.

Reaver pouted, and the way his lips pulled into a perfect and statuesque expression made Anders hate him just a little more.

"I once knew a mage, and he was intelligent. I suppose your type of magician isn't." Reaver's eyes were alite now, but the fire was not pleasant.

Anders pressed his nails into his palms.

Any further conversations with the Lord that day ran into similar verbal brick walls, all usually involving the words "purpose", "task", and "I'm afraid I can't tell you". With dinner came a wave of stale yet threatening air between the Lord and his guests, and with nightfall came the quiet lull in interactions – no servants asking if they needed anything, no Alastor looming just out of sight, and – most importantly – no Lord Reaver. The Trio had retreated to Remus's bedchambers, after checking to see that they were, entirely, alone.

"Astri—what?" Anders tried, his mouth failing to form such a foreign word.

"Astri-fer-ous," Remus repeated, slowly wrapping his own mind around the bizarre name. It was a mouthful, but nothing in this place made any sense so it seemed only fitting.

"Yes," Anders frowned, pressing his palm firmly against his cheek as he rested in the armchair. "'The realm between realms,'" he repeated in a terrible mockery of Reaver's voice. "'A black hole, linking all universes and spanning all time.' I think it's safe to say that we know even less now than we did this morning!"

Remus offered a grunt of agreement.

On the neatly-made bed, Naoya lay on his stomach, his chin resting in his palms while he propped himself up. He watched the two human men pace back and forth, watching them as if he were expecting something from them other than frustration.

"That's the point," Naoya spoke up, but the two magic-users seemed to brush him off. He pouted at being ignored.

"Blighted bastard," Anders grumbled. He paced back and forth so fast that the curtains billowed in his wake, the feathers on his pauldrons shifting wildly in the breeze. "Lure us in with promises of information and deliver less. I'm beginning to wonder if he knows what he claims, or whether he's just stringing us along."

"He knows," Remus said, curling his fingers under his chin in contemplation. "He has information. But he's gathering his cards before he plays his hand."

Anders rolled his eyes with obvious disgust. "I always lose coin playing Wicked Grace," he muttered.

"Reminder to Naoya: play cards with Andy," Naoya murmured quietly to himself.

"He wants something from us," Remus continued. He watched Anders pacing with his eyes, sighing through pursed lips. "I want to know what he's playing at."

"And why is it that we are the only ones with plant trails?" Anders sighed, pressing the bridge of his nose. He was starting to get a headache. "If Reaver was so interested in them and their supposed 'purpose,' why did he say so little about it?"

Naoya sighed, kicking his feet against the comforter of the bed as the older two went on.

"And this entire place is unnatural, did you notice?" Anders pointed his thumb out the window. "This entire city is surrounded by the forest. But there are no birds flying overhead. There's no plants in this city. No crops. How do all these peopl—balverines, eat?"

"I hadn't noticed," Remus replied. "But now that you say it, those are all very good points. I want to know more about that staff of his."

"I think we should stay together from now on," Anders said, turning on his heels as his coat flared behind him. There was an angry, protective look behind is eyes. "Even sleeping arrangements. I don't trust this Lord Reaver, and we're most vulnerable when we're—what is it, Naoya?" Anders snapped when the boy's kicking had grown ceaseless.

"Are you two done?" The EGO had wanted to wait until they had run out of steam, but it had become apparent that they would run themselves in circles forever. When he saw that he had both their attentions, he stopped kicking his feet and shifted his weight to only one elbow, draping one of his arms over the edge of the bed. "Anyone ever tell you two that you have the listening skills of rocks?" He rolled his eyes. "One, the balverines eat meat. I saw one just swallow a rabbit out in the gardens earlier today, a whole rabbit. They probably eat a lot of the wildlife, too. Two," the psychic went on, lazily holding up two fingers on his drooping hand, "Reaver might have some things going for him, but he's not a balverine and, from what I've gathered, he's not supposed to be in charge here. Why put a guy they don't like in charge? He also can't leave the city, something is 'magically' keeping him here."

If Anders had been drinking, he would have spat it out. "And how, by Andraste's holy knickers, do you know all of that?"

"I haven't been getting chummy with Reaver for show, y'know." He gave them both a haughty and knowing look, he knew exactly what they had thought he was doing - messing around with Reaver, but then again that was what he was aiming for. The psychic rolled over and swung his legs underneath him, sliding off the bed and standing up. "He's not supposed to be here, but he's stuck here – and Reaver doesn't like it, so he's made everybody else get stuck here, too. Including us and the balverines; they only get to leave the city when he needs something outside done, but I don't think he's going to let us go that easily."

Anders wanted to say something wounding to the teen, but Justice was listening intently. There was a pause, Anders visibly debating on what to say. "...That would explain the servants," he ended, finally. He explained his observations of the maids after breakfast, and concluded with a thought: "That implies that he wants us to do something for him."

"Something he isn't sure we can do just yet," Remus added, brows disappearing behind his fringe. "But what?"

None of them knew the answer, but the question hung over them nonetheless.

"I think we need to have a proper discussion with the Lord Reaver," Anders said. He shook the front of his robes as he stood, pressing them down and neatening the seams. "Or take a look at some of this information for ourselves."

"How?"

"There was a library, Remus. I saw it this morning on the way to the dining hall. If there is any information to be had, my guess would be to go there."

"Libraries aren't really my thing," Naoya yawned. The previous night's debauchery and lack of sleep were beginning to weigh on him again. He gave an idle stretch. "You two get confused by people, Naoya Itsuki gets confused by books." He frowned and shook his head, loose hazel bangs bouncing. "Besides, nerding out in the library at this hour? Try to look more suspicious, will you?"

"Fine." Anders rolled his shoulders forward, feeling defeated. "But we all need more information, and at least I'm trying to get it. The first chance we get, I think we should go to this library and search through the archives. What do you say, Remus?"

"I'm in," Remus said. He rubbed his hands together, and added, "First chance we get."

But the first chance came much sooner than Remus anticipated. The night drew to a hasty close and thoughts became muddied after long hours awake and ready. Anders' original plan of sleeping together as a group failed miserably after Naoya suggested that the older man wanted company to stay a fear of the dark and laughed. Sleeping with their doors cracked was the next best thing in Anders' mind, and through this opening Remus listened to the sounds of sleep as he starved for it on his pillow.

There was too much information from the day's plentiful conversation darting across his mind. But that was not what kept Remus awake. The drapes were closed, pulled shut and securely tied at all ends to keep any light from tricking in from outdoors. But like the lethal kiss of radiation, Remus could feel it: the moon, traveling across the sky. His body hummed, silent but overpowering. It was nothing he could describe with words if he tried, but the sensation was so very real and disturbing that it was enough to keep him from sleep no matter how much he wanted it. It was a restlessness in the body, like the wolf inside him was stirring from his long, month-long slumber. It was fur, just under the skin and invisible to the eye. Surely it would erupt from his follicles any second, accompanied by feral canines that pushed his own teeth out onto the floor. His fingers hummed with anticipation, eagerly awaiting the enormous claws that would split his fingernails in two.

Remus swallowed. It wasn't real, none of it was. He knew that. But he felt it, and the churning in his stomach was as much fear and disgust as it was self-loathing and a deep, burning rage. This world, "Astriferous"-it was a realm between realms. Remus was far from home, far from his own moon. And for a brief time he had wondered whether that would make a difference with his "condition." The knowledge that he was wrong stung more than the evidence that had him writhing.

He flopped back and forth uselessly in the pitch black. The shuffle of sheets and pillow was sandpaper to his ears, and he craved a glass of water to soothe the desert of his tongue and ease the pain of the headache sleeplessness had forced into his skull like a vice. He let out a stiff sigh, but it sounded more like a frustrated groan. If he listened closely, he could hear Anders snoring from his bedroom next door. He had left shortly after Naoya did, both to go to bed.

"Bugger," he swore, practically smushing his skull against the pillow and frowning as the down poked through the fabric here and there to scratch his neck. With a woosh of air, he chucked the blankets off of him and swung himself out of bed. The hardwood floor was clean and cool against his bare feet, and he made a mental note to at least say thank you to one of the servants tending to the room if he saw one. Without so much as a creak in the floorboards, Remus slipped his coat over his night clothes, burrowing deeply into the plaid fabric as it kept him warm in the darkened halls. He slipped through the door, but not before snatching up his wand from it's resting place on the nightstand.

If he wasn't going to sleep, then he was going to put his time to good use. He tip-toed down the length of the hallway, hands out in front of him and feet searching the floor carefully for objects in his path. He couldn't risk waking the others with any light. Finally, he came to the end: a T-shaped fork in the path. To the left, he could travel down to the kitchens and dining rooms, and possibly take a brisk walk in the evening air. But he rubbed his arms, feeling the fine hairs stand on end. No, that would make the scratching worse. It wasn't even scratching, it was the humming, the ceaseless hum of the moon that—he rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was here to forget about that.

"Lumos," he whispered, half yawning. He squinted in the sudden golden glow provided by the spell, holding his wand overhead and watching the shadows flee. He stared down the pathway to the dining, waiting a little too long. Curiosity whispered in his ear: he hadn't traveled down this other hallway yet, not long enough to get a good look. Remus turned, holding his wand out in front of him to illuminate the corridor. But the light couldn't penetrate farther than a few meters. He would have to explore. He took the first step.

Outwardly, the hallway was similar in décor and design to the other hallway, leading down. But perhaps it was the atmosphere of the night, or perhaps the fact that he was sneaking around like a schoolboy again, but this new corridor felt closed in. In the bubble of light it was hard to tell—and he was certainly wrong on this, definitely—but it seemed as if the walls were creeping in on him the farther he went. He half-expected something to leap out at his tender flesh from the dark.

There were doors on both sides, tall and broody, watching over the hall as they loomed above the heads of every person to trek their floor. Spaced in between them in decorative fashion, paintings and banners hung intermingled with the stands holding fine vases and the occasional headless or armless bust. Every once in a while he paused to test a door, touching the knob and opening it a crack before closing it back. One opened to a luxurious bathhouse, the smell of the rich soaps cloying; another opened to reveal another bedroom, just as luxurious as the ones that they had been given. But there was another door coming into view, and Remus stopped. He watched it, a breath locked behind his adam's apple. It was already open, just a crack. Around its bold frame, golden light danced around the edges of the door. Firelight. Remus hesitated before pushing it open, eyes widening at what he saw.

A library, just as Anders said, grandiose and filled to the brim with thousands of books gathered over countless centuries. The room was a vast chamber, bordered on all walls with towering bookshelves set into the walls without a single book missing. There were spiral staircases on either side of the room, hurling his eyes from the floor and onto the second level where the massive border shelves touched the ceiling. The two-level library was open in the center, allowing moonlight to cascade through a powerful glass dome set in black iron. The shelves spaced through the center of the room broke against the far wall, where a number of tables and arm chairs basked in the glow of an enormous fireplace.

Remus approached the first shelf, idly clutching the golden ladder that would allow the reader access to the upper echelons. Each shelf was adorned with such a fixture, although the center shelves were not nearly as imperial as the ones in the walls. He let his eyes wander over the first set of shelving, studying the dry and brittle rolls of parchment. Scrolls, of course. But what might they display? Wondering at the knowledge contained in the room, Remus reminded himself to close his mouth.

"Amazing," he said in half a whisper, his neck craning to take in everything the room had to offer.

On the closest table, an open tome was sprawled out across the wood. Silently, Remus made his way to it and put his palms on the corners, reveling in the rough texture under his skin. Books like these were no common prize. Absorbed by the scent of ancient books, Remus took a moment to realize that the text below his wrists was written in a language he had never seen before. He gently flicked his thumb across the parchment, opening the next page.

In the center of the pages, split down the center by the book's seam, an elaborate sphere was drawn at the center of what appeared to be a spider web. But at each point where the lines of the web connected, another sphere was drawn, smaller and smaller, jutting out into the far reaches of the parchment. Surrounding the elaborate design was messy, black ink scrawled by someone probably long dead. But the word in the center of the greatest sphere was one Remus did understand: "Astriferous".

From beneath a tightly knit brow, Remus thumbed through the next few pages and then to the few pages previous. This was—something, he mused, something important. Was it a map, maybe? Or simply a diagram? He widened his search, examining the other books piled atop the desk. But none of them drew his attention quite like the tome. Some were old, creased with age in places and falling apart in others. Others were newer: a red book caught Remus' eye, lying flat against the table for display. A six-fingered hand made of gold, traced with the number 4 on its palm, graced the cover.

"Doing a bit of light reading, are we," mused a voice from behind. Remus felt his blood chill. He made to speak, but the voice cut him off. When Remus turned, there was Reaver, sitting in a large leather armchair in a darker corner of the room. His legs were crossed, and his cane was propped beside him. "I, too, find that on the nights where my beauty sleep eludes me that a book helps whittle away the hours." His dark blue eyes flickered for a moment to the stack of books that Remus had been looking at. "Was your bed uncomfortable?"

"Ah," Remus offered with a shrug, fighting to remain as noncommittal as possible. "Nightmares. I thought maybe I would clear my head with a walk. I appear to have gotten a trifle lost."

"Not all who wander are lost, Mr. Lupin," Reaver grinned, but Remus swallowed. There was something behind the smile, ancient, staring out at him from the black pupils of his eyes. "I welcome the company," he continued, positively brisk. "We should have Alastor fetch us some hot tea, while we're at it." No sooner had the words left his lips, did he perk up slightly, eyes focused behind Remus. "Ah, there we are. Always attentive, my Alastor."

Remus hadn't even seen Alastor, nor heard any footsteps approach. But as the alpha balverine appeared from shadow and whisked past Remus without a word, he resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. Something about the balverine was off, he seemed even less hospitable than he had before… and his lack of warmness before had been astounding. How long had they been watching?

"I do apologize for the round-about answers earlier today," Reaver said, recapturing the wizard's attention. "And that's a rare thing, my apologies. I don't often have to go about explaining the way things around here work. However, these books" –he pointed to the table– "are some of the finest in my collection. They detail this realm and provide an excellent pool of resources–resources that I can use to answer all of your most pressing questions."

Remus caught his eye. "The plants?"

"The plants, your friends," Reaver nodded. He licked his lips, not breaking eye contact with Remus as he picked up his cane, using his fingers to spin it with ease. "And… any questions about specific celestial bodies and certain situations that may arise from their phases." There was a darkness there, Remus concretely decided; a tired, existential, and weary darkness. "Tell me, Mr. Lupin," Reaver smirked, "Is your complexion always so pale before the full moon's light?"

It was as though he missed the last step on a staircase. Remus felt all the blood leave his face as he stared at Reaver, unable to form words. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think; his heart thudded inside the vacuum that was once his chest. How? How did Reaver know? He couldn't, he couldn't possibly—could he? But the way the man spoke, the look in his eye... if Reaver didn't actually know, it was all oddly specific. In an instant, every word, every action Remus had taken over the course of his acquaintance with Reaver was analyzed in his mind. But Reaver's stare was a dagger into his stomach, and his insides squirmed. Remus swallowed.

"I've been feeling a bit off color," he managed, his syllables carefully sculpted. Remus forced a shrug, the struggle to remain nonchalant pressing in on him. "Traveling so far from home will do that to a person. But your hospitality has improved it greatly," he added. "Have you learned much from your books?"

"Books are good company," Reaver nodded, leaning his head to the side as his eyes looked away from Remus – something for which Remus was silently thankful for. "Of course, there are those with the talent to find out information about people, from people." He arched his black, manicured brows, giving a light shrug. The cane still spun in his fingers. "Where they stand on certain subjects, or where they're more likely to sit."

Reaver said the word "sit" with emphasis, almost like a command, as he turned his attention back to Remus. He indicated a chair behind his guest, already pulled out and waiting. Remus felt more inclined to stand, to be ready to take the first opportunity away from Reaver's expectant stare. But there was a pressure behind his eyes, and Remus imagined fingers along his brain stem. The more he tried to stand the worse the feeling became, until he reluctantly sat, jaw tense and hands knitted. His eyes darted about, and Remus swore he could see the glowing eyes of the balverines in the shadows between the bookshelves.

But Reaver went on: "I've always found that route a little more direct, books may be there in the early hours but, much like certain people, they can drag on and on and aren't always informative things. It's much easier for one such as myself to find out what I need to know just by looking at a person and being… persuasive." The look he fixed Remus with was dripping with satisfaction, and he stopped spinning his gem-topped cane in favor of waving the starry end side to side in a sweeping motion. When Remus couldn't look away, Reaver shook his head almost scoldingly. "Now, are you three really considering leaving my company so soon, Mr. Lupin?"