Author's Note:

Woohoo one hundredth chapter! And fifty more to go before we delve into the third book. It's well on its way ;)

I hope you will enjoy the plotline that is coming. I think it's going to be an exciting one ;)

Thank you all for still reading and hopefully still liking my story. I can't wait to share even more of it with you. Hopefully you'll like what's in store yet :)

That's it, enjoy the chapter and all those that will follow :3

Chapter C – After Dusk

Bishop came back into the room as fast as he could.

It was eerily dark, only one candle was left lit there, but it was enough.

He stepped towards the bed and placed the warmed mulled wine on the nightstand. Aeyrin was dozing off, but he knew that she wasn't completely asleep yet. She looked so tired though. And so pale. He remembered that. She looked exactly like she had when she was sick, after she almost froze when she passed out in a snowbank near Windhelm over a year ago. He had been running around everywhere, trying to get the ingredients for her cure. He really hoped that it wasn't the same shit again. She had been cold, but nowhere near that level. It must have been something else, right?

Last night, they rested in the ruins of Fort Fellhammer again. The place was still a charred mess and still abandoned. Everything inside was ruined except for that one room that used to belong to the Altmer dealer, so they spent another night in that place. They sobered up in there and slept off their hangover as much as they could before they headed out towards Dawnstar the next day. That one had been spent doing some supply shopping for their adventures and they weren't exactly planning on sleeping in Dawnstar to avoid the nightmares, but Aeyrin looked so tired.

It was best to call it an early night and get to the inn. They were just nightmares, right? And they didn't even remember them after. It couldn't have been as bad as their hazy recollections made it sound in their mind.

Bishop yanked off his shoes and shirt and joined Aeyrin under the furs. She was still shivering and he quickly grabbed the wine from the nightstand again and presented it to her, nudging her slightly with his other hand to wake her up fully.

"Wake up, sweetness. This should help," he murmured at her. He wasn't sure why she was still so cold. He really hoped it wasn't that nasty sickness again.

"Oh," Aeyrin's eyes fluttered open and she tried to sit up a bit. In the end, Bishop had to help her and they ended up half-propped against the wall with Bishop's arm wrapped around her shoulders as she drank the heated beverage tentatively.

She drank the wine in one go, although it was just a small cup. She let out a satisfied sigh after that and rested herself on Bishop's chest with one hand stroking over his pecs affectionately.

"My hero," she chuckled lightly.

Bishop pressed a kiss at the top of her head, but he couldn't help but scoff at that word. 'Hero.' Right.

"I don't think anyone has ever called me that," he snorted. "I don't think anyone should."

"Hmm…" Aeyrin hummed idly as she continued stroking over his chest. She looked like she was deep in thought and it felt like an eternity before she spoke again. "I guess you're right."

That was… odd. He was right. He knew that. But it still kind of stung when she said it.

"I mean… what else would you expect?" she scoffed. "After everything you've done. To strangers, to the people you care about. It doesn't just go away."

"Uhm…" Bishop wasn't sure what to say. She wasn't wrong. He just… he was so caught off guard by her talking like this. She didn't talk to him like this. She… she didn't think that way about him, did she? Well… he couldn't blame her if she did. He did. But… he really didn't want her to.

"You know I'm right," she shrugged noncommittally. "It's not like you really changed either. You didn't trust me just like you didn't trust Jules, but you rely on killers and fanatics."

"Fuck, you don't have to rub it in," Bishop groaned. He knew it was true. It had been on his mind all too much lately. Still, somehow it hurt more to be hearing that, especially from Aeyrin, than just thinking that to himself.

"Bish, what's the worst thing you've ever done?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?!" Bishop snapped at her suddenly and he quickly untangled himself from her. He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about that the last time she asked and he didn't want to think about that now. He just wanted to… "I need some air," he huffed as he got up from the bed. Suddenly it felt… stifling.

He grabbed his shirt and boots again and he put them on as fast as he could. Aeyrin wasn't talking anymore, which was probably a good thing, given the previous subject, but it felt… strange. Empty, when she wasn't talking. Like she wasn't even there anymore.

Like he pushed her away.

But he didn't even look back. Suddenly he was just terrified of looking. What if she really wasn't there anymore? What if he really fucked everything up? What if she would not return to him?

He bolted out of the room and straight into the cold winds outside. He didn't even remember walking through the common room. It was as if he was out of the main door instantly, but he was probably just out of it, right?

He breathed in the cold air, letting the fresh snowflakes hit his face while he slumped against a wall of the inn, leaning back. That stupid question kept ringing in his head.

'What's the worst thing you have ever done?'

Fuck, he didn't want to think about that.

He rubbed his fingers around his eyes with an exasperated sigh escaping his lips before he looked around again. He could barely see in all the snow. He didn't remember the last time it snowed this much. Maybe it was supposed to be this… impenetrable. Maybe it was supposed to hide things.

Things he didn't want to see.

He had a bad feeling at his core, but he still looked, trying to see through the snow. Trying to see where he was. There was a wall out of light grey stone in front of him. He could have sworn that he had seen it before. It was so familiar. Not… that particular wall, just… the stone. It reminded him of something. Something he hadn't seen in a while.

He stepped closer, through the hale, until he reached the wall. He touched it briefly, but he didn't even need to in order to recognize it. The memories came flooding back soon enough. He used to sleep here, below this very wall. He still remembered how cold it could get there at night. It's why he picked it. The cold made him more comfortable there as the shadow of the very tall walls never let the sun reach that spot. He still remembered the sound of the water sloshing against the shore and the cheers of the sailors on the other side of that wall, permeating late into the night. The Waterfront. He hadn't been there for years.

Something else caught his attention a second later. It wasn't snowing anymore, if it ever were, and he could see clearly now. On that very familiar wall, there was a poster. A no less familiar one.

The face on it stared back at him almost menacingly. The dreaded Torban Thrice-Banished. The posters were all over the City at one point. That was before they left again. For Bravil. Or was it Anvil? He couldn't recall anymore. They've been everywhere, always hiding, always on the run, but always causing trouble.

"How is that even a question?"

The voice startled him and he looked at the face on the poster with a disturbing feeling creeping up on him. He hoped to never hear that voice again. Ever. He hated it so much.

"Fuck off," he snarled at the poster hatefully. He didn't even know what it was talking about.

"The question, whelp. You know the answer," Torban's image smirked at him smugly. Fuck, he hated that face so much. And what fucking question?!

"You know what the worst thing you've ever done is," Torban continued to speak with a mocking tone in his voice. Bishop couldn't stand it. Every word was grating. And now he talked about this shit again? What the fuck did he know?! He was dead. Fucking dead. Why was he talking to him now?

Just shut up. Shut up. Shut the fuck up.

Why did he ever leave that room with Aeyrin?

"It was killing your own papa of course," Torban laughed as his continuous mocking tone rang through Bishop's ears. He said that like he wasn't serious at all. But Bishop knew that he was serious. How the fuck could he even think that?!

"Fuck off! It was the best thing I have ever done. You had much worse fucking coming!" Bishop yelled at the poster furiously. As if he would ever regret that. He was fucking proud of killing that asshole. Every single day he was glad for his death.

"Always been a bit ignorant, weren't ya whelp?" Torban snorted at him with that fucking smug smile still on his face. "You think I would've told Thorn about the little cat-bastard's ambush? I would've slit that weakling's throat while he slept. And you think I would've lied to your whore about all that shit before Thorn got her? You know that I would've sold her to him a long time ago. None of that scares you. Not really. None of that creeps up on you late at night when you can't sleep. But killing me, the way you did? That's exactly what I would have done in your place."

"Shut the fuck up already!" Bishop screamed at him. Fucking asshole. He was taunting him with this right before he died. He was wrong. It meant nothing. Not a fucking thing. Bishop just… used his fucking tactics against him. He challenged him to a fair duel and he made it… unfair. But that was nothing compared to how Torban had been treating him. How he had been treating Jules. How he had been treating everyone. Bishop did what was right. The only thing he could do.

"Keep telling yourself that, whelp. As if it helps," Torban's voice echoed through the area again.

Enough! Fucking enough!

Bishop gritted his teeth and tried to grab the poster. To tear it down. To kill it. Once and for all. He was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to be gone.

He kept clawing at the poster desperately, but he couldn't feel any parchment tearing under his fingers. He just felt them sliding against a sleek surface, making a grating noise. His hands stopped moving. He was panting in anger and frustration, but he finally stopped clawing at the surface and looked at it instead.

It was a mirror.

But it was still the same face staring back at him. Still that fucking face he hated so much. Still his father.

"You're not getting rid of me," Torban laughed at him heartily, as if it was the most obvious thing on Nirn and Bishop was too stupid to know it. "You're never getting rid of me. Not while you see me here."

Anger bubbled up inside Bishop again, threatening to spill out. With another loud angry growl, he clenched his fist and punched into the mirror, shattering the glass.

The image was still there. Broken, distorted, but still… there was a little piece there, left while the others clattered to the ground. It remained there persistently. And Torban's face remained as well.

Bishop turned on his heel sharply. He didn't want to see it. Not for another second. He was done with that. Hadn't he always been done with that?! Why was this happening? Why was he constantly reminded of this shit?!

Fuck, he should have never left that room.

"Aeyrin!" he called out. He couldn't see the inn anymore. Where was he? Where was she?

It was really dark there. Was it always that dark? It was supposed to be nighttime, right? So it was probably always dark. It was a little odd that he really couldn't see anything though. Not even the sky or the stars or the moons.

The darkness seemed to be seeping into every fiber of his being, enveloping him, drowning him. In a while, he felt like he was just… one of the shadows. One with the darkness. He felt light. He felt safe and hidden. But there was a strange feeling underneath it all.

A fear.

A foreboding.

As if something was always watching, always waiting. Like he didn't belong to himself when he belonged to the darkness.

"It is comforting, isn't it?" a familiar voice rang through the darkness. It made shivers run down his spine. Much like before, he didn't think that he would ever hear it again.

"The shadows embrace you, they shelter you," her voice seeped into his ears. It had always been so calm, composed and… yeah, comforting.

Trustworthy.

Just thinking about that word left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Karliah," he said quietly. He wasn't even sure if his tone conveyed the anger, the hurt or… the pity.

"They make you feel safe. Protected," she continued with an unbridled reverence in her voice. He still couldn't see a thing. He only heard her talk through the shadows. "Like you belong."

"Like you belong to something else," Bishop growled. It just made him uneasy. That gnawing feeling deep inside.

"But isn't it better?" she continued. "Weren't you more carefree when you belonged? When you obeyed?"

Was she seriously suggesting that he had been better off obeying Mercer? Obeying Thorn? Obeying Torban? That was supposed to make him feel safe and comfortable?!

"You're fucking delusional," he snarled, though his voice quieted a second later. "Have you always been?" Had he been so blinded by his revenge that he couldn't see it?

"You're lying to yourself, thinking that you're safe out of the shadows," she whispered, suddenly very close to his ear. "The darkness hides what you don't wish to see."

He felt blind for a moment, blinded by brightness. A beam of light fell on him, illuminating a small area around him. His gaze was drawn to the ground instantly, to what he didn't wish to see.

First, he saw a corpse there. Jules's dark hair dripping with blood, his eyes empty, vacant. And next to him, he saw Aeyrin. Unconscious, naked, with her arms and legs tied in ropes and covered in cuts, bruises and blood. And next to the both of them, he saw her. Karliah. Dressed in glittering black armor, kneeling on the ground. Motionless. Dead.

"The darkness hides… you." Her voice echoed through him again but it was still coming from behind him, not from the corpse at his feet.

Suddenly, a sharp pain spread through his back – a knife plunged into his flesh roughly. He gasped in shock, but he couldn't turn around to see the perpetrator. He stood there, paralyzed, as his mouth filled with a coppery taste.

"You should have joined us in the darkness, Brother." He recognized the new voice instantly. He would never forget it. It still haunted him. The assassin woman, offering him the knife to join her Brotherhood, was now plunging it inside him instead.

He stumbled backwards, into the darkness, but the beam of light followed him, never allowing him to retreat back into the shadows again. It remained on the three bodies ahead, never letting them out of his sight, but it expanded to envelop him as well.

It was quiet for a while. He panted, trying to fight through the pain, trying to get his bearings, but it felt like he could never calm down.

He tried to look around, but aside from the bodies and his own form, there was only darkness. Until once more, a beam of light appeared, illuminating something new.

Two men stood there, staring at him in shock. And his eyes were quickly drawn to what was beside them.

A chopping block.

"That scum! Look at what he did!" one of the men snarled. Bishop almost couldn't see him as the light reflected from his shiny armor, but he recognized the voice soon enough. Casavir. His hand rose and he pointed towards the three bodies near Bishop's form. "He did this to them!"

"I didn't!" Bishop growled. He didn't do this! They did! Other people did! It… it wasn't his fault.

"Do not believe that bandit scum!" Casavir spat at him.

"Hey, I believe him," the second figure spoke. The armor was just as shiny as Casavir's and Bishop promptly recognized Azshan. Despite the words, Bishop still felt uneasy about what he just said. "Although," the Redguard gave him a pondering expression. "It does make for a better story if you did hurt them. You understand, right?"

"What?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Bishop snarled.

"Hey! Someone has to decide who deserves it," Azshan shrugged noncommittally, as if he was just talking about giving someone a sweetroll.

"Grab him," Casavir scowled at him fiercely, and before Bishop could even realize what was happening, he was kneeling on the ground with his torso bent over and head forced onto the chopping block.

He tried to look around, but he could only see what was right in front of him. And promptly, someone brought over a parchment to his eye level and unraveled it. It was a familiar parchment. Too familiar. Once again, the face of his father stared back at him.

.

WANTED

Dead or alive

The Thrice-Banished clan

If any of these persons are caught on the territory of the Imperial province of Skyrim, by the order of High King Torygg, any brave citizens that manage to capture or dispose of any of the clan members, are deserving of a reward of 20 000 septims per head.

.

"What the fuck?! Let me go! I got pardoned for that!" Bishop screamed at them and thrashed on the block. It felt like he couldn't move though. He felt no binds, but something was holding him down. Holding him back. Holding him in the past.

"You are sentenced to pay for all the crimes you've committed," Casavir's voice rang through the area.

Bishop still tried to move, tried to escape, but he couldn't.

There was no escaping his crimes.

There was no escaping his past.

All of it was on his head.

And he was about to lose that.

He took a breath. He felt the axe descend, even though he couldn't see it.

He felt the chop as it went through his neck.

…

Bishop woke up covered in cold sweat.

His eyes were still closed and his ears were ringing, but he couldn't recall why. He just tried to concentrate on the things that he could concentrate on.

He didn't know what was happening. He had an unpleasant feeling all over his body and it felt like he had faint pain in his back and all around his neck, but he wasn't sure why.

There were no sounds around him and when he finally willed himself to snap his eyes open, he wasn't sure if he had. There was nothing but pitch-black darkness around him.

And a strange sound. Metallic sound. Grating sound

Like someone was sharpening a sword.

He tried to look towards the source of the sound, but it felt like it was coming from everywhere around him.

He should really stand up and search around. There was nothing around him, nothing below or above him, but he must have been lying on something, right? It was… unnatural.

He just wanted something to focus on. Something to see. This was so disorienting.

He tried to blink, to get up, to rub his eyes, but he wasn't exactly sure if he had physically managed to do any of that.

That is, until a light appeared.

It was so far away, but it was beckoning him. It was… irresistible. It was where he needed to go. Where he needed to be.

Without a second though, he broke into a run. He ran through the darkness, through the nothing, through the emptiness all around him, towards the only light that called to him. He needed it. He needed to be there already.

It was getting closer and closer, filling him with strange hope. It was kind of scary at first, to be so focused on the light, to have it be the only thing worth following, but the fear was not enough to deter him.

When he finally reached it, everything around him went white. It was so bright he could not see a thing. As if the light consumed him. Consumed all the darkness around. Like it changed how he saw.

It changed him.

But he didn't really mind at all. It was so much better than seeing the darkness everywhere.

He blinked a few times rapidly until his eyes cleared a bit. The light lessened, more and more, but he felt like it was still there, still by his side. It was comforting. And soon, the scene started to unfold in front of him. The familiar walls, familiar bed, fireplace. Everything the way he made it. Everything the way he wanted it.

Aeyrin was sitting by the kitchen table in their cottage, in their home, with Bishop's hunting knife in her right hand and a small whetstone in the left one. Bishop had almost blocked that grating sound out before, but now it was more prominent than ever.

He approached her tentatively, watching her work the blade. But when she noticed him, she stopped. She put the whetstone down on the table and splayed her free hand next to it. She looked at her hand critically for a while, as if she was studying every inch of it. Bishop wasn't sure what fascinated her so much, but she had a strangely worried expression on her face.

He wanted to speak, to ask what she was doing, but before he managed, something erased all those thoughts from his head.

Aeyrin suddenly turned his hunting knife hilt-up and without a second's hesitation, she chopped it into one of her fingers. She severed her ring finger with one clean cut and without even as much as a flinch.

"Ow," she sighed, but it sounded more like an afterthought than anything. "That really hurt. But I needed to do that."

Bishop stared at the scene in complete shock. He had no idea why she would do that or why 'ow' was the only thing she said instead of some guttural scream. He had no idea why there was no blood anywhere. Just… a severed finger near her hand.

"Why would you do that?" He gasped in astonishment. He quickly sat opposite her by the table and reached out for her hand. She let him take it, as if it didn't even hurt now, but the severed finger still remained there on the table until she reached for it with her other hand.

"So that it's mine. So that I can keep it," she squeezed the finger in her fist, but she looked at her other hand, the one gently nestled in Bishop's, with strange regret and longing. As if she was mournful over what the hand was missing now. Maybe not just the finger. "I'm not sure I should have done that now."

"Let me hold on to it," Bishop almost whispered as he reached out to the finger clutched in her fist. He wasn't even sure why he asked. Why would he want something like that? He never wanted it before. But now… he couldn't stop thinking about it.

"But… then you'll have it. Forever," Aeyrin looked at him wide-eyed, her pitch-black eyes glittered with strange fear, but… also a hint of hopefulness.

"I won't lose it," Bishop reassured her. He would always take care of everything hers. And of her herself as well.

"No… but…" Aeyrin looked down on the table and tears started to glint in her eyes. That instantly made Bishop's stomach clench. "But what if you leave? You'll take it with you and I'll never get it back."

"I will never leave you," he shook his head with determination. Why would she even think that?

"What if it's not up to you?" Aeyrin took her hand away from his gentle squeeze and wiped her tears from her eyes. It was pointless. More came as she looked up to the ceiling. There were no wooden beams there holding their roof above them. It was wide open, swirling with endless bright colors, with distant stars shining through. It looked magical. Otherworldly.

It looked… like the heavens themselves.

"What if you leave without me?" she sobbed as she clutched her severed finger in her fist. "You'll take it with you. And then no one else will be able to look after it for me."

"I… I won't leave. I promise," the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. As they always did, whenever he was lying to her. He could never promise her such a thing, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more. And he wanted nothing more than for her to believe him.

But she didn't. She shook her head somberly in response with her eyes still downcast. Of course. How could she ever believe that?

"I'll keep it safe. Wherever I am." This he could promise. This he would do. But it still felt… selfish. Did she really want someone else to look after it? Why did the thing he wanted so much suddenly felt like the wrong thing to do?

"I haven't even given it to you yet," Aeyrin smiled at him sadly. "And you never know when they take you."

'They'? Who were 'they'?

Before Bishop could ponder any longer, all the light disappeared from the room. There was only her, the table and the knife. No more cottage, no more swirling heavenly lights above and not even the floor. She was his only light again.

But then he felt a tug.

And suddenly the darkness was all around once more. It felt like he was falling.

Falling endlessly into a black nothingness.

Without her.

…

Bishop gasped in shock. He… fell… didn't he? Though he wasn't sure what happened. He was just lying somewhere and right now, it felt like he had been lying here forever.

He was on something cold. Like a stone floor.

He tried to get up, but just as he did, something tightened around his wrists, legs and neck. There was something cold around him, like a metal collar and he could feel ropes around his limbs, firmly squeezing him.

He thrashed in spot and before he could even open his eyes, a voice tore through his ears like a knife.

"Oh good, you're awake. The show can start."

Bishop squirmed at that voice and he quickly snapped his eyes open. He knew what he would see. But that mention of the 'show' terrified him to the core.

As he had expected, his eyes opened to Thorn's sickening sneer, but his gaze moved right away, towards the ground behind that freak.

Aeyrin was laying there, just as he remembered her from this place, from Thorn's playground – bloody, wounded, unmoving and tied up. Though this time it was much more terrifying. This time she was conscious. Awake. She looked at him with pleading eyes, but she looked exhausted and barely able to function.

Fuck! He needed to help her! He needed to get out of his binds and free her, to take her away from this place. He thrashed in his confines again and he tried to scream, but no sound came out of him. He had no idea why. It was as if he lost all ability to speak. As if just the sight of her like this rendered him mute.

He needed to do something.

"What is it, Bishop? You don't wanna see the show? But it's all for your benefit," Thorn smirked at him maliciously. "You're the reason she's here."

That wasn't true! Thorn was the reason she was here! Mercer was the reason! Their sick games brought her here.

He thought he was done with this. He thought he was done second-guessing himself, blaming himself. He knew he shared the blame on how things turned out, but he should not be the one to take the blame for these monsters.

He wanted to tell him to fuck off. He wanted to yell at him for trying to shift his monstrosities on him. But he still couldn't speak.

He thrashed in his binds again, but he didn't feel them around his hands anymore. One of his arms was resting on the ground in front of his eyes and he looked at it with strange trepidation filling him. The hand didn't even look like his. It was all thin, old and wrinkled. Frail.

It didn't matter if he was bound or not, he was too weak in this state. Too weak to help her. To be of any use anymore.

He couldn't move, he couldn't speak.

He could do nothing to save her.

Thorn turned on his heel and walked towards Aeyrin slowly. The room seemed to darken. Everything seemed to darken. Bishop wasn't sure if it was his vision clouding or if some torches got snuffed out or… if he was just trying to block things out.

He couldn't see anything within a second.

There were sounds coming from where they were, but he couldn't hear them properly. He didn't seem to be able to concentrate on anything but the panic building inside him.

A piercing scream echoed through the room. It was hauntingly familiar, but at the same time, he knew that he had never heard her scream like that.

And it didn't stop.

He remained there, enveloped in the darkness, unable to move, unable to see.

Unable to do anything to drown out the gut-wrenching screams.

…

"Bishop, wake up."

Someone whispered by his ear.

"Wake up, Bishop, hurry."

He recognized Jules's voice, but it felt so… distant. So far away. He sounded panicked. Worried. Something must have gone wrong.

Bishop felt something scratching against his chest painfully, a constant feeling that he couldn't really place. It was as if some claws dug into his skin and dove inside, as deep as they could go.

"Bishop, you have to wake up. He knows," Bishop could feel Jules grab his shoulders desperately and shake him, but he still couldn't concentrate beyond the continuous scratching. He tried to open his eyes. He could vaguely see Jules staring down at him, but he couldn't make out the shapes properly.

What was that fucking scratching? And what was Jules talking about? It all sounded so… familiar.

"Mercer knows. He knows what we've… what you've been doing," Jules whispered with fear palpable in his voice. Bishop almost felt like panicking just from that tone, but he couldn't really comprehend what his brother was saying.

"Wake up!"

Suddenly a sharp scratch tore through his chest, as if it went right across his ribs. He let out a loud gasp and his eyes shot open, but there was no Jules, no sewer, as he had expected.

No voice.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness around him and he could finally make out the outlines of the candle horns above him. The scratching was gone, replaced by something much… gentler. A light stroking over his chest.

Scratching? What was scratching him? He couldn't remember.

And why was he just so panicked?

"Are you alright?" Aeyrin's voice interrupted the silence.

He was. He was breathing heavily, for some reason, but he didn't know why. He was just in their room at the inn with Aeyrin curled against him. Just as he had remembered. It was the only thing he really remembered, save for some strange unpleasant feelings he couldn't explain.

Dawnstar. Right. He must have had a nightmare.

He fucking hated this place.

He wasn't sure now why it felt like his chest hurt, but it was steadily eased by Aeyrin's gentle touch on him.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just… a dream, I guess." His eyes fell on Aeyrin at last. She was looking at him in concern, but he was more concentrated on studying her, hard as it was in the darkness. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Why?" Aeyrin looked at him in confusion.

'Why'? Hmm… wasn't she sick or something?

No… why did he just think that? He didn't remember her getting sick. They just shopped for supplies, had dinner, a drink and then they retreated to be alone in their room. He felt like he had heard her screaming, but he wasn't sure why. Maybe she had a nightmare too?

"Did you have those dreams too?" he asked, hoping to find explanations to the strange hazy recollections.

"I haven't managed to fall asleep yet," Aeyrin shook her head, tickling his arm with her hair as she moved. "It's only been like an hour."

Was it? He thought it would be morning soon. Odd. It felt like he had slept for a long time – like he had seen much in his delirium, but he wasn't rested even a little bit. He must have fallen asleep before her, rare as it was.

"Do you remember anything?" she asked carefully. None of them ever found out what nightmares plagued them during their nights here.

"No," he sighed. Maybe he didn't really even want to, but that unpleasant feeling was maddening. Especially when he didn't know why he felt that way.

Aeyrin leaned in to plant a brief kiss on his cheek. It was kind of comforting, but he still couldn't shake that feeling.

"Let's try to get some sleep. Hopefully it won't be that bad," she smiled at him weakly.

He wasn't so sure about that. Every time they were away from here, putting this place out of their minds, it felt like… it couldn't have been that bad, right? They were just dreams. Dreams that neither of them could ever remember on top of that. Why should that bother them?

But just now, he was dreading going back to sleep.

Even if he couldn't recall why.