There was a moment when he could see blue sky above, then the murky darkness of Incubus' swamp faded back into focus. Before he moved, he took an internal inventory. He was not certain how long he had been out, but he was stiff, cold, wet, and muddy. At least he had regenerated some of his power.

At that point, everything else slammed into his head and he groaned. "I did not pass out!" Stan announced before he even opened his eyes. The sound of soft laughter was his only reply.

Rosalyn covered her mouth with her hand as Stan pulled himself up and glared angrily. "I didn't!" he repeated.

Rosalyn nodded happily. "Yes, you did."

"I just closed my eyes for a few minutes!"

"And then fell over for a few hours."

Stan snarled wordlessly. He desperately wanted to retort, but he couldn't think of anything. Finally, he simply growled, "Rodent woman!" and resumed walking.

"So you didn't have a great childhood either, huh?" Rosalyn asked after a few minutes.

After a few more minutes, Stan shook his head, though in exasperation, not agreement. "I think I hate that man more than I hate you," he muttered.

"Considering you've never done that to me, I'd have to agree," Rosalyn dared. She expected Stan to turn on her, but he was still wiped out from the attack on his father and ignored her. She shrugged. "Well, you missed the giant snake," she informed him.

"What a pity," he responded in a flat tone.

"It nearly ate you."

"I'm sure it did."

"…You're not falling for it?"

"I'm not in the mood."

Rosalyn grinned. "Isn't that my line?"

Stan huffed. Normally, he would be more than happy to oblige Rosalyn in the fight she was attempting to pick, but he was tired and embarrassed that he had let her see him get out of control. "If you really want to die, I'll be more than happy to help you with that as soon as I get my slave back."

Rosalyn sighed. "Just making sure you're okay," she admitted.

Stan stopped and whirled around to face her. "Why do you even care?" he demanded as he advanced on her. "You're a Hero! We're mortal enemies! What does it matter to you if I'm still alive or not?"

Rosalyn stood her ground without flinching, and he was forced to stop or walk into her. "Because Ari thinks of you as a friend, though darn if I can figure out why!" she answered. "And if I ever let anything happen to you, I don't think he'd forgive me!"

The look of pure bewilderment on Stan's face was priceless. Then he sneered and the moment was gone. "Well, I'll have to straighten him out later, won't I?" he said, his good humor slowly returning. At least he understood why Rosalyn seemed so concerned now, even if he didn't understand Ari's attitude. He went on a long tangent about useless slaves becoming too familiar with the master as the two of them resumed their journey.

Rosalyn sighed in impatient frustration. She wondered, not for the first time, exactly what good Ari saw in the Evil King. He was loud, obnoxious, conceited, and rude at the best of times. At the worst…

Suddenly, she walked into him, and he did not yell insults. He didn't even turn to glare. He was frozen in place, his eyes fixed on an old man who stood in their path. Rosalyn loosened her rapier, but she couldn't see anything particularly alarming. It was just an old man holding a-

Then she realized that it wasn't the man that had stopped the Evil King in his tracks. It was the bejeweled, purple bottle the man was holding. She glanced back at Stan, whose eyes were fixed on that bottle. Then he did something she had never seen him do before: he started backing away.

Rosalyn stepped between the two of them and raised her rapier. "I won't hesitate to kill you," she said.

The old man tilted his head slightly. "You already have, Miss Hero," he said. "Now, stand aside. This isn't meant for you."

"I will do no such thing," she announced.

The man heaved a regretful sigh. "Then I'm afraid you have forced me to call my backup."

"I hope you'll provide me with more of a challenge than he did," said a voice to her left. She whirled to face another old man, though this one was slightly younger than the other. He saluted her with his sword. "Well, Miss Hero?"

Before she could react, he was practically on top of her. She parried his blows with the mindlessness born of familiarity as she tried to think. She decided he must be Hero Hopkins because the other man was clearly Pollack. She had known that Stan had to have met Pollack because that was who sealed him in the bottle. But he had never mentioned meeting Hopkins before. She resolved to pester him with questions later as she ducked quickly so that her opponent's sword bit into the tree behind her.

Hopkins yanked it back out just in time to block Rosalyn's swing. "I should have seen that coming," he admitted.

"Well, Stan wouldn't have," Rosalyn allowed. "And you are just a memory from his mind, after all."

Hopkins dodged another swing, then jabbed towards Rosalyn's heart. He smiled when she twisted away expertly. "Am I?" he asked. "You're pretty good at this, by the way."

"I've been studying since I was old enough to hold a practice sword," she confessed haughtily as they traded blows. "And what do you mean by that?"

He swatted her rapier hard with the flat of his blade and nearly caused her to lose her grip. "All things that dream bow to the King of Nightmares," he answered. "Our lord is a devourer of minds and souls. He knows what you fear, and he provides it from within himself."

"Wait, wait, wait," Rosalyn said. She swung towards his head; he ducked beneath it. "Are you saying you're the real Hero Hopkins?"

"I am the remnant of who that man was, yes." He locked blades with her. "You're here too, you know, or your consciousness at least? And your little friend. That one, too." He nodded at Stan. "Everyone you know is part of the Nightmare King. And when you die here, your soul will be his as well."

Rosalyn gritted her teeth. "That's never going to happen!" she yelled. She pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to make Hopkins think he was winning. As expected, he took the offered opening, not realizing that it was an illusion. Rosalyn had spent most of her time at the Hero Academy fighting boys who were stronger than she was. Every single one of them fell for this trick at least twice. She pulled back just a hair's breadth more, then shoved forward suddenly. Hopkins, who had pushed forward in answer to the second opening, was off balance and easily knocked backward. Rosalyn made a very controlled swing towards Hopkins head. When he raised his sword to deflect the blow, she halted the swing and turned it into a jab. As the point of her rapier passed through his flesh, he vanished. "Gets 'em every time," she said with joyful scorn before turning to go rescue Stan.

Stan stopped backing up when Rosalyn stepped between him and Pollack. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief and actually considered releasing her as his slave to show his gratitude. She wasn't much of one, anyway. But Hopkins appeared and forced her to fight, leaving Pollack and Stan alone.

"You can't escape, boy," the old man said. "Just give in and make it easy on yourself."

"No!" Stan yelled. "I am not going in there!" Just the thought was making him feel claustrophobic. Just the sight of that bottle made a little knot of fear tighten around his heart. Three hundred years had been bad, but he had grown accustomed to it as time passed. He hadn't really believed he would ever get out again. When he had finally found freedom, he had been ecstatic until he realized that he couldn't survive for long in Rosalyn's shadow. Going back into the bottle then, however, had almost been painful. For a few seconds, he had something like freedom, and becoming a prisoner again had been almost more than he could bear. He wasn't certain he could survive going into it now, figuratively speaking. He threw energy at Pollack, but it was a weak attack. Stan cursed his idiocy at allowing a dream image to make him lose control.

Pollack clicked his tongue as he used his own magic as a shield. "Now, you're not going to make me repress your power again, are you?" He gave the impression that he was chastising a small child.

Stan thought quickly. If he went into his shadow form, he could get away faster, but it would be easier for Pollack to catch him in the bottle. If he stayed in his true form, Pollack would simply repress his power and catch him. He looked around frantically and decided to make it as difficult as possible. Abandoning all pretense at dignity, he turned and ran. He would worry about what Rosalyn might say later.

Pollack sighed and shook his head. "You never learn, do you?" He muttered the words to the spell for repressing Stan's power as he walked after him.

Stan thought he had outrun Pollack until he felt his form begin to waver. With a frightened whine, he ran harder, but to no avail. He tried to hold on to his power, but he was quickly loosing his awareness of it. His body started to go numb, causing him to trip and go sprawling. He tried to get back up; he wasn't even thinking anymore. Preservation instincts took hold of his mind and commanded him to keep running and never mind that he couldn't feel his own body anymore. If he could just get far enough away…

Then he caught sight of his hand as it began to vanish and even instinct failed him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was disgusted with himself for this display of cowardice, but that part was overruled by the rest, which thought paralyzing panic was a perfectly acceptable reaction.

"Really, boy," Pollack sighed. "Making me chase you all over. Disgraceful." He walked around in front of Stan and tapped the mouth of the bottle.

"S…stop…" Stan whined as the old man said the words that would pull him in. Then the world went dark. His brain calmed down enough to resume working just enough to realize why it had suddenly gone dark, then it shut down again. He threw himself against the walls of his prison in unthinking frenzy for a long time.

Finally, however, he had to stop as exhaustion took over and forced him to start thinking again. "This is ridiculous," he muttered in contempt. "I'm not even really here. I'm outside, in the fresh air. This is just a dream." He paused, then yelled ineffectually, "Damn you! You bastard! Let me out of here! When I get my hands on you, I'll smash you flat and use you for a doormat!" He felt a falling sensation and deduced that Pollack had dropped him somewhere. He resumed throwing himself against the sides of the bottle, but it did little to help his predicament.

His power was not gone, it had simply been suppressed; however, it would not regenerate until he got out of here. He could not get the bottle open from the inside since only a certain kind of power could open it. He had no idea how long he was going to have to wait for Rosalyn, assuming she could even find him now. He gave a last, half-hearted shove at the stopper then settled down to wait. He had to believe that she would find him, and he had to hate himself for that need. He was Evil King Stan. The world trembled at his feet. The thought that he had to rely on some worthless human female to rescue him was galling. He decided to pass the time by figuring out what he was going to do to Incubus when he got hold of him.

Illisaith glanced up as the low buzzing finally ceased. Star flickered and chimed softly. "I told you earlier that would happen," he said in gentle rebuke. "He'll be fine for a while. Just take a break."

Star sighed and sank to the ground. "If not for me, this would not have happened," she said quietly. She held up a hand to forestall the inevitable contradiction. "Speak not, young one. Let me explain.

"Long ago, when the world was young, Incubus was known by a different name. He was the spirit of solitude, and eternally lonely. He was so desperate for companionship, alone in the world of dreams; he befriended humans, but their lives fade so quickly. To that end, he sought out the other spirits. He only wanted a friend, yet we drove him away. Although it seems foolish reasoning now, we feared it would upset balance to allow what he desired. He was meant to be alone.

"He grew more and more desperate for someone to share his eternal life with, someone who would not leave him as his human friends did. We watched and did nothing as he went mad and began devouring dreams. He sought out human minds and found them in bits and pieces. The disconnected thoughts and feelings only exacerbated his condition. He named himself Incubus after the human word for nightmares and gave himself the title of Nightmare King. Throughout the millennia, he has acquired countless pieces of consciousness. When he began devouring souls as well, we merely turned away."

Star stopped and looked at the ground, reliving those days. Her eyes reflected sadness and regret. She shook her head as Illisaith started to go to her. "You are a kindred spirit, young one," she sighed. "But I must confess this sin. Had we not driven him away, he would not have become Incubus in the first place. For that, we shall always be to blame."

"You can't know what's going to happen," Illisaith tried to reassure her. "All you can do is what you think is best."

Star smiled teasingly. "And when did the young one become such a sage? Although that is true, the fault is still ours. Two mistakes, we made; two mistakes that have caused the world great pain. Incubus was the first; Beiloune was the second. I see this now. I was so cold back then. All of you have taught me so much; I am eternally in your debt." She gazed mournfully into the distance. "I only hope to one day share all I have learned with my brother."

This time, she did not object when Illisaith walked over to sit next to her. "You will," he said quietly. "I promise you that."