Author's Notes:

-Ah, yes. The introduction of OCs and other worlds. The characters and other worlds in this that aren't from Winx are mine, and I'd appreciate it if they weren't stolen by others...

-Some parts of this have been kept purposely vague so other people can fit their ideas with mine. I feel that there's more freedom for the reader that way, especially in non-canon areas.

-As mentioned before, kudos if you recognise the other language I've used in this! (It's not mine, but I'm borrowing it because I love it!)

***Wed***

The night was dark, or rather, darker than a night with no moon usually was. Visibility was poor - even for elves of _. There was a sense of stillness too, as though the unusual darkness was holding the forest tightly enough to stop the nocturnal movements of its wildlife. Even those of the forest who relished the quiet of night had retreated to the safety of their homes. That night was not one to be spent outdoors. Were anyone to have ventured outside however, they may have noticed that the lack of light was no natural phenomenon. There was movement in the shadows - perhaps the movement was the shadows; their constant writhing was too rushed and chaotic to properly fit with the serenity of the forest. Somewhere, something had slipped between worlds and its presence would not pass without touching those upon whom it could inflict the most misery.

Elsewhere in the dark a small lantern flickered, creating a soft glowing light that could have been swallowed by the shadows entirely had it not been so carefully maintained. It was perched on a rock at the edge of a small cliff; its dim glow casting barely enough light for its owner to scour the bank of the nearby stream for the small wildflowers he knew to be there. He had been mildly concerned when he left home, noticing how cold and dull the usually vibrant light of the lantern had been, but hadn't thought any more about it. He had been too eager to reach the stream before the moon was no longer in the exact alignment that gave these flowers their unique properties. Once he had found what he was looking for, he brought out a small glass jar from his bag and a sickle from the sheath on his belt. As he did this, he noticed again that the light was growing fainter and turned to adjust the crystal that kept the lantern lit. Satisfied that he could see well enough to complete his task, he turned back to the stream. The delicately engraved blade of the sickle glinted in the weak light of the lantern as he held the blade poised to cut.

Before he did so, he stopped. It could have been the flickering of his lantern; the shadows creating the movement he saw out of the corner of his eye seemed almost natural. Something about the thickening blackness around him, however, gave him cause to doubt. He held still, head down and listening for anything more than the sound of the stream flowing over the edge of the cliff into the pool below. Slowly, he brought his head up and made the cut he had prepared for, looking as though he had seen nothing but in reality tensed to turn and defend himself against whatever lurked in the dark. Putting the flower into his jar, he moved to cut another. Again, movement. He carried on, aware that his situation was becoming rapidly more serious, but at the same time not wanting to stop. Not only would he have no other opportunity to find flowers like these for a long while, but a part of him instinctively knew that to stop would show he suspected something to be wrong. If there was something watching him, he would prefer not to provoke it.

Unfortunately, the creature needed no provocation. Once it had found its victim there was little to be done. It would choose its moment to make its move and there could be no defence. As the apparently unwitting elf cut the last flower that would fit his container, stashed it away and sheathed his sickle, it was time. The shadows converged around him and he turned to face them. It was impressed with the speed and confidence of his reaction, but knew that as the lantern faded, so would the elf's resistance. Not that there was much resisting to be done. As the shadows seethed around him like sentient smoke, the sickle blade he had drawn cut through them uselessly. His other defence was to run, but with little to no light and a mist of shadow around him this could only lead him into more trouble. The light, already barely visible, finally went out.

Early the next morning, the atmosphere of the previous night had vanished. The stream sparkled in the morning sunlight and the long grass rippled in the slight breeze. The soft, rushing noise of the water alongside the morning birdsong were the first sounds Palladium became aware of. He then began to notice the cold. Living in a mountainous area of decently high altitude gave one a certain level of tolerance towards the cold, especially during colder seasons, but it did not prepare one for waking up drenched with dew on the edge of a cliff. He had dressed warmly for his outing but as the only waterproof item of clothing he wore was a cloak, which had somehow ended up on top of him, the morning's dampness felt like it had seeped through to his bones. Shivering, he sat up and looked around. His lantern was where he had left it, and he realised that his right hand was still holding his sickle. It looked undamaged by its night outside, but then he spotted the tiny hairline cracks running along the blade like so many spider webs. There seemed to be something ...oozing... from in between the cracks. The substance looked like some sort of oil, but it was dry to the touch and running his fingers along the metal, he could feel no imperfections. When he sheathed it, it still fit perfectly. He checked his bag for damage and when he found everything as it should be, he stood up. Almost immediately he felt drained, as though he had been awake and busy all night. This weakness was foreign to him and he could not think why he would feel that way. He had perfect recollection of the events of the previous night and the shadowy creature that had attacked him, but as he had no idea what it was he could not begin to think about the effects it could have had on him. He could only hope that this physical fatigue would wear off quickly.

He made his way home, stopping here and there when he felt his energy waver. By the time he arrived he was about ready to go straight to bed, but was stopped by his friend and housemate on the way upstairs. It was no unusual occurrence for one or both of them to return home in the morning after separate night time excursions, but it was less usual for one of them to return in such an exhausted state. It was only natural, therefore, that a question was asked that he knew he should have expected.
"Palladium, are you unwell?"
He sighed, turned round and returned downstairs, his grip on the banister tighter than usual as he was beginning to feel his sense of balance abandoning him. Selwyn was standing by the foot of the narrow helical staircase that led to Palladium's room, fidgeting with the clasp of his cloak.
"I'm just tired. I had ...an interesting night."
"'An interesting night'? How so, if it makes you seem so tired?"
Palladium hesitated. He knew that his tale would be believable, as there were dangerous creatures in the forest - many yet to be fully understood - but he somehow felt self-conscious about the whole affair. He couldn't lie to his friend; they had known each other too long for that. He hardly felt comfortable with the truth though, so he was unsure of how to respond. His silence had by now made his answer for him. Pushing his windswept, sandy coloured hair behind his ears, Selwyn gave up waiting for an answer.
"I apologise, fricai. I should know better than to press you for an answer when you are not in a state to give me one. If you decide that you will talk to me about this I am always ready to listen."
"When I have something coherent to express I may be able to answer you."
With that, he turned and rather tiredly climbed the stairs, now feeling as though he could sleep as well there as anywhere else.

Selwyn watched his friend ascend the stairs. Palladium had none of his usual lightness of foot and seemed more ill than tired. He had known him to be tired before, but not to this extent. He heard the door close at the top, footsteps towards the bed and then nothing. It was concerning enough that the people he had spoken to that morning had all mentioned the unnatural darkness and oppressive atmosphere the night before, but his friend having spent the night outside and returning in an odd state was too much. If this matter did not resolve itself by the evening he would take his friend to the Healery and hope that the healers there could convince Palladium to talk. It might have seemed to be a rather drastic solution but he knew from experience that his friend didn't like to talk about his problems, and the longer he kept quiet the worse things became. If there was going to be a problem he would much prefer to have it known about from the beginning. It was not so much that the exhaustion bothered him; it was that the unwillingness to answer frustrated him. After all this time there was little they could not share with each other, yet still Palladium had trouble opening up - even to his closest friend. There was something else that was not as it should be, too. Not that he could describe it, say what it was, or explain why it was abnormal. It was simply off-putting.

Later that day the weather had worsened. The slight breeze had become a gale and the sun had disappeared entirely behind an unending blanket of grey. Waking up for the second time that day, Palladium's mind was clouded and his thoughts were indistinct. Restful sleep usually had that effect on him. When he could finally pull his thoughts together he became aware of footsteps coming up the stairs towards his door. As it opened slightly he shifted to a more comfortable position on his bed - he had hardly moved since collapsing onto it that morning. Looking up, he could see Selwyn examining him from the doorway and upon noticing that Palladium was awake, he came in. At about the same time, Palladium had started to notice an unusual sensation of coldness in his right hand. He curled the hand into a fist and tensed it, watching from the corner of his eye as his friend's expression grew more concerned than it had already been. Without warning, he felt pain shoot through his hand as though he had driven something sharp into it. He winced. There seemed to be nothing wrong with it, but the pain was there. Selwyn, standing by the bed, had waited patiently all day to talk with him and now took the opportunity to do so.
"Will you talk now?"
"I wanted to talk earlier. I just couldn't find the words to do so when I was so tired. So unusually tired..."
"Do you feel any better? More well-rested?"
"I believe so."
"What of your hand? Are you injured?"
"I'm not sure."
By now, he could feel a dull ache in his hand toward his wrist, like an echo of the pain he had just felt. The coldness was still there, too. He sat up, held his hands out and asked,
"Does my right feel different - colder than my left?"
Selwyn sat next to him on the bed and with a growing sense of uneasiness took Palladium's hands in his. The right hand did, in fact, feel cooler. It looked more pale, too.
"It does. ...I know you won't want to hear this, but I believe you should visit the Healery."
"I'm fine, Selwyn. I must have just strained it, or landed on it..."
He trailed off, well aware that his weak defence was going to be picked apart. Sure enough, Selwyn did not like his argument.
"Injuries such as those you mentioned would cause light inflammation. Heat, Palladium, not cold. Are you sure you feel well?"
"I feel fine; I will not visit the Healery without due cause. I'll be returning to Alfea in a few days anyway so I can always mention this to the nurse if it gets worse."
"...You've convinced me for now, I suppose."
"You don't look very convinced."
"There's just something else that I cannot explain. Something different. I'm just not happy with this."
"I will look after myself. Trust me."
"I'd like to, but you seem to have the idea that looking after yourself is unimportant."
"What more can I say?"
"Nothing. If I see anything more unusual I will take you to the Healery myself, but until then you will be making sure that you keep yourself in good health."
This was said with such resolution that Palladium did not doubt that he would follow through with his claim. He stood up and went over to the table on which he kept his hairbrush and adjusted the mirror that sat on a stand in the centre, hoping that Selwyn would take the obvious hint and leave him to neaten himself up. He did. Not all of their compromises ended with discord but it was clear that this one had.

In the days following, during his preparations for the next term, Palladium had not improved. He was careful to make sure that the tiredness he felt and the now constant ache in his right hand were not noticed by Selwyn, but to do that he had to spend most of his time alone. Had they not had plans involving social events or friends to visit, his sudden preference for staying indoors would have remained unnoticed. He made the excuse that he had 'things to prepare' and 'work to finish', though he was unsure as to how long that would keep Selwyn pacified. Two nights before he was due to leave, even though he felt completely drained, he found himself awake. The pain in his hand had spread up to his elbow and every now and then he would feel his shoulder twinge in sympathy. When he moved, his arm felt as though bolts of energy were being put through it. This would become very difficult to hide if he did not do something about it. The first solution he came up with was to formulate some sort of potion with which he could reduce the pain to a more tolerable level. To do this he needed to cross the room to reach the workbench where his equipment was set up. The first problem he encountered was getting up. When he sat up he knew almost immediately that his sense of balance had left him again; it seemed to be happening whenever he became tired, which was often. Very slowly, he eased himself into standing up and made his way over to the workbench. Moving any faster would probably have resulted in him falling over and waking Selwyn, and that was something he wanted to avoid. The conversation that would follow would undoubtedly end in him being dragged to the Healery. His aversion to the Healery was not due to those who worked there or the place it was situated, but more due to his recently developed dislike of showing weakness. He had found that eliminating signs of weakness gave others less reason to doubt or underestimate him.

Eventually, he reached the workbench and sat on the stool in front. The grey moonlight that crept into the room past the half drawn curtains provided insufficient light for him to create anything with accuracy, so he gestured towards the light on the bench and directed his magical energy towards turning it on. He hissed in pain as he realised too late that he could not use his right arm for such trivial tasks, and used his left to reach over and turn it on manually. Potion brewing became harder with only one good arm to use, but his experience and confidence balanced it out. By the time he was finished, he had created an elixir with properties of pain relief and calming. It was commonly used throughout _ and taken in a variety of ways; Palladium's advantage in this situation was that he could adapt it to suit his needs. He had increased its potency and reduced it into a form that could be used however he wanted, instead of something with a set usage method. There was also enough of it to last him a whole term, if necessary. If necessary... That thought stuck in his mind. He had felt as well as he usually did over the past few days, without considering the constant ache in his bones. True, the fatigue was abnormal, but that could be dealt with. The main concern he had was the aching. He could put up with it as long as it did not affect how he did his job, but it would be problematic if it started to do so. The elixir he had brewed should stave off the worst of it so unless any other issues developed, he was set to return with no problems.

Though he would have preferred to take it as a vapour he could not actually remember where he had left his pipe, and in the absence of anything he could put it in to drink he took a sip straight from the bottle. It had the consistency of oil and tasted mildly of herbs, as that was what he had used to make it, but it had a rather sweet aftertaste that was unpleasant even if it had been drunk mixed into something else. He resealed the bottle and hid it amongst the rest of his equipment so it would not catch the eye of his perceptive friend. Selwyn may not have his knowledge or experience in potion making, but he always seemed to recognise anything new or different. That again would lead to a conversation that Palladium would prefer to avoid. He turned off the light and quietly stood up, compensating for his lack of balance by leaning heavily on the bench. Another half hour, or maybe twenty minutes, and the aching would stop until morning. He felt no better once he was back in bed but was comforted by the thought that he would when he woke up. As he felt his mind wander back into unconsciousness he mumbled to himself,

"Slytha... Slytha un stydja... I'll feel better..."

Author's Notes:

-Fricai - friend

-Slytha un stydja - sleep and rest (both verbs)