X

The griffin was indeed fast as the wind. The landscape below them flew by, the thick forests and green meadows surrounding the city making place to bogs, wet plains and slow, muddy rivers. The land in the east got more rocky and wet the further they got, giving it a grey appearance. Sitting in the griffin's plumage with the cold wind rushing by, Styx could do nothing but adjust the course from time to time by tugging at Gendry's leather collar and ponder about what might await him at the Valley of Akenash, or sleep. He stopped just to let Gendry have a drink in some river, refill his waterskin and sometimes allow the griffin to hunt down some deer. Every time she ripped her prey apart with a bloody beak, she hissed at him. Styx didn't feel like eating. He forced himself to eat as he knew he'd need all his strength. At night, he had weird dreams. Often he dreamt of Maera, but not the way he normally did when he felt lonely and longed for some sweet pleasures, the kind of dreams that left him tense and stiff the next morning. These dreams were different, sad and confusing. Once, he dreamt of his talk with Sicca just before he met Maera the first time.

"What do you like?", Sicca asked.

"I like long hair the color of moonlight", Styx replied. "I like dark brown eyes, eyes so deep you can lose yourself in. I like soft, wide hips and tiny freckles on skin as smooth as silk, green as old moss. I like her gentle warmness, her terrible pride and stubbornness, her bad table manners, the missing tip on one of her teeth, the little notch she has in her right ear, the soft skin on her belly she doesn't like and that I like to taste so much... All those tiny imperfections that make her the most perfect being I've ever met. I like Maera. No, I don't just like her, I..."

A gust of icecold rain woke him.

Cursing wildly, he pulled a blanket over himself to stay at least a little dry. Stop it, stupid Rakash, stop it, he told himself angrily.

When the rain lit up, he looked at the landscape that spread out under him. It was a grey and green wasteland, deep swamps and mires. Drowned trees reached for the sky with black branches, and white shrouds of mist covered the muddy ground where the rushes didn't. Here and there were rocky hills, and far in the distance he could see some mountains emerging. Between them, he knew, must be the Valley of Akenash. The area looked like it hadn't been populated by intelligent beings for centuries. Within another day's flight, he reached the mountains.

As Styx stared pensively into the mist below them, the words of Nym came back to his mind.

Akenash is a fateful place for both of us.

Why the hell would he say that? Styx had never really bothered about Akenash before, he just knew that it was some important castle or tower of the Empire before it got destroyed, about two centuries ago. The Elf had also mentioned the Inquisition's aim to find a new source for Amber. Well, the damn golden sap was bloody expensive even on the black market, he knew so from his contacts. Styx didn't like the stuff, it made his head hurt. Still, he had to admit to himself that he wasn't quite sure whether Amber hadn't played an important part in his past, most likely in the muddy bits he had forgotten. His shiny mark and golden glowing eyes were things that he shared with those damn Amber-Elves like Nym… and Amber addicts. Styx frowned and shook his head. This was a bunch of complicated bullshit he absolutely didn't want to get himself into. Still, his sharp instincts told him that there must be a connection between Akenash, the Inquisition, the Amber and him, though he couldn't really wrap his mind around.

Carefully, they flew into the deep, misty valley, looking out for Inquisition outposts. Soon, Styx saw some soldiers patrolling, a line of torches between the shallow puddles and rocks. They didn't seem to notice Gendry, as her mottled feathers hid her well in this grey and brown wasteland. Somehow, all of this looked familiar, in a very disturbing way. The swamps, the mist, the dead trees... It all looked like the cradle of his first memories, the bog he crossed back in Arkence's mind. He heard sounds, unseen creatures growling and hissing, and it almost sounded like words. Goblins... Those creatures were not able to speak, Styx knew. They were like him, but still as different as earth and air. At the end of the valley, all of a sudden, something else appeared, something big.

A flash of reminiscences took away Styx's breath, and he held his aching head.

The ruins of Akenash...

The gigantic complex was an endless mess of crumbled walls and broken towers, covering a wide area from mountainside to mountainside. Merlons larger than humans still stuck to battlements and rotten walkways, shattered and overgrown with moss and vines. Some bits of the ruins were larger than townhouses, sunken deep into the wet ground as they had fallen from the sky, crushing each other when they tumbled down. Here and there, roofs, statues and steel doors could be seen, all rusted and weathered. A bronze bell, all corroded, bigger than three humans, vaguely poked out of the mud.

The changing of the guards...

Styx knew he had been here once. His head hurt when he tried to remember, yet he knew he had all of this seen already, so long ago. What had the Elf told him in the dungeon? Nym had helped him to cut the connection between him and his former self, and for this Styx had promised to save the World Tree... Styx grunted as he remembered the scene in Arkence's mind, the pain as he was forced to face his past, the other Styx. His tenacious fury when he refused it, as he had left his past behind himself centuries ago. And yet, when he saw the broken statue of a huge knight holding a longsword, he remembered a prison with a statue just like that one near the gate, covered with red banners, full of the dead and dying...

Rakash…

Shut up, Styx told himself.

Remember, Rakash! Remember the fear. Remember the anger. Remember how it felt to be a mindless servant.

Shut up!, Styx thought again with all the mental strength he could muster. Red, boiling panic was rising inside him. The painful enigmatic flashbacks popping up in his head no matter where he looked made it hard for him to resist the angry voice. It got louder, ringing between his ears and drowning out his own thinking.

Somebody whispered to you to steal, and you stole. Somebody whispered to you to kill, and you killed. You were nothing but a tool, Rakash. My tool.

It can't be him, it can't, Styx told himself, his breathing short and quick. Deep inside though, he knew who the voice belonged to. He knew it, but he would not accept it, he would not!

Yeah, that's right, Rakash! Don't think about what happened. Just let go. Surrender to the flood. Surrender to the memories. Does it hurt? Of course it does. I can make the pain disappear in the blink of an eye. Just surrender to me.

The voice sounded almost temptingly friendly. Styx's head throbbed with pain, and he couldn't see anything but the flashing images of Amber dust and blood and the shadow of swords and guards dancing in the light cast by torches, so many torches. The face of his former self, corrupted with century-long hatred and Amber-abuse. Styx knew it was a mingle-mangle of bits from his past, and he could never accept it, he couldn't, it was too terrible. He didn't want to think about what would happen to him should he allow himself to remember. And still, the pain became more unbearable the longer Styx resisted. It would be so easy, so damn easy to just give in, to let the current take him away. Easier than accepting all those horrors, and easier than resisting.

Yes, Rakash… Give your creator back what is his by right.

Styx swayed.

The griffin made a quick turn, and Styx lost his grip. He gasped when he almost fell, clutching to the feathers tightly. Breathing hard and fighting against the pain, he stared at the soft, brown plumage between his clenched fingers. Different pictures emerged in front of his inner eye, pictures of Maera showing him how to hold her owl. Styx remembered how her pointy claws felt when Bryn sat on his gauntlet, eyeing him curiously, her feathers puffed up with anticipation.

"She likes you", Maera had said, smiling. "Even though you called her a fatty."

"It was a compliment. I am quite fond of curvy girls…", he had replied, winking rakishly.

"I'm not fat, you fucktard!"

"Ouch! You know I'm just kidding, slim little beauty. You're curvy in just the perfect places." They had laughed, and thinking of the sound of Maera's laughter helped Styx chase away the terrible golden maelstrom inside his head.

Argh! Rakash, you pathetic little wimp! You're making me sick!

Good, Styx thought.

It really was time to get his shit together and concentrate on his mission again. He was sick and tired of this nonsense. Maera needed him! He looked to his left and noticed some broken cages with bars thick enough to hold back a small dragon, and it reminded him of captured Orcs, brainless as watchdogs, trying to grab him as he sneaked by on quiet feet, trying to avoid those damn glowing insects... One déjà-vu followed the next, and again it made his head pound like a fucking anvil.

"Nope, fuck this. Concentrate, Rakash, focus. Those Inquisition assholes mustn't see me if I want a chance to find Maera in this shitpit before they find me", he said to himself. Then he spotted the Inquisition headquarter.

The Bigot had made his camp in a large circular ruin that might have been some kind of embassy. His purple banners snapped in the wind. Parts of the walls were still intact, and Styx could see light through the broken windows, and smoke emerging from the holes in the walls. Some big red airships were standing around the camp area. Tents and patrols were placed outside the ruin, with Inquisitors and heavy armored knights strolling all over the damn place like ants.

Styx signaled Gendry to perch on some rock outcrop. That was it, he knew, the place where they kept Maera. And waited for him to be stupid enough to step right in the trap. Climbing on the back of the griffin and get his butt out of this snakepit suddenly seemed more than tempting. Sure, he had already dealt with the Inquisition lots of times, he was a professional when it came to those Imperial assholes. But in those cases they weren't expecting him like an invited guest. They probably had already spotted him, acting all unsuspiciously to lull him into a false sense of security. It might just be the smartest thing to run away, and save himself. Maybe Abbyss was right. It would only get him killed in the nastiest way possible.

Styx pulled out the parchment he had found in the Library, the message the Inquisition had left for him. He looked at it for a long moment, looked at the handprint made with Maera's blood. Then he gazed out at the ruins of Akenash again, and his eyes went narrow, glowing fierce and golden. His fist crumbled the paper.

Styx silently swore an oath. He was going to punish them for laying their slimy hands on Maera, one by one, until they all begged for mercy. And he wouldn't show mercy, he certainly fucking wouldn't.

"Alright, big bird, get back to Abbyss. I'll be on my own. You think you can make me a little diversion?", he asked Gendry, stroking her curved beak. He had no idea if Gendry could understand what he said, but she certainly understood that she was allowed to leave. Her huge wings beat the air, taking for the sky.

Styx watched her depart, and his mouth turned into a furtive grin as he saw how Gendry dashed down on the camp with a nosedive, screaming like a demon. The guards ran towards her, and arrows and bolts whistled around the griffin. She didn't seem to care, and with some elegant twists and turns she picked up a knight in her talons, carried him up high and let him drop down on a tent. The turmoil Gendry caused before she had enough and flew away into the setting sun was huge, and Styx took the chance to at least get to the ruin unnoticed. Carefully avoiding the patrols in the murky light of dusk, he went closer to a wall with rusty wall hangings. An Inquisitor stood nearby, together with a crossbow man. Styx hid behind a crate, assessing the situation. He whistled, and when the two turned around, he threw a knife into the crossbow man's neck. The Inquisitor wanted to alarm the others, but before he could do so he had a jagged dagger drawn across his throat. Styx piled up the bodies behind a box and climbed up the wall until he reached a broken window high above the ground and crawled inside. Behind him, the world was turning dark. The inside of the destroyed embassy was lit orange with torches, braziers and large firepits. It looked like a fully equipped smithery, full of workers, guards, tables with weapons, cages and glimmering steel everywhere, all covered in the smoke of the firepits. The noise the humans and the smiths' hammers made was echoing in the large brick-built place. And there, in a rear corner of the place, with a flock of men in beaked masks walking around, he spotted a torture rack. Slowly he prowled closer to it, staying up in the rafters. Soon he could see better, and what he saw there made him sick. Left to the rack stood a firepit, and right to it stood a tall man with a painted bronze mask and elegant black-and-purple robes, and on the torture rack...

There was Maera.

Styx's heart skipped a beat. He desperately craned his neck to see her better. As far as he could tell, they had stripped her but for a simple linen dress. Her wrists were tied to the rack, so she was forced to stand upright all the time. She looked almost bored, Styx noticed puzzled, but when a torturer pulled out a branding iron from the firepit, glowing white, and came closer to her, her eyes went wide with fear.

"Well, greenskin, the same game as before", the tall man with the mask said to her. "Tell us something useful. Where are the revolting mages hiding?"

"I won't tell you anything, you slimy little prick. Same game as before", Maera snapped at him. The man sighed.

"I'll ask you again nicely, one more time. Where are they hiding?"

"In the same cave your mangy bitch of a mother is hiding in, asshole", Maera spat. The man shook his head and gave the torturer a signal.

Styx had to bite his tongue until he tasted blood to prevent himself from going batshit as the torturer pressed the white-hot iron on her arm. Maera screamed.

"You know where the mages hide, all Academy members know. Tell us!", the man demanded.

"Fuck you!", Maera replied with clenched teeth, before she screamed again. Up in the rafters, Styx was struggling for composure, his heart racing with pain as if it was his skin that was burned with the glowing iron.

Maera had adapted quickly to the situation.

As soon as the airships arrived at Akenash, she had been taken out of the thick canvas bag the Inquisition had stuffed her in, with her wrists and ankles tied together and a bandage around her mouth, for she had bitten and scratched like a mother griffin when they tried to kidnap her. They had done it the cowardly way, at night, when Maera was deep asleep. She had heard them coming just as they had dumped the bag of poppy-powder over her head, which had left her conscious for only a few heartbeats before she fell asleep again, giving her enough time to at least kick one agent in the nuts. In her waking moments, she had given every damn hand that dared to touch her a taste of her sharp fangs, for Maera was determined not to go down without kicking and screaming, all the while cursing like a sailor. After a while, though, she found out that she was to be held captive, not killed, and calmed down a little to save her strength. She didn't know the area they brought her to, but she knew it must be the famous Atrium of Akenash, or at least what was left of it. Maera also knew they had captured her to lure Styx in a trap. That was the most terrifying thing for her about all this, worse than the torture.

In the beginning, they had tried all kinds of nasty shit on her, stick needles in her flesh, squeeze her fingers, dip her head in water until she almost drowned. The Bigot, the new leader of the Inquisition, seemed to be convinced that she knew many useful things about the rebellion, the mages and the connections of the Academy, and so she did, but she was not willing to give any of it to those fuckers. Maera had been cursing and kicking all the time, until she felt like she couldn't take the pain much longer. She realized she must find some way to manipulate them, to get herself some time to think of a plan. Soon she found a way.

When the torturers discussed using fire, glowing irons and such, she had acted like it was the most horrifying thing to her, as if she was almost scared to death by the mere thought of being burnt. Of course, thinking that they had found Maera's personal weak spot, the Inquisitors gladly got out their branding irons, heated them up until they glowed white and pressed them to her skin. Whenever they did, Maera screamed from the top of her lungs.

But it didn't help those asshole. Not a tiny bit.

Arrogant as the Inquisition was, they considered all the greenskins savage, primitive beasts not worth any more attention. Luckily, for if they had known a little more about her, Maera's plan would not have worked. But they didn't know, and that was her big advantage. Her chance to come free.

She was a Dragonelf.

Fire didn't hurt her.

Every time the torturers tried to burn her, Maera acted like she was close to be broken. In truth, it bored her. She felt the heat, but it was no more painful than a gentle summer breeze. The scar they cut in her hand to print it on the message for Styx hurt badly, and the stitches and bruises she had gotten before. But now, she had won some time to heal. Sometimes she invented stories to set the Bigot's men on the wrong track. The most exhausting thing about this was the screaming, as it made her throat hurt. So she spent her time concentrating, meditating. She had not used those certain skills for a long time, for the Library she lived in made it too risky, with all the paper and dry parchment... Maera gathered her strength, waiting. She would find a way to free herself, she simply had to, or Styx would get himself in great danger. She desperately hoped he would not walk in the trap.

When Styx heard Maera scream in agony once more, his thoughts were swirling through his mind like snowflakes in a storm. His own thoughts mixed with the words of the angry voice from the back of his head, yelling at him as he struggled with himself. Inside him, his deeply rooted survival instinct and the burning pain he felt when he saw Maera on the torture rack fought against each other.

Save her, leave her, don't step in the trap, don't risk your life, they'll capture you and kill you, they're just waiting, don't be stupid, help Maera you fucking coward, you just can't let them hurt her, not Maera, not my Maera, save her now!

One side won.

There was a glimpse of a shadow, the sudden silvery flash of a dagger, and three of the torturers sank to their knees with blood splashing out of the slits were their throats had been. Styx swirled around, throwing knives, kicking an approaching guard in the knees and burying his dagger in his chest, stabbing another one in the back. Blind with rage, yet fully concentrated, he fought like a short green demon, quickly piling dead men around him. As if from a great distance, he heard Maera's voice.

"Styx! Don't! I'm fine, please, flee! Trust me, I'm okay! Run, Styx! Please..."

Styx stopped for a heartbeat, confused. Maera's voice turned into desperate sobbing as two dozen guards closed in around him, hitting him with the blunt ends of their spears. He still stabbed everybody that dared to come close enough, taking two more guards out, but then an invisible hand, cold as ice, grabbed him with an unnatural strength and lifted him from the ground, holding him up.

The tall, elegant man with the mask approached Styx, his arm stretched out before him. His black and purple robes with the embroidered crosses on them as well as the magic he possessed told the Goblin that this man must be the Bigot, the head of the Inquisition himself. Styx wasn't able to move, but still squirmed in the High Inquisitor's magical grip.

"Let go of me you fucking bastard! I swear I will kill you so slowly that in the end you'll beg me to finish it!", he screamed at the man. "Maera! I'm gonna punish these assholes for what they did to you, and I'll free you, I promise!"

The Inquisitor just laughed disparagingly. When Styx saw that Maera was crying all the rage and fury suddenly faded from him. Part of him asked why the fuck he had been so stupid. Maybe he should have waited for the right moment. But then they would have hurt Maera even more, and he could not stand the mere thought of that.

"Well, well, look at that. The noble prince has come to save his princess! I don't know about you, boys, but in the stories I heard the two were tall and handsome and less... green", the Bigot said. The guards around them were laughing. The man went on. "Finally! My plan worked perfectly, just as expected."

"Stop babbling, dickhead. What do you want from me?", Styx asked. Now that the trap had sprung, they didn't have any more reason to hurt Maera. Somehow that filled him with such a great relief that he felt ready to face whatever they might want him for.

"What I want? I want you to yield me the secret of the Amber!", the Bigot said with a dramatic voice.

"Oh, so sad to disappoint you, but you got the wrong guy. The last time I tried Amber is so long ago that even your grand-grandfather was still playing with his poop. Sorry, but I can't help you with that", Styx replied. The High Inquisitor grunted.

"Silence, fool. I know from a reliable source that you were the one that caused the destruction of this magnificent Atrium and of the World Tree, the last source of raw Amber. When this source died out, the Barimen family found a way to distill the remaining stocks, but today these stocks are short as well. There must be other sources of Amber, and you will give me the secret."

"Hah! How do you like that? Listen, I have no fucking idea of any Amber-source. You can whine and whimper as much as you want, it won't help you. I know nothing", Styx replied.

"It's true, he can't help you. You were mistaken", Maera said. A guard next to her gave her slap.

"Shut up, greenskin!"

"Hey, leave her alone, asshole! She's right, and even if you hang me upside down from the wall, I don't know anything about Amber", Styx said. Seeing Maera get slapped had given him a sting to the heart. He was still confused about how sad she looked, as if she had not wanted him to come. Not that he expected her to look all happy after what they had done to her, but the way she gazed at him with that deep sorrow in her eyes almost made him think that she would have had preferred if Styx had stayed away.

"Oh, I won't do that to you, I have something way better in mind", the Bigot announced maliciously. "My source told us that you forgot about your Amber-fuelled past when you where reborn in one of those disgusting cocoons of the Elves. Well, I intend to bring back those sweet memories of yours for the sake of the Inquisition, and with the secret of how to harvest more Amber, our holy strife after the liberation of the human Empire of the greenskin infestation will get all the magical support we need! Soldiers, leave us. Disciples, bring the vials!"

Styx inhaled sharply as he realized that Nym, the damn Elf, must be the Bigot's "reliable source". They must have pestered that poor fuck pretty badly to get all those details about him. Again, why the hell did Nym know so much about him, things he didn't even know himself? Apparently, the Elf had played an even bigger role in Styx's past than he would have guessed. What he didn't get was the bullshit the Bigot was talking about some secret source of Amber. Styx was pretty damn sure that there was no other source, and that the Bigot, insane as he was, misunderstood something when torturing the poor Elf. This wouldn't be too surprising, since it was still the Inquisition, and these nutcases only heard what they wanted to hear. There had been an Amber source, the World Tree, that had died under mysterious circumstances and now there was an Elf who knew how that had happened, and apparently, he, Styx, had played some kind of role in that mess, and now the Bigot had set his mind on finding n new source of Amber, starting with the person that probably fucked up the last source. Funny thing was that Styx had no idea.

If it hadn't been for Maera being held as a hostage by those fuckers, Styx might have laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

But he didn't feel like laughing, not a bit. Styx had to hide his anxiety as the guards left the embassy but for a handful of Inquisition disciples, all of them looking determined to fulfill any of their bosses' wishes. They brought a basket filled with flasks, each of them glowing like liquid gold. The Bigot let him down and Styx felt the invisible fist that held him loose a little, just to be replaced by another Inquisitor's firm magical grip. Styx was forced to kneel on the ground, close to the torture rack Maera was still strapped to. He looked in her eyes, trying to tell her silently that he had come here just for her. He wasn't sure whether she understood or not, for she looked just sad and tired.

"Now, Goblin, prepare yourself for a nice little nostalgia trip", the Bigot said. He took a vial of Amber, pulled the cork and went over to Styx.

"No, please! I tell you everything you want!", Maera shouted. Tears were running down her face. Styx couldn't take his eyes from her stricken form, now tired and sad himself. The Bigot came closer to him, showing him the golden vial.

Styx's last experiences with Amber were so long ago that he didn't really know what to expect, but he knew it wouldn't play out well for him if the fucking Inquisition was so fond of it. As one disciple grabbed him to force his head back, he resisted angrily, his teeth clenched tight.

It didn't help him. They forced his jaw open with invisible magical hands, and the Bigot poured the glowing liquid over his mouth. Styx had to swallow if he didn't want to suffocate. The taste was indescribable, neither delicious nor gross, the kind of taste one wants more of even if one didn't like it. Memories of the taste came back to him, how much he had longed for the smell and taste of Amber... Seconds after that, the effect kicked in. Styx was dimly aware of Maera's fear and tears and the bronze masks of the Inquisition's men around him, and then the world turned the color of blood and honey and everything blurred together in one noisy mess, swirling in his head like some golden maelstrom. His head pounded, all the talking and noises mixed up and still sounded like he was wrapped in wool, and then the voices were there.

He had forgotten how terrible that felt. Thousands of voices, whispering in his head. He had already been here, of course he had… He had been in Akenash, even before he was born. Reminiscences of his past in Akenash popped up in his mind, pictures of the World Tree, of Nym, of a labyrinth of corridors and secret passages. He saw his face, but it wasn't his own face, just someone who almost looked like him, but older, tired, completely insane, laughing at him. Styx gave in to the whispering, to the other Styx, and lost himself in the hot golden delirium.

Maera watched in panic how Styx squirmed and shivered when the Bigot forced him to drink the Amber. She saw that it didn't have the effect on him the Inquisition had hoped for, it was too much, it hurt him. What had those idiots expected? That Styx would get drunk and happily tell them all they wanted to hear?

He breathed harder for a few seconds, then he closed his eyes, his head sank down to his chest and he stopped moving.

Whatever the Inquisition had been planning for the Goblin to tell them, it had gone terribly wrong. The disciples were staring completely perplexedly at their High Inquisitor, waiting for him to react. The Bigot stared at the Goblin, obviously not satisfied with the turn events just took. He ordered his men to lift the Goblin up and felt his pulse on his neck. With tears running down her face, Maera feared for the worst.

"It is still alive. Well, seems like it was weaker than the chief torturer estimated. I will have him burn for this miscalculation!", the Bigot snapped. "For the Goblin... We'll wait until it wakes up and then try again. The Amber rush won't last forever. Take them both into the cell!"

Maera was freed from the rack, and strong arms with heavy gloves carried her away to the cell she had to sleep in when she wasn't being questioned. The two disciples that carried her were careful, fearing she might bite again, but she hung between them like a puppet, staring at Styx. They were rudely thrown into a small cell back in the rear of the ruin. Maera didn't pay attention to the creaking of the key in the heavy iron door, she quickly crawled over to Styx and carefully turned him on his back.

"Styx, please... Wake up. Come on Rakash, you're strong, wake up!", she whispered with tears in her eyes, shaking him. Styx didn't react, his body was limp and lifeless. She held some fingers over his mouth and felt his warm breath. He was alive, but he wasn't just unconscious. His forehead was covered with tiny cold sweat beads. When she put her hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat, it was pounding quick and frantic, as if Styx was having a terrible nightmare. Maera struggled for composure and told herself to be strong, for fuck's sake. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes and pushed Styx against her chest, hugging him and holding him tight, hoping he might feel her wherever he was right now. With her left hand she wiped the Amber from his lips and kissed him deeply, as if it might revive him just like in the old stories. No reaction. Maera ignored the burning of the Amber in her injured hand and looked around her desperately thinking.

The small cell might have been some storeroom of the embassy, back then when the Atrium still floated in the sky. The Bigot had said that Styx had something to do with the Atrium of Akenash... Maera had never asked Styx about his past, now that she thought about it, for she had felt that it wasn't something he liked to talk about. He had hinted that he had forgotten most of it, and that he was pretty damn thankful for that. Styx often had nightmares, and sometimes he would wake up in the night screaming or cursing, and panic about things he seemed to have forgotten but that still haunted his sleep. There was something about some Amber addiction, she remembered vaguely, about somebody very cruel that controlled him, and about some nightmarish psycho-trip when he and Arkail freed that mage... Maera would try her best to comfort him, ease his panic and offer him security and gentleness. It often took him a while to find his way back into reality, but when he did, he was exhausted and muddled, and just snuggled up to her, clutching to Maera's body as if she was some piece of driftwood and he was about to drown. She didn't know much about what Styx had been, she realized, she only knew the Goblin he was today. And she really, really wanted that Goblin back, more than anything. No matter what.

Back in the cell, there was a small oil lamp and a box with torture supplies, needles and pincers and also her Academy robes. When she went rummaging about in the box, she found a small vial of Amber, almost empty. The torturer, who had some secret Amber addiction himself, must have left it here accidentally. Maera took it in her hands, looked at the dangerous golden liquid, then looked over to her Styx, how he was lying there unable to move, suffering.

She made a decision.

Maera put the vial to her lips and quickly drank the leftover Amber in it. It tasted weird, and she immediately felt her head pound and her vision blur. Styx's body turned bright yellow, and the world was hidden in a blood-red haze. It wasn't enough, she realized, she needed more... Shaking, she staggered toward Styx, taking his face in her hands. Her heart raced like a frightened bird in a cage. She bent over him and kissed him passionately, and the taste told her that some Amber still hung on his lips. She hoped that this was enough to take her where he was now. His lips were warm, and that was the last thing she felt before she lost her consciousness and collapsed on his body.