"I still do not understand what taste is," the spirit somehow huffed.

Malcolm knew it was a mistake to respond at all. The red specter hovered on the edge of Malcolm's bed, its angry red glow a contrast to the murky green that the Fade was hazed in. It had somehow got in again, into the sanctum where he allowed his mind to rest as he guarded the dreamers of Kirkwall. Malcolm could have made his sanctum look like anything, but he didn't bother giving himself the illusion he was anywhere else but his Circle cell. The thin sandpaper sheets did nothing to soften the metal bed underneath him. The cell had barely enough room for his dresser and desk that he used to do his studies, which he spent more time doodling on than learning. Even here he could still smell the faint aroma of the toilet that was next to his bed. Still, as unpleasant as his sanctum was, he needed a strong sensation to anchor his body, especially if he was going to battle a demon tonight.

Malcolm took in a stale breath, held it for four seconds, and gently let it go. It was important that no matter what happened, he remained calm.

The shimmering of the phantom became more urgent, more vibrant. Malcolm continued to ignore it, even turning his head and body away to make a point, but it didn't seem to stop the creature from trying to dart into view, insistent on having his question answered. After the third turn of his head, the demon reached and gave one of Malcolm's pointy ears a firm yank, screaming, "Can you hear me?"

On instinct, Malcolm swiped at the demon with a crackling fist, but the demon darted away. The sparks in Malcolm's hand arced wildly as he leveled it at his target. "Fuck off, demon. I told you one question."

The wraith started to warp along with the Fade as anger emanated from Malcolm's body. Claws started sprouting from its fingers and through its translucent skin, he could see its teeth starting to jut out at odd angles, but the demon made no move to fight him. "Were you listening? I am not a demon. I'm a Scholar. And you are the first Somniari I have come across in ages."

The demon kept its distance but became more animated, gesturing with its gangly arms. "The last Somniari only survived long enough to tell me about eating, but though I've tried it, the phenomenon remains perplexing." Malcolm jumped as the demon inched closer. "Sometimes eating brings joy. Sometimes eating brings sorrow. Sometimes eating brings no emotion at all." Quivering in curiosity, the demon then sprung forward so close to Malcolm could easily punch it. "Why Somniari?"

The sparks in Malcolm's hands died down as his eyes glazed over, caught in a memory. He saw his mother, with dark brown skin, and beautiful curly hair that cascaded down her back, but her face was blurred as he failed to recall the details. Still, he remembered the smell of the plate of piping hot pancet that she placed in front of him, how the steam coming off of the unending noodles made his mouth water. She brushed his mop of curls from his eyes and kissed his forehead with a warm smile. "Happy birthday, Malcolm."

The creature sniffed at his head as if he was about to take a huge bite. "Oh, what is that? That smells delicious!"

Malcolm swatted at the spirit as if it was an annoying fly. "Stay out of my head!"

But the spirit had already plucked the memory out of his head and dashed away a safe distance from the room. It wiggled in delight of its prize, and in its hands it materialized into a bowl of pancet. Malcolm felt a sick twist of envy as the spirit grabbed a handful of long fried noodles and shoved it into its mouthless face, slurping it down with wet smacking noises. "This," sluuuurp, "memory tastes both," sluuuurp, "happy and sad, though the sadness is fresher."

Malcolm, quaking in anger, rose to his feet, summoning threatening flames so high, they licked the ceiling. "Were you not warned of who I am?"

The spirit continued to eat in bliss, Malcolm's threat no more than an annoyance. "The wisps call you," sluurp, "Spirit Slayer."

Malcolm raised a thick eyebrow, wondering why this spirit had no sense of self preservation. Or was this demon stronger than he thought? "So why do you risk pestering me?"

At this, the demon lowered the bowl, a mess of sauce dripping down its face. "Because only you can answer."

The demon looked sadly at its last noodle and picked it up between its claws. "I, too, have lost much, Somniari. I had a name once. I've given up trying to find it."

"I've asked every stone, every wisp, but so much was lost after The Sundering. What I am, is what I have left." The demon turned to Malcolm and though it had no eyes, he could feel it looking through him with earnestness that he could feel thrumming in his heart. "So if this quest is my end, so be it." Then it ate the noodle, looking oddly like a worm being sucked through a hole.

The flames died in Malcolm's hands, his anger deflating with plumes of smoke. "I guess it wouldn't hurt me to spare a moment."

The words had barely left Malcolm's mouth before his pocket started to buzz with a generic ringtone that vibrated the air of the Fade like a tinging glass. The spirit cocked his head, confused as Malcolm dug through his pajama pockets and fished it out. "Sorry, demon, duty calls."

"Scholar," the spirit corrected, but Malcolm shushed him as he put it to his ear.

A terrified voice began sobbing through the speaker. "Help! Somebody help!"

Malcolm didn't recognize the voice, so they weren't one of the Circle mages being plagued for a meal. An apostate perhaps?

"Hello? It's going to be alright," Malcolm began like he always did. He raised his free hand to feel the cords of the Fade that were weaving together, trying to connect to the dreamer who rang his phone. The air around his hands shimmered like sparkling dust, faint harp-like threads connecting from the tips of his fingers.

"Hello?" the voice answered back, full of confusion. "Who is this?"

"That doesn't matter. Can you tell me where you are?" Malcolm stepped off his bed and towards his bedroom door.

"Where I am?" the voice repeated, slick with tears. "I'm…I don't know."

He could feel that she was panicked, confused, disoriented, and that there was a dark aura surrounding her, stronger than he had felt in awhile. Malcolm had been sure that he had cleansed this area of the Fade of demons, but this just meant that more would come in to feed on the remnants. Malcolm closed his eyes, reaching through the phone to try to peek at her dream. "Yes, you do," his soothing voice taking a commanding tone. "Just open your eyes and describe what you see."

He heard her gasping for air as she struggled to breathe but eventually she sputtered out. "I'm in my bedroom. It's filling up with water, fast. You have to hurry."

He put his hand on the door. Through the darkness of his eyelids he began to see light, and the running rush of water filled his ears. "Describe your room to me."

"What would it matter!?"

"It matters if I'm going to find you."

A beat of silence registered on the phone, before she continued. "Well, it's a room…with a closet and a bed."

"Helpful," Malcolm snorted before he could stop himself. Still, a misty silhouette of a closet, which was more like its own room, and a grand bed with a flowing cloth canopy started to form. There was a body tucked within it, nestled on a throne of pillows.

"Well I'm in a state of panic right now! Can you blame me? My clothes are getting ruined. It'll cost a fortune to redo these carpets, not to mention-"

Malcolm sighed, trying to press on as she chattered. It never did any good to argue, but this monologue wasn't helping. "What color are your blankets?"

"Cream…embroidered with gold thread." The vision in his mind began to fill in with color.

"And the pattern of the embroidery?"

"Really?"

"Messere," Malcolm gritted his teeth. "It's important you stay calm. The more you panic the faster the water will flood." It wasn't a lie, but he also needed her to hurry.

She relented with a sigh, and said, "a gold-leaf rose spread."

It took a little more coaxing, but eventually Malcolm got her to describe her wallpapers, floral and pink, and her carpet, which she insisted before the flood was a beautiful white color. She also described a bookcase, her lute, and a vanity mirror where she would get ready for the day each morning, a family heirloom, made from wood of the grove of the Emerald Graves, with brass knob handles and the symbol of her family's crest that was carved into the wood, that showed either two ravens perched in angular stone columns, or a dragon head, depending on how you looked at it. Soon he could see the room, and could finally solidify the flimsy connection.

He pressed his forehead against the bedroom door, eyes still closed, the hard metal cold and unforgiving. "Now I need you to walk up to your door and let me in."

"Are you crazy?" she shouted so loud that Malcolm had to take his ear away from the receiver. "It's going to let all the water in!"

"No," Malcolm said calmly. "Because I will be on the other side."

"You know that makes no sense."

"You're talking to a strange voice in your head, your room is flooded, and from my estimate about the cost of that vanity mirror alone, you live somewhere in Hightown. Does any of this make sense?"

This time she whined, which sounded more cute than annoying. "But I'm going to get wet."

Malcolm burst out in laughter. He had run into a lot of dreamers, but while most were suggestive, she seemed to easily resist the strings connecting them. He could see deep into the pit of her heart that she was as stubborn as he was, which was saying something. It was intriguing really, but before his curiosity could run away with it, his sensible self reminded him that she was in danger. And with how long it took for him to find the location of her dream, the demon had now sensed him coming.

"Look, the door is locked, and only you can open it."

"Can't you just break the lock open?"

"Sure," Malcolm said, "but that door represents the connection of your body to your slumbering mind. If I break it open, it would hurt…a lot."

Silence filled the air except for the splash of rising water and the slurping noise of Scholar licking the last remnants of sauce from their bowl.

"You promise you'll be on the other side?"

"Promise."

She heaved a huge sigh and after a few moments, he could hear the sloshing of water as she started to wade her way through her bedroom, but Malcolm could not only hear it from the speaker, but the other side of the door as well. Malcolm shoved his phone back into his pocket and placed his hand on the doorknob that would normally be electronically locked, but right now, it was just another illusion of the Fade. As the lock clicked open, Malcolm turned the doorknob, blissfully unaware of how his life would change until he met the girl's black doe eyes.

Malcolm did not register the rushing cold water that was now flooding his bedroom and soaking his feet. His mouth fell gape as he was stunned motionless by her beauty. She had tawny cream skin that looked like it had been cared for with the most expensive moisturizer regimens and luminous sleek black locks that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Her lush pink lips formed a perfect 'o' as her dainty eyebrows shot up, seeming just as entranced by Malcolm as he was by her. Malcolm's gaze dropped down just for a second before it shot back up to her face, heat crawling up his neck, as he realized that her pastel pink nightgown was silk, lacy, and clung to every curve.

Malcolm had never felt such a strong reaction in his body before, and he wasn't even in his body, which he was thankful for. His throat closed up as his mind suddenly emptied of all coherent thoughts and he was left staring at her face while trying very hard to erase the image of her body just seconds before. It was then that she looked down and snorted. "You're in pajamas."

"So are you," Malcolm stuttered back, immediately kicking himself for that answer.

She placed a hand on a cocked hip and it took all of Malcolm's willpower not to drag his eyes back down to the movement. "You didn't think to change before coming to a lady's rescue?"

It was then Malcolm recovered, resting the palm of his hand on his chest as he bowed in apology. "Terribly sorry to disappoint, my Lady. Had I known that I was on my way to meet a woman so beautiful, I'd have taken the occasion to dress up."

A delicious blush formed on her cheeks and she patted them with her hands as she turned away shyly. It was there, in the corner of Malcolm's eye, that he noticed, too late, multiple sets of eyes forming in the darkness that was once the woman's room.

Malcolm grabbed the woman's hand without thinking, trying to pull her into the safety of his sanctum, but a pair of inky black tentacles with slithery hands had already wrapped around her waist and pulled her back to the void. Malcolm tried to pull with all of his strength, but she was quickly slipping. He had left the door open for too long. Malcolm cursed himself for making such a careless mistake. It was one of the first rules of traveling the Fade and he had forgotten it like an apprentice. The woman screamed, her hands quickly slipping from Malcolm's grip as more and more hand-like tentacles wrapped around her.

"You will not take my dreamer!" multiple warped wet voices screeched in the darkness, which made the woman shriek louder. In her fear, the woman's grip slipped and Malcolm fell backwards as she quickly splashed back into the void, her screams quickly being drowned underwater in a stream of bubbles.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Malcolm scrambled to his feet, ready to dive into the portal when the spirit stopped him, using his bowl as a shield.

"Wait!" The spirit pleaded. "That's a terror demon, an ancient one, and if you die fighting it, I'll never get my answer."

Malcolm recalled sparks to his hands as he raised a fist in warning. "Move or you're next."

"But-"

Malcolm shot a stream of lightning over the demon's head, scorching the stone above the door. "MOVE!"

The demon blinked away before Malcolm further lost his temper and not a moment later, he dove headfirst into the murky portal.

He could hear the splash hitting him with a wall of liquid too viscous and acrid to be water. He could feel the strings of the Fade twist into the web around him, tightening the trap shut. It took a moment for his body to stop fighting with the gagging feeling of swallowing, of his lungs filling up with liquid.

As he struggled to breathe he had to remind himself that even this was an illusion. He took only a moment to calm and gather himself, squinting through the darkness as he strained to orient.

He could feel the woman's panicked mind, could feel her flailing and kicking her way to the surface, but no matter how hard she swam the water never broke. If he couldn't end this in time, she would drown for real.

With renewed urgency, Malcolm searched for the woman. The demon was close. Being Somniari, he was extremely sensitive to a demon's presence. The pain and wrongness of what they are manifested in a painful buzzing beneath his skin and now that it was feasting, Malcolm was in agony. Though the water was cold, his body felt like it was firing on every nerve, his bones seemed to vibrate, and he had to fight his own rising panic as he felt the woman's consciousness begin to drift. There wasn't time for him to fight the demon. Visible strings formed at the end of Malcolm's fingers and he attached it to the webs around him and started to pull. The water shook and trembled as he tore a chunk of the Veil.

His body jolted as the water suddenly had a direction to flow. Streams of green hazy light flooded the dark depths and revealed brilliant emerald sky, loomed the gates of the Black City. Malcolm frantically looked for signs of where the woman was and he spotted her a couple hundred yards in the distance, being dragged to the bottom by a slinking tentacle around her ankle, the last of her breath floating away in bubbles.

With renewed vigor, Malcolm rocketed towards the woman, demanding the Fade to carry him to her with his crushing willpower. With a wave of his hand he sliced through the water. A ray of blinding light flashed through the darkness and cut through the tentacle, revealing the creature below for a moment, which made Malcolm's stomach drop. It was too big for his eyes to fathom, with a mass of limb-like tentacles and hundreds of gigantic goat eyes bigger than he was. The water vibrated with an echoing screech that he felt in conjunction with his vibrating bones. Inky black streams of demon blood plumed in the water.

He jetted to the woman and gathered her into his arms, trying to ignore how soft and warm she felt against his thin night clothes. As he shifted directions back to the hole he tore, her hair whipped in his face and he sputtered, struggling to see where he was going. He clawed the hair from his vision, seeing the precious crack in the cage only a few seconds away, only for a vice-like tentacle to wrap around his ankle and yank him backwards.

He lost grip of the woman, and more tentacles wrapped around his limbs, snaking up his torso and wrapping around his neck. The demon twisted him back towards the darkness where he could see the silhouette writhing and stretching, with limbs flailing as if it was just composed of thousands of bodies. The demon's voice came with a croak, like a chorus of dying men speaking at once. "Here I was fighting for a sorry snack when I had a feast right before me."

The demon's many limbs squeezed Malcolm as another set of hands turned his face this way and that as if he was being examined. "Hmmm, but you're such a strong one. It seems like a waste of this opportunity, doesn't it?"

The demon dragged Malcolm closer in the darkness bringing it up to one of its square pupils swirling in amusement. "What do you say, somniari? With your power and mine we could change the very fabric of reality."

Malcolm coughed, choking on his answer.

The demon chuckled and relaxed its grip. "Oh, I forget how you mortals need to breathe." He patted Malcolm on the head. "Now…what do you say?"

"I said," Malcolm smirked, taking in a breath of delicious not-air as his hands started to spark, "fuck off."

Before the demon could react, he filled its body with electricity, the many limbs flailing wildly. The demon lost its grip and Malcolm jetted back towards the woman, and scooped her up, not bothering to stop for a breath. Then heading towards the crack in the cage, he began to imagine her door. What did she say? Brown Antivan sandalwood with baroque carved gold inlays. She picked the doorknob herself, the carving of Andraste as a child singing to the sun. He felt like he should be annoyed by how outrageous all that must have cost for a door and yet he was struck by all of the images she could have chosen for the warrior prophet, she chose her at peace, in song.

He couldn't think about it much further before he had broken free. He exhaled and coughed out water and it started to gush freely and all over the woman, but she did not stir.

"You will not get away!" the terror demon shrieked, many inky black limbs harpooning towards them.

Malcolm did not have time to panic about the demon or the fact that the woman was unresponsive. He opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.

He rushed the woman to her too expensive gold inlaid cream comforter and laid her down. The demon started banging at the door and Malcolm threw his hand up, weaving up a barrier, then adding an extra layer and then one more for good measure. He turned back to the woman, his hands glowing blue as he examined her spirit body. With a gentle churn of his hands, he coaxed the water from her lungs until she could breathe freely. Then after a few panic inducing moments she coughed and sputtered, her eyes darting around in terror.

"Easy, now, easy," Malcolm rubbed her back in soft soothing circles that immediately sprang into goosebumps at his touch.

Her hyperventilation soon turned into crying as she broke down in relieved sobs, grateful that she wasn't living her worst nightmare anymore. Before Malcolm realized what she was doing, she suddenly clung to him, crying into his shoulder, the wet fabric against his skin a terrible reminder that her thin clothes were now see-through and she definitely wasn't wearing a bra. He tried to ignore the burning electricity that ran over his skin and just continued to rub her back, tempted to make the moment last longer.

But a bang at the door was a quick reminder that he was on a deadline that was quickly running out. "Hey," he choked out, and quickly cleared his throat of the stutter that was suddenly there. "You need to wake up now."

"You say the silliest things. Don't you think I've tried." She pulled away with a frown. "Besides, isn't this the good part of the dream?"

Malcolm cocked his head. "The good part?"

The woman blushed again, unable to look at his eyes, which made him nervous for some reason. "You know…slay the demon, save the girl…celebrate?"

"Celebrate?" Malcolm asked cluelessly.

Then she did something he didn't expect. She slid the spaghetti straps of her wet nightgown off her shoulders until he could see just the top of her peachy nipples.

Without thinking, he jumped back and looked away, shielding his eyes with his hands before he could tempt himself with another glance. "What in the Maker's name are you doing?"

She then scowled, her face turning as red as he felt. "Why are you making this so weird? This is my sex dream."

"Sex dream?" Malcolm burst out in surprised jittered laughter. "What kind of sex dreams do you have, lady?"

"Well as far as this one goes, I'd rank it my worst." She hunched over, throwing her spaghetti straps back and bunching up her blankets to cover herself modestly.

Malcolm thumbed at the vibrating door. "Do you hear that banging?"

The woman looked at her shaking bedroom door as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "That's just Mara trying to wake me up."

"No, that's a demon, trying to eat you."

Her eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead. "You didn't slay the demon!?"

Malcolm could have explained how he didn't have time and that she was in immediate danger, but instead he said, "It was a really big demon." Then the door started to crack.

Tears pricked the woman's eyes as her knuckles whitened, clenching the blankets. Suddenly Malcolm sprang to her side placing a palm on her hand. "Don't worry," he rubbed her hand gently. "Just wake up. I promise, you'll never have this dream again."

Her doe eyes blinked back a tear. "Never?"

Malcolm smiled, reassuringly. "Never."

She bit her bottom lip. "Then…it's my only chance."

Malcolm blinked in confusion, and in the next moment, her hands cradled his face and she pulled him into a kiss. Somehow he tasted strawberries and suddenly he realized that it was now his favorite flavor. Her lips were like the first bite of a good meal after you've been fed nothing but salted gruel. But she was more divine, richer, and sweeter than he could imagine. He felt alive, awake, with an electricity running through him so that the tips of his fingers started to spark. Before he knew what he was doing, he was crushing her body to him, her racing heart thudding against his own. His hands trailed down her slick back and tangled in her hair as he tried to memorize this moment, how soft her lips felt against his, how her fingers raked through his curls. They kissed as if they needed each other to breathe, their tongues exploring desperately in the precious seconds they had. It was only when the door shattered apart and the woman cried out in pain that Malcolm remembered why he was here.

She cradled her head like it was splitting open and she needed to hold it together.

"Fuck," Malcolm cursed himself as he examined her. He began to numb the pain around her head, sealing the wound into a scar. "I shouldn't have done that."

The demon began to flail its many limbs at the barrier, cracks already forming with each hit. Still, Malcolm massaged Leandra's head with quick precise strokes of magic that she leaned into with a satisfied hum. As he worked, a soft smile formed on his lips. "So," he purred. "What's your name?"

The tense streaks of pain in her face eased as her gaze softened at him, staring at him through thick lashes. "Leandra."

"I'm Malcolm," he said in the next breath. "Thought you should know since you kissed me. Not that you'll remember."

She looked downright offended and smacked him on the shoulder. "I think I would remember the name of a man who kissed me like that."

His smile fractured and his gaze dropped for a second. "You won't…but it doesn't matter." Then he placed two fingers on either side of her temples and gazed deep into her black starry eyes. "Wake up."

She gasped for breath as if she had just sprung up from being underwater and her form faded as her spirit drifted back into her body. That was when the last barrier split open.

A hand grasped around his neck, yanking him back into the dark void.

"I have you now, Somniari. A worthy trade," the voices spoke. He could feel his mental defenses being ravaged as the demon curled up around him, trying to invade his mind.

It wasn't safe to fight like this, within the demon's lair. It was better to retreat and plan this hunt for a better day, but could he risk such a creature to wander free? He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes trying to reach back for his body, to wake himself up.

"You will not escape me!" the demon screeched, trying to fasten his hold, but Malcolm was already fading, plummeting. There was a feeling of vertigo as his soul traveled through the slip of the Veil and back into his body where he belonged.

He gasped for breath, his body jerking upright, wild golden eyes flickering around him. Then he fell backward in his bed breathing a sigh of relief. The hard metal at his back was a good reminder that he was safe, but he still clenched a sweaty hand into the soaked sandpapery sheets to make sure. His other hand clutched his throat where suction marks of the tentacles that had taken hold of his spirit, a terrible reminder how careless he had been. But his lips were still tingling and it wasn't long until his fingers wandered there, tracing her essence, trying to remember what it felt like, but his finger was too rough to replicate the memory. Still, a warmness flooded his body and he relaxed back into his flat pillow dazing up at the ceiling, wondering, "Who the hell is she?"