As with Brela, Des had never dared ask Dio what he truly wanted. Since the young man always seemed to enjoy working the fields with him, Des had not minded. They had become friends, and Des was glad. He was equally glad for Dio’s company and for Brela’s, although Dio had a way of speaking that fascinated him even more.

  There was wonder in his words and in his questions, and they were never burdened with unnecessary clutter. They aimed for the essential. Brela was much gentler in spirit, and that was exactly what he loved about her. Even so, Dio was a different kind of person, someone who fascinated Des in his own way.

  The three of them often sat on the fallen log at the edge of the forest and looked into the distance, pondering the meanings of the Dream. They never went so deep that they found reasons to leave the village or to ask too many new questions, fortunately. Brela mostly listened, Dio asked, and their talks had always been entertaining.

  Though when the Sun had risen for the first time and the twilight faded from the land, Des had felt the urge within himself again, breaking into his mind for the first time in what felt like forever. Still he did not dare ask Brela about it, since she seemed less interested in solemn questions and more in the happiness found in small things, except perhaps when it came to discovering new ways of mixing herbs into medicine.

  And then, when Brela fell ill after her daring venture into the forest, barely saved by Dio's strange powers, it was not the right moment either. Her well-being was more important than any foolish thoughts.

  Dio, however, was a different matter. Dio might enjoy speaking about the urge for something new; he was an explorer, an explorer bound by a promise to a village called Daw, or so he had said.

  So it happened that one day Des asked him, after they had cared for Brela together, to sit with him on the fallen log. The air carried the evening breeze that day and the scent of wheat and blooming flowers, and the nearby woods loomed mysterious and untouched. Brela was not with them but lying on the remains of the bed Klan had built for her after a late-night conversation with Dio during an especially beautiful sunset so long ago.

  Dio had changed a little since Brela had fallen ill and since he had tried, in feverish desperation, to save her, while Des had stood by helplessly, unsure of what to do.

  Des cared deeply for Brela, of course, yet the Dream could be unfair, and he had come to accept that.

  "Do you think she will awaken soon, Dio?" he began.

  Despite his own urge rearing its head again, Brela remained the priority (of course she did). Des did not want to lose her to Waking, nor did he want to allow his wandering thoughts to overshadow what truly mattered (her); even so, he could not silence them. In the end, everyone woke up.

  "To be honest, I do not know, Des. She looks more fragile every day. You see it too, don't you? Her skin is growing grayer and harder in places. Her breath has begun to smell of rotten decay. Sorry, that may have been too much gloom," Dio said slowly.

  He looked at the setting Sun, his voice without a trace of emotion.

  Des hesitated.

  "Yes, you are right, Dio. She is fading. And I am afraid of losing her to an illness I cannot even explain. Dio, why do illnesses exist here at all? Should this not be the best place for everyone? Should this not be a refuge without worry? Why is Brela suffering? What did she do to deserve this?" he finally forced out, rare traces of anger rising in his heart.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Dio took his time to think, as he often did, then looked away from the vanishing light on the horizon and into Des’s aged face.

  "I do not know. You know that yourself. I know the question was rhetorical, yet I still have no answer. I feel as though I ought to know. I should understand what is tormenting her, what is eating her body and her soul. Why do I not know? Or rather, how could I find out? It hurts to think about how powerless I am. That I most likely cannot save her. You saw it, I tried. And for a moment she was better, but it did not last. Why did it not heal her?"

  He sighed, his voice heavy.

  "I am sorry, Dio, I did not mean... I did not want to—"

  "I know. Do not worry, Des. I am simply angry about this helplessness. Do you understand? Why cannot we help her? Why must we sit here thinking about the cruelties of this Dream, about its injustice, instead of discovering something that could heal her? If only we were lucid. If only we had the Light within us to drive away the darkness devouring Brela. But inside me, there is only this emptiness, growing bigger, almost comforting. So I am waiting for someone who knows where to find a Sage. Perhaps then we will... But I cannot leave her. I think she would fade even faster if I tried once more."

  Dio buried his face in his hands and screamed into his palms, trembling.

  "I am so sorry, Dio. I did not want to upset you. Let us not talk about this anymore. I did not intend to cause you more pain."

  Dio looked back up, and his face had become a mask of sorrow.

  "Des, the truth is that these things need to be said. I cannot deny that I can do nothing. I cannot deny that I am powerless before this rotten illness that is extinguishing her light. I am not like Ray. I am not someone who follows the Light and bathes in its calm. I am simply a farmer who works the fields, unable to do anything against illness or anything else that threatens us, devoured by my own failure."

  He looked at Des, tears gathering in his eyes, anger at himself sharp across his features.

  "I always thought being a farmer was enough. A gardener," Des said slowly.

  He looked away toward the fields, thinking about the time he had spent here. Would anything have been different if he had gone out into the world to see new things? Could he have learned something that would save Brela now, before she woke up?

  Would he have—

  "Being a farmer is one of the most wonderful things there is, just as being a gardener is," Dio said suddenly.

  A tear ran down his cheek.

  Des had rarely seen him cry; it shook him each time in a strange and quiet way.

  "Des, I am sorry for what I said a moment ago. I know you have been here for so long, watching over this place in your own way, ensuring there is enough grain for us and for everyone who joins us, for the travelers and explorers who come through nowadays. Being a farmer, being a gardener, that is enough when you love it. And I know you do. Even so, I also long for other things. That longing makes me... restless.

  "I still want to experience the beauty of tending a field and letting rye and other crops grow, of breathing in the scent when the corn ripens, of feeling the Sun on my skin. It is beautiful to be a farmer, Des. It is simply that... I also want to save Brela. Yet as a farmer, I cannot. And it makes me miss her even more."

  Des understood. He had never asked about Ray. He had heard Dio mention her again and again, yet had never dared intrude on his privacy. Brela had occasionally breached the topic, but Dio had stopped truly answering once he realized it was one of the few subjects that made them both sad.

  Now, however, Des felt it was appropriate to ask. It might help pull Dio away from the helplessness they both shared, the helplessness Des also wished he could extinguish in his own heart.

  "What was she... what is she like? You never spoke much about her. It has been long since we talked about her. The way you say her name, though... Who is she to you, Dio? Really, I mean?"

  "The most special thing I have. We are connected, I think, even though people who probably know better told me otherwise."

  "Nonsense. If you are truly connected, then only the two of you can know that. No one else. Even I understand that much."

  "I would like to believe that. In the end... Yes, I miss her. I miss her terribly, even though I was with her only a short time. Yet those moments... Those are the memories I treasure most. I love her deeply, and I do not even know why, and I have not even told her..."

  For the first time since they had sat on the old log that evening, Dio smiled, albeit with new tears in his eyes, yet he relaxed a bit. Des saw at once that speaking of Ray, whoever she was, eased him and was glad for his friend.