I’ve been dreaming for a long time and saw many things I haven't really been able to process. Flashes of memories of places I don’t think I’ve ever been, from perspectives I don’t recognize. Shorter than me, taller than me. Lighter than me, heavier than me. Different postures, different gaits. But through all of them in all of these places, these memories, there was a consistent detail. They were always at the center of a whirlwind of confusion, violence, and death. People who lost themselves and became something else. I'm losing track of how many of these nightmares I'm experiencing — they're becoming a blur because of the similarities.

  But one piece of information, one difference, stands out starkly to me. I see these people killing — I'm killing in these memories. However, they contrast my experience. I woke up surrounded by drained vessels; bodies, I have to remind myself. People, even. I had no blood on my hands. I was not sated like these people in my memories were. I woke with the same thirst, but wasn’t able to slake it.

  But…that woman was utterly convinced I had killed all of those people, and without my own memories to compare against her beliefs, where should that leave me?

  I think through the problem with as much stoicism as I can, but every time I run my mind over the events before I fell into the river and was left…wherever here is, I find myself experiencing an emotion I do not enjoy. I’m sad. I don’t know why, but I’m sad. There’s something waiting for me behind the haze of these memories, and I don’t think I want to meet it. Something watching from beyond the veil that knows what I’ve done. Is it trying to stop me from finding out? Is it trying to protect me from finding out? I circle on this point for a while, trying to glean what information I can from the cascade of memories that are both mine and not mine.

  I feel a spike of pain in my temple, like something has struck me. At first, I reach up and feel a small trickle of blood on my fingers, but when I reach to touch the wound again, it’s scabbed over and begun healing already. A wave of exhaustion washes over me as the healing happens, and I almost wish it would stop. I’m already so incredibly hungry, and mending myself is only worsening every sensation. It gives me a peculiar sensation, like someone wrapping their arms around me, but as I cast my eyes around, I can see nothing. I feel another presence, though. A vessel, something fairly dense, but with a different energy that I’m not familiar with. For a brief moment, something holds on to my hand and I feel a spark of connection between the vessel and I and information jumps readily to my mind, seemingly incomplete. A name in a language I don’t know. Details on an essence I’m unfamiliar with.

  As I contact the being, I see information as a jumble of mismatched symbols in my mind

  ??? ???∴?? ???∴??

  ?○? ?????? ???? ????? ○?? ????? ????

  ??∴?? ???∴?∴?? ??

  The flow of information feels warm, comfortable, and I want it to last longer. But it is severed near instantly after the contact, leaving me feeling a bit more hollow for having had the experience at all.

  More time passes, and I feel yet another presence near me, but this one burns. A similar amount of contact, like someone wrapping me up in a fire-warmed blanket. They exist on the edge of my perception, but I feel a potent source of power within them. When I make this realization, I am reminded of my hunger again. Something inside me growls at the idea of taking that energy. I simply need to open my eyes and do so. I try, but I don’t have the strength.

  “Am I going to be trapped here forever? Locked within my own mind, experiencing the memories of others? How long can I hold up like that?” I ask the void of space I find myself in and receive no answer but the continued sight of these memories. Which might be an answer in and of itself, I think with a slight smile. I can’t quite place it, but it feels absurd, making that connection. So I start to laugh and for a few moments, and that laughter almost makes me forget how hungry I am. Almost. Right as I start to focus on it once more, I feel repeated touches. Something cool being pressed to my arm, then my torso, then a spot on my thigh. It’s relaxing and distracting all at once, and standing out in stark contrast to the scalding hot presence near me.

  I feel that presence come nearer and for a brief moment, I feel a similar connection to the one from earlier. Similar information, but in a form I can process, floods my mind.

  [Ayre’A’kana] [Solar Dragon] [Malformed Gate (Inert), Ignia Affinity, Aero Affinity]

  A point of contact that feels so nice. But that moment is shattered as I feel a font of energy yawn before me, and before I can even think, I throw myself forward into it and it feels so good. It’s spicy like peppers, warm like bread, and sweet like cream. It fills my stomach like a full meal, and slakes my thirst like a deep draught. I keep pulling more and more within myself and feel tendrils of my consciousness probing outwards, like the sleepy moments before waking. I begin to feel like myself, I think. Not all of those dreams and nightmares. I feel like me, whoever I am, I guess. It feels right.

  But at the other end of this flood of energy, I feel resistance, something trying to stop me from sating myself after suffering so long in this place, and I try to fight back mentally. There’s a moment of struggle before I overwhelm it and the flow returns to normal. I bask in it, like laying atop a warm stone on a nice summer day. It’s wonderful, and the more I feel it, the more that wakefulness toes its way back into my mind.

  Meek power builds on the other side, but the amount it siphons off is trivial compared to the veritable tidal wave of energy pouring in, so I ignore it, preferring to revel in the sensation. But I realize my mistake a moment later. I feel that building power strike out and separate me from the source of red-hot energy with a violent, wrenching motion.

  My eyes open to blinding light, so I squeeze them shut for a moment before realizing I’m awake. I hear a crash to my left and sit upright, reaching for that dagger I pinned to my belt, only to realize I am almost entirely without clothes, am covered in patches of fabric bandages and the dagger is gone. I turn my head just in time to see a winged figure slam into a wall after stumbling for a moment and immediately collapsing to the floor. It—she, I realize—isn’t familiar physically, but I feel the same sensation of searing-hot essence within her, and as my eyes adjust to the room, I see a visible aura bleeding from her. Knowledge jumps to my mind, though I can't place its source. It means the soul vessel within her is damaged.

  “Did I do that? I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I didn’t try to hurt anyone, not even the girl who attacked me. But I’m the only one here…” I look down, and see scorched skin on my hand, matching similar marks on the woman’s outstretched hand, reaching for a doorway without a door. “I must be responsible. That power I felt was her defending herself. It’s the only explanation that makes sense." Her energy is leaking into the air and dissipating into nothingness, and I feel an intense need to draw it within me, but I force that feeling down. “I do not want to hurt anyone, especially not someone who was seemingly helping me. I am not the monster that white-haired woman thinks I am. A monster would hurt, not help.”

  I swing my legs down off the bed and take a couple slow, uncertain, steps towards the woman on the ground. Her hair is copper red at the roots, but steadily turns into a verdigris green towards the tips and is draping down to hide most of her features, while her wings cover the rest of her almost like the protective shell of an egg. She looks very fragile, and I reach down without thinking to place my hand on her back, a motion that feels very natural to do to someone who is hurt that many of the memories seem to agree with.

  “Don’t you touch her!” I hear a shout from my left and have almost no time to react before I am bodily tackled to the ground near the fallen woman.

  “I- I didn’t want to hurt her, she’s damaged and needs help, can’t you see that?” I stammer out as a nacred-gold pile of fabric, limbs, and hair strikes at me while straddling my midsection. “If you want to kill me too, fine, maybe I deserve it, but can you help her first? I think she was the one tending my wounds, and I don’t want her to die.” I eke out the words between now-slowing blows.

  The smaller woman, very slight of build, with sharp nacred eyes and long hair to match, and draped in a tattered dress, stops her assault for a moment and murmurs something as she turns. I realize then that she feels familiar too. Her presence feels like the first I felt that I couldn’t make sense of.

  There is a spike of power in the air — called from somewhere within her and leaking out through brightening, jagged, golden cracks in her skin — and when it reacts to her, it performs her chosen task without being deliberately shaped. Pearlescent gold dust pours from around her eyes, looking like a shower of sparks from a blacksmiths hammer. Her face goes shock white as she looks at the fallen woman. And she glances back at me accusingly, “Some hero you are, what did you do to her?”

  “Hero? I didn’t do anything on purpose. I think she touched me and I sapped energy out of her, and no, I don't understand why or how.” I pre-empt. “I don’t think I can fix it, though.”

  She huffs and hops up off me and says another incantation, this time audibly, and as she does, her hair blows back, and I feel energy building in the air again. I see golden specks in the air materializing around her and where each one settles on me, I feel an almost painful burning tingle. Her words, however, ring like a clarion call, “Seal and mend this sacred shell, save my friend, and make them well.”, and once more this alien essentia comes to her command and shapes itself at her will. I stare in awe for a moment as I see it wrap around the fallen woman's’ soul vessel, finding small cracks in its surface and filling them with something akin to magical golden mortar, mending the damage at the same time it almost…beautifies the whole. The ephemeral whites and blues of a vessel repaired with golden thread filling the cracks. In many ways, it looks almost identical to the girls own skin.

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  As the process goes on, my ability to see her vessel lessens, along with the feeling of potent power I’d had after waking up.

  She continues to weave the magic with visible strain growing on her face. I slowly rise, entranced by the power on display and feel something growing within me — an urge to reach out and take it, but I fight it down with some effort. After a minute passes by, the magic suddenly ends with a snap of air pressure and the woman casting the spell shrinks to easily a tenth of her size and slowly lets herself fall to a sitting position in a nearby chair that now dwarfs her. I glance at the fallen woman. The burning essentia has stopped fleeing her, but is instead actively being drawn towards her, steadily pooling within her vessel. I watch as the copper haired and scaled woman begins to breathe more evenly, leaving her ragged gasps behind.

  “That was astonishing.” I utter before I realize I had. My jaw agape.

  The, now about four inch tall, woman looks up at me with a small bit of incredulity. “Amazing is a word. “‘Going to get me in terrible trouble’ would be some other words that apply.” she looks indignant for a moment, but her eyes settle back on the other woman, “But, it was worth it, so I guess I can suffer the tongue lashing. She'll be fine, and that's what matters.” She makes an exaggerated shrug. “So, who, exactly, are you, river boy? Why is your arm like that? You are a cursed hero, right? Deposed prince of a long forgotten kingdom forced into exile because of a terrible, unmentionable curse that befalls your family once every ten generations?” She looks at me with utter seriousness, and I squirm under the diminutive gaze.

  “I’m…no. I’m not a hero. At least not that I’m aware of, my memories go back maybe five hours?” I start to try to explain but catch myself, realizing that it must sound unbelievable.

  Her eyes light up, and she jumps to her feet, flying to within inches of my face. “You don’t have any memories? That’s great! Perfect, even! That means you might be a prince or hero; you're definitely cursed, otherwise. Tell me what you remember! Do you have a rival?”

  I stare at her for a moment, blinking slowly, trying to process the questions, “Aren’t you mad at me? You were hitting me before.”

  “Huh? Oh, that? No. I think you’re probably fine. You were dead unconscious when we found you, and you woke up when Ayre was tending to your wounds—the rest of it was just an unfortunate coincidence. Plus you were telling the truth when you said you didn't want to hurt anyone and that you were fine being killed for it — which is kinda weird, but I appreciate the emotionality of the claim if nothing else.” She says with a dismissive wave of her hand clearly having made the decision for herself and looks away, “Besides, I prefer the version of things where she woke you with a romantic kiss or something similar, so that’s probably what I’ll write down about the events anyways. If you’re not a prince, do you think there’s a possibility you’re at least an orphan?” She looks at me significantly again. “Also, can you pick her up and put her in the bed, please don't use the hand that did the whole ‘stealing her vital energy and breaking her soul’ thing, though.”

  Speaking with this small woman is leaving my head spinning. Her manner of speech is confusing, and her line of questions and demands all seem entirely unrelated to everything going on. I, however, nod and reach down with my left hand, kneeling, and haul the draconic looking woman to her feet, supporting her fully and with difficulty — she's much…sturdier than I would have expected. I slowly move across the room and lay her on her side in the bed, trying to move her wings and tail in a way that would be comfortable—at least I make an effort of it. Doing so, I get a good look at the other of my two saviors. She looks to be the same age visually as the other girl. She has soft features and kind eyes that strongly contrast the other woman, who has a sharp visage to match her sharp tongue.

  “I see you staring at her, do you think she’s pretty?” There's very much a note of anticipation in her voice that gives me the impression that the question is a test of some kind. Or at least something she's invested in.

  “Uh, yeah, I guess?” I look away, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

  “You guess?” She looks at me, scandalized. “Ayre has to be the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen if your memories are only, like, five hours old.”

  [Ayre'A’khana]

  “Her name is Ayre, then? That makes a lot of sense in a way that is hard to describe.” I think back to that stream of information but shake my head as I feel a small bit of mischief brewing somewhere deep inside me and look at the small girl, “Besides, based on your logic, then if I’m not terribly stunned by her beauty, wouldn’t that just mean I found you more beautiful? After all, you’re the only other person I’ve seen.” I stare at her as flatly as I can manage. Making that kind of jab felt very natural, a little more like something normal. I pack that thought away for now, though.

  The gilded woman looks flushes a bit and turns away with a huff. “Uh-huh, now you’re trying to….do something. Well, it won’t work, us Fairfolk are immune to flattery as a matter of due course.”

  “Well, then, in that case, this Ayre woman is definitely the most beautiful person I’ve seen. Is that better, Miss…?” I trail off, probing to get her name.

  She looks momentarily offended before launching into an animated description, “Lilidh O'Ceilidh, of the Court of Song and Tale.” She flits back towards me and her wings carry her up to head height with me, about a foot away from my face, “And you would do well to remember that you’re in the presence of a princess, and to act accordingly. Namely, by worshiping the ground I walk upon.” She waits a few moments while preening. After I pretty clearly fail to give the reaction she was looking for, she turns back towards me with narrowed eyes, “Well…?”

  “Hh-ley-leed Ohkay-leed?” I say, after a few moments of thinking through the sounds, knowing full well I have absolutely butchered her name.

  She stares for a heartbeat in apparent disbelief, it seems like even her wing flutters slow a bit, “I’m deciding that prince is off the table. You are far too unrefined for “prince” to be possible. Unless you were deposed very young, I guess…” She taps a finger on her chin while crossing her arms, “Alright, you make a decent point, prince is still a possibility, but it’s decreasing in odds with every word you speak. If you’re a prince, you’ll need to shape up. Meanwhile, you can join Ayre in unrefined speech by calling me “Lilly”.” She sticks her tongue out, gesturing to it while looking at the unconscious draconic woman, “She struggles with my name, too, but I’ve always assumed it was because of her weird tongue, rather than an educational problem.”

  “I keep wanting to deny the claim that I’m a prince, but I can’t really rule it out, I suppose. Is that the sort of thing that happens to princes? Are you cursed and deposed? You’re a princess, right? You seem pretty fixated on the idea, after all.” I look around and see there is only a single chair in the space, and since the fairy is currently floating, I take it upon myself to sit after righting the chair. I immediately look down at it, though, “This is really uncomfortable.”

  “Um, wow. Rude?” Lilly looks at me with a bit of surprise. “You do realize that’s handmade, and she has wings and a tail, right? Please don’t let her hear you say anything like that,” Lilly makes an all-encompassing gesture, from walls to furniture to stove to fireplace, “She built all of this by hand over the last dozen or so years.”

  I frown, thoroughly chastised, “I suppose that explains the odd gaps in the back. Sorry about that, I’m still not really feeling like myself — whatever that actually is. Maybe, ‘I feel like something is missing, and it’s leaving me feeling out of sorts’ is more accurate.” I lean back into the chair, carefully testing it against my weight. I hear it give out a displeased creak and grimace, sitting forward with my elbows on my knees.

  Lilly lands on the nearby table daintily. “So, could you please do something for me?”

  I bob my head at her in the affirmative,” To the best of my ability. I owe you both my li-,” I begin to state, but Lilly abruptly shushes me, darting closer to emphasize the action, holding my lips closed with her tiny hands.

  “Please…don’t ever say something like that to the fae. Words are important and have power, and their meanings even more so. I know it’s a common phrase for gratitude, but saying it to me would be effectively giving me free rein to do with your life as I please and while I wouldn’t personally have any interest in abusing that, it’s not something that can be easily taken back once it’s said.” She visibly deflates a little, apparently exhausted at the thought alone of what had almost happened. “Just say something less committal; ‘I appreciate what you did’, or ‘I’m deeply grateful’. That avoids implications of debt and exchange.” She pauses for a moment and looks at me significantly before continuing, “With your memory being what it is, you should go absolutely nowhere near the faelands, you would far too easily fall for common tricks of the Fairfolk.”

  I nod slowly, somewhat taken aback at how strong of a reaction that got, but make a mental note of it being essential—she wouldn’t have reacted that way otherwise and seems to have my best interests at heart right now. “Definitely, I'll keep it in mind. Maybe once Ayre wakes up, she can drill me on the idea. What was the favor, anyways?”

  “I need to be getting home. When I’m missing for too long, people get antsy, and I’d rather not have the court out looking for me again. Things get…uncomfortable for everyone when that happens. I want to stay to look after Ayre, but I really can’t afford to. You’re up and about, can you watch over her? I’ll come back and check in when I can, but it may be a little while.”

  I look down at her, and see indecision and worry writ large on her face. “She wants to trust me, but isn’t entirely sure and doesn’t see a better option. Well, I’d rather earn someone’s trust, and it’s not like I have anywhere to be…” I nod with a firm surety, gesturing over to Ayre with my normal arm. “I will do everything in my power to see her healthy, but could you maybe write her a note, just to explain the situation? I don’t know what she’ll remember from those moments, and if it was anything like I imagine it was for her, she probably will be less than thrilled to see me.” I trail off glumly.

  “Absolutely! And a good idea, too.” She hastens over to a shelf and points at a stack of crumpled papers with a tome atop them. “Can you lift this for me? Need to get the good paper.” I stand and wander over, lifting the book and glancing at the cover: On the Nature of Elementals and Elementally Touched Races: Volume 17, Draconic Bloodlines. It has several concentric circles embossed on the cover connected with lines, and within each circle is either a sign to represent an element or a creature. In the largest, central, circle, there is a creature that, I assume, must be a dragon. The wings have a similar shape to Ayre’s and tail with similar proportions. I look at the book for a while while I hear hasty scribbling from the shelf. “Here, leave this on the table so she can find it when she wakes up. Give it a read so you’ll understand my goal.”

  I take the note, setting down the book where I found it, and begin to read it, realizing that I can read just fine in doing so. “Kinda thought that that would be the kind of thing that goes away with memory loss?” I add that to the growing list of things to think about when I’m able to find some time. I settle in to read through the flowery handwriting…