Garden Of The Abyss

In the midst of his dreams, he found himself in a familiar, shadow-filled plane.

"Hey, Astraeus," he yawned out, rubbing his eyes without first even seeing the appearance of the man.

Following the call of his name, the tall man dressed in all-black butler attire manifested, placing his hand over his chest and bowing.

"Greetings, Master," Astraeus said.

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence to find himself in the unknown darkness of the dreamy abyss, always meeting with his contracted familiar each time.

Over the last couple years, my connection with Astraeus has grown strong. I've only told a few people about him…it's something I'd prefer to keep under wraps until I fully understand it myself. This doesn't feel very "traditional" or "normal", I guess. Just something I have to figure out for myself, he thought.

"You're under quite some amount of stress."

"You can tell?" He replied with a small laugh, not denying the statement from the black-eyed, enigmatic man.

Astraeus nodded, "This mission–I understand it is towards the greater goal of the Outlanders, but please do act with caution."

"I am–and trust me, I'm not just saying that," he reassured the man, "I was pretty reckless when I went through Purgatory, but I was desperate then. I was backed into a corner. Now, I have options available–and I have people I want to protect, and that I want to stay with, so I can't just go out and die, can I?"

In the plane of dreams, shrouded by darkness and sparse sceneries that shifted and swayed in their formless nature, the two sat on solidified, static shadows.

"That's exactly right," Astraeus smiled, though his expression dimmed as he stared at the young man for a moment, "How is that right eye of yours?"

Being asked such a question drew his hand to the eyepatch over his eye before he unbuckled the eyepatch completely, beginning to take it off.

"...It's safe to remove it here, right?" He asked, looking up at Astraeus.

"Yes, this is a plane bordering on reality, but mostly teetering on dream–you're not physically manifested here, though I am," Astraeus informed him, "rest assured, it will not dull the seal on the eyepatch in the real world."

Assured of that, he took off the eyepatch, revealing the right eye he kept hidden away.

Instead of a white sclera, it was a dark, lightless blade with a hexagonal, silver pupil that seemed to shift and spin in an unnatural way.

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"How's it look?" He asked.

"I'm afraid to say it's managed to continue maturing despite the seal being in place," Astraeus told him, taking a close look, "though, it won't do anything so long as the eyepatch remains on."

"...That's as good as I could hope to hear, I guess," he buckled the patch back over his eye, "This spell you put on it really is helpful, though. I don't get the bursts of pain anymore. Thanks, Astraeus."

"Of course, Master," the man bowed.

He stood up, having sat on the shadows enough as he stretched his tired, dream-world limbs with a slight yawn.

"You're right about this mission though–I do need to be careful. It's only going to be possible because of a secret weapon we have from Beatrice," he said to the man, though mostly just going over what he knew, revealing a magical seal etched onto the back of his left hand.

It was all-black, but outlined with a platinum glow, displaying what resembled an "M".

"Ehwaz," Astraeus noted.

"You know what it is?" He looked up at the man.

Astraeus nodded slightly, "Only from hearsay, and books. It's certainly something I could only see one as wizened as one of the Sages using. I see now. She bestowed each of you "Ehwaz"--that can indeed be the ultimate counter against the all-seeing eyes of Gaol."

After a short meeting, his consciousness decided it was time for complete rest as the already dark world began to fade.

"I suppose our time is up for tonight, Master," Astraeus bowed, "Do remember, I will always be at your call should you need me."

With those words, he fell into complete slumber.

However, it was past that slumber, did he reach something enigmatic–a dreamscape unfamiliar to himself.

For some reason, he was oddly conscious, oddly alert, yet still lost in the haze of dreams.

It was a tundra, stretching far beyond the reach of his sight in each direction. Pale white and flooded with cold, leaving him stranded in the midst of its abrasive bowels.

"What's this…?"

Though he clearly spoke, utilizing his throat, he couldn't even hear his own voice.

The powerful winds of the cold tundra silenced him, overpowering his words as they were immediately sucked into the air.

After standing there in the unspeakable cold, he realized he wasn't alone.

Somebody stood in the distance, though the thickness of the snow storm made it impossible to decipher their appearance.

"...Who…?"

Of course, he couldn't speak, but he still tried.

The figure in the snow remained still, facing towards him as an unpleasant eeriness settled into his skin.

From what he could tell with the sparse detail given to him through the thick veil of snow, it was a feminine figure.

"Ren."

"Beloved."

"My love."

"I love you."

–All such words filled his mind instantaneously, without pause or break, repeating swiftly. It was coming from the figure, though her voice didn't leave lips, instead traveling directly to his mind.

"Stop it! I don't know who you are–!"

Saying that didn't halt the repetitive proclamations however as he grabbed his ears, shaking his head to attempt to dissuade the words from his mind until–

He woke up.

"--!"

Immediately sat up, he was clutching his head, sweating profusely as he gasped for air.

The volatile way of awakening brought Iris from her rest as she looked at him worriedly, "Ren…? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

He continued to regain his breath for a moment, now clutching his chest before he slowly nodded his head.

"Yeah…I'm fine," he assured her.

Not taking his word for it, she placed her hand against her forehead with an inquisitive, but still worried look.

"Iris, I told you, I'm–"

"You're burning up," she said, to his surprise.

"Huh…?"

She was right–he noticed it now, but his body was incredibly warm. He felt it now; his body was heavier than usual and congested.

"You've got a fever, Ren," she told him.

"I guess I do…"

They sat there for a moment in the room lit only by a small, flickering candle on the stand.

"Ren, should we…?"

"No."

"But, if you're not well, then…it's too dangerous," she looked at him with worried eyes.

He looked at her for a moment before averting his gaze, twiddling with a strand of his snow-white hair.

"I'm fine, Iris," he told her, wearing a smile, "How about trying to use some healing magic? That might do the trick."

Though she gave him a worried look, she indulged his request, bringing her hands close to his body as she invoked restorative magecraft.

"Gah…!"

He suddenly cried out in pain, prompting the azure-haired woman to withdraw her hands in surprise. The moment the light, verdant magic of healing traveled into his body, a harsh feedback surged through his body as if igniting the sickness further.

"Ren?!"

"...What the hell is going on with my body…?" He questioned, sweating even more than before as he breathed heavily.

The warmth of the fever spiked, causing him to stumble and rush over to the window, quickly lifting it before spewing bile from his bowels and onto the streets below.

"Are you okay…?"

He didn't reply as he left his head outside of the window for a moment, taking in the fresh air as he caught his breath after expelling vomit from his body.

"...I don't know how to answer that."