"Are you sleeping, Wulf?" Ato heard the voice beside him: a woman's, soft and melodic, close and warm in his ear, as he shivered under heavy sheets. He felt the hand, slim and delicate, fingers entwined in his, tight yet gentle.

  "Yes, Andreas." Ato said, his voice a quiet laugh, its tone lower than even Kenri's. The small hand squeezed his, it's hot touch like a comfortable fire in the cold of the night. Ato felt a pang in his chest, like a warm jump that fluttered through his skin.

  "I felt her kick, Wulf." Another jump, this time of fear, like nothing he had ever felt.

  "Shall I call for Ifra?" A quiet laugh erupted from the woman, her other hand moving to hold his, to comfort him.

  "It is not bad, Wulf. It means she is healthy. Soon, she comes." Ato felt his chest settle, a gentle, low laugh escaping him.

  "I see, my love."

  "She kicks still. Do you want to feel her?" Ato's hand squeezed both of hers, as something soft and lovely rose in his heart.

  "I would cherish it, dear." The hands pulled on his, towards the small, warm frame beside him. He felt his fingers come to rest on a stomach, it's shape large and round, tight with life. He waited, his breath slowing to a still. Finally, he felt it: the small push—sudden, yet tiny—into his palm.

  For a moment, Wulf was whole. The gods he cursed—for taking his brother, his home, for hurting his wife—held favor in his heart, if only for this moment. He turned in his bed: his thick, muscled arm reaching over to stroke his wife's cheek.

  "Truly, you both are my greatest blessings."

  "And you are ours, dear."

  Ato woke, his slim body bolting upright in his mat, the thin sheet falling off him. His chest shuddered with sobs, his face hot with tears, his body, his mind, crying, crying. He found himself wailing, screaming.

  "Andreas! Andreas! Where are you?!" He keeled over, now on his hands and knees, searching the ground in pitch black—for what, he did not know.

  "Andreas! Call for me! Andreas!"

  His father, awake now, rushed to his side, his hand gently grasping his shoulder. Ato felt the hand, and startled, jumped back, his shoulder hitting the wall next to his mat.

  "Ato! What is wrong?" Ato could barely understand his father: the words sounded foreign, almost like gibberish. He looked at his father through tears, his face unrecognizable to him, the room around him unfamiliar. All Ato could stand to do was fall forward, his hands grasping at his father's arms for support, his sobbing face buried in his father's shoulder.

  "Andreas... Andreas... Where are you...?" He cried, his throat now a ragged mess.

  "Ato—what are you saying? What is wrong?" Ato could only weep, his voice turning to whispers.

  "Andreas... Where are you...?" His father held him close, his fingers stroking his hair as if he was a child again, until Ato fell still, shivering.

  Finally, when Ato was silent, his father asked once more, "What happened?"

  "...I-I, I had a dream..." A pause from his father, his hand falling still on Ato's trembling head. It was a dreadful silence, full of something Ato did not understand.

  "...What happened in it?"

  "...Th-there was a woman next to me. W-we knew each other..." The same horrid silence, longer than before. "Apa... what is it?"

  "...Nothing, son. J-just a nightmare… Let us sleep again." Ato felt something stir within him. He had never known his father to lie. Some days, Ato wished he had let him that night.

  "Apa... Tell me." Ato's father was silent a good long while, so long that, Ato almost left it at that, almost told him that they should sleep. Instead, Ato's father answered.

  "As I am sure your master has told you, the Thread of Life goes on forever: ever tangling, touching every where and when." Something like realization—or horror—peeked into Ato's mind. He shuddered, his heart feeling as if it had almost stopped beating.

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  "Your mother had similar dreams. I would wake some nights to her screaming. Others, I would rise in the morning to find her out in the grasses, crying. After the first, she refused to speak of them to me." Ato grew still, as his eyes stared past his father's shoulder, on a strip of moonlight which shined through the window of his room, creating a short line of white on the floor. Gradually, it dissolved, becoming a blurry mess in his vision.

  "Apa... Do you remember what I was saying, when I woke?" Ato's father paused shortly. Then, his arms pulled his son to him gently, into an embrace.

  "No, son. I wish I did. It did not sound like words. At least, not any I would know."

  Ato could only kneel there, in his father's arms. He grasped at the dream, even as it faded, leaving only little scraps of feeling. He grasped at her voice, her name, her feeling.

  Tears fell silently, as they all left him.

  Kito opened his eyes from his daily meditation, sensing someone walking through the doorway to his home. He knew who it was by their Song—the strange amount, just barely more than the average man's, and yet, it made all the difference. He looked upwards, his eyes focusing through the haze of burnt grass smoke, the chimes hung from the ceiling, the flickering light of a candle, and saw that boy. Ato.

  Even now, after almost two decades, Kito could not help but think, he has her eyes.

  "Hello, child! What brings you to my humble home?" The boy walked forward, pushing past hanging chimes, and sat down across from him—slowly, shyly, his hand rubbing a spot on his arm. Kito wondered if it was perhaps a bruise from the duel with his brother, and he found his eyes softening.

  "I...require some medicine."

  "Oh? What for? Perhaps an...ache?" Ato looked away, down towards some spot on the floor.

  "No."

  Kito frowned, and searched his face, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the pale tone to his skin. Something in Kito’s stomach sank.

  "What ails you then?" Ato sighed.

  "I have been experiencing some...dreams. And, I do not want to experience them, anymore."

  And now, Kito was remembering a day from his past, very similar, a young girl with eyes like the boy's.

  ‘I am having dreams...I do not like them.’

  "Ah...I see." Kito said. Suddenly, he was finding himself short of something he often always had: words. Ato raised his eyes to meet Kito's. Kito could see the pain, the torment, in them. A young person, tired in a way none should be.

  "Can you...help me, Honored Mage?"

  ‘Kito... Please... I cannot take this anymore... It is always someone new. Last night, it was a little girl...’

  The old mage froze. He was nearing seventy now: he knew much, had experienced much, but these were the moments that came once in decades. There were no lessons for moments such as these, no words from the gods to guide one, nor feelings in one's conscience. These were the moments, where all that was, was the person, their decisions, and what came after. Kito had been here once, decades ago.

  ‘My dear child...everyone is given a path from the gods. This...is yours. I am sorry.’

  The chimes had swung in the wake of that young girl then: filling the silence, just like now. Then and now, he had been faced with the same thing.

  A young child, eyes broken. Resigned to a thousand deaths in one life.

  Kito sighed, then rose from his seat. He had seen those eyes on one child. He had spent many years, staring at those eyes, wondering if he had chosen correctly then. Kito decided. He did not want to see them again.

  Kito walked to a shelf full of potions to his side. His eyes searched through bottles, till he found the one: a small, prismed vial, full of clear, thick liquid. He walked to Ato, pressing the vial to his palm. "This...is a strong potion. You should not use it often." He looked at Ato, making sure their gazes met, that the boy saw his deadly serious face.

  "It steals dreams, but also rest. And you may find yourself...craving it. Use it only when you have found yourself at wit's end: you will be without dreams for days, but also tired. Use only a drop, and only mix it with water. Do you understand?"

  A small look of relief crossed Ato's face, a tired smile. Kito found some small relief as well, but also fear. He prayed the boy heard him.

  Ato bowed his head, then turned to leave. And Kito watched his back shrink into the daylight outside.

  These were the moments that came once in decades.

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