I woke with a noisy, strangled gasp.

A sheet slid from over my head and crumpled in my lap. Darius's room was quiet and cool, my uneven breathing a startling contrast to the morning stillness. Candlelight leaked under the shut door from the parlor where the hushed rasp of turning pages could be heard.

Sweat soaked the neck and back of my pajamas, adhering the cotton fabric to my skin. My hair was loose and bedraggled. I couldn't recall returning to the room, nor changing or falling asleep. I had no memory of yesterday's evening. 

I lay still on the mattress and stared at the ceiling's painted slats as my heartbeat slowed. The vision weighed upon me, its vestiges clinging to my mind like the dawn's mist clung to the glass of a window. Again and again I recalled Peroth's terrified eyes and Darius's savage, blood-splattered expression.

The Sins were not innocent creatures. Even in their youth, they had been killers created to take the souls of other beings. I had witnessed and been the victim of their innate cruelty several times. Balthier had been the driving catalyst for the human sacrifices completed by the Exordium. Darius had been the weapon I wielded to take the cult's life. They were not good creatures.

Yet, I didn't think them inherently evil. We don't label a tiger or a shark as evil simply because it attacks and kills a human. It was in their nature, and while that nature was unfortunate, it could typically be avoided. For the most part, so too could the murderous nature of the Sins. 

The Dreaming Children in the memory had been single-minded in their hunt. They hadn't hesitated. With unflinching dedication, the Dreaming had acted to eliminate the Original Sins. They had been unsuccessful in killing at least four of the demons I knew today, though the vision hadn't imparted the fate of the other three. The elves had treated them like animals. 

Why had I been shown such things? What purpose was there in sharing an ancient plight I doubted even Darius still remembered? What was I supposed to glean from such wanton violence and terror? 

Uncomfortable, I rolled to the edge of the bed and tried to get up. Vertigo set in and I slumped, wincing at the sudden throbbing in my temples. My arms trembled with the effort to remain upright and the muscles in my hands ached. I was exhausted, and nausea bubbled in my stomach. I groaned.

The sound of shuffling paper in the parlor quieted.

What in the hell? Did the vision do this to me? I reached for the matches and candle waiting on the nightstand, but only managed to topple the damn thing. I swore. 

The thud of footsteps reverberating through the floorboards was succeeded by the screech of the bedroom door's hinges. "Sara?" Darius asked as he stood at the threshold, his hand propped on the frame. The light from the main room streamed in around him, hurting my tender eyes. My headache doubled in strength.

I looked away from the demon, vigorously rubbing my face as I sat on the mattress's edge. The room swayed and I pressed my palms over my eyes, trying to mitigate the motion. "Yeah?"

Darius came closer. I felt him pause in front of me, and his warm hands framed my face. Startled, I opened my eyes and found the demon staring down with a definite crease between his brows. The pain in my head eased. 

"You're not feeling well," he stated. It wasn't a question. His hands remained where they were as he tipped my face up toward his own. The shadows upon the wainscoting bent and curled as if following Darius. "You retired early. You were already asleep when I returned and checked on you around seven yesterday. When did you go to bed?"

I didn't answer because I didn't know. How did I return to the room last night? Why couldn't I remember anything?

"Darius," I asked slowly, scrutinizing my words before I voiced them. "Has this place...ever shown you anything?"

The line between his brows deepened as the Sin frowned. "Shown me anything?"

"A...vision, maybe?" 

"Vision?" The pressure of his fingers became more incessant as I tried to unconsciously lean out of his grasp. "What are you talking about?" 

"Nothing," I told him as I pushed his hands away. The pain returned to my head, but I did not give in to the urge to flinch. I took a steadying breath, then another. "I was kidding."

Logic decreed I should tell Darius everything, that I should describe every detail of my encounter with the manor's library, with that weird cat, and the strange, glimmering leaf. I should tell the Sin about the memory, about watching those ancient elves chase Darius and his brethren through the dark. I should confess my misgivings about his quest, about this house, about the existence of the weapon he sought and my own sanity.

I kept my lips together, grinding my molars together. I didn't tell him because lurking in the Sin's narrowed eyes were the first hints of apprehension. Darius was never apprehensive. It drew the skin about his eyes taut and embellished what thin lines of age the demon allowed on his face. Darius and I hadn't known each other long, but he was perceptive. He knew I was acting strangely and would inevitably come to the conclusion something was wrong.

The Sin had proven himself unpredictable on several occasions. I worried that if Darius decided I was ill, in danger, or just plain crazy, he'd act to further remove me from the situation. It was possible he could help and he could answer my questions—but the possibility of him responding negatively was also distinct. I wished to be helpful and to figure out a way for Darius to accomplish the impossible, but I could not do that if he shut me out.

Of course, it was also likely the demon would grow tired of my burden and kill me.

That unfavorable chance didn't bother me as much as it should. I was going to die. Not years in the future, but soon. It was as inescapable as a sunset; for a time, it was preventable. You could run for the horizon and chase the sun, but the night would catch up. Maybe Darius would find the weapon. Maybe he would kill Balthier, and maybe the liminal magic festering in my wound would break, but I would not live beyond these impossible feats. 

Either by Balthier's hand or Darius's hunger, I would be slipping the mortal coil. I wanted a say in how my life ended. I wanted to tie loose ends. I wanted my revenge, and I wanted Darius to live.

I wouldn't have a say in any of that if the Sin of Pride decided to exclude me for my own benefit.

"Sara." His tone grew more urgent and annoyed.

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a weak smile. "I didn't have dinner and it's made me a tad lightheaded."

I couldn't not tell if Darius accepted my reasoning, but his arms did lower to his sides once more. "I've told you before, I am not your caretaker," he cautioned as his gaze shuttered and darkened. "The least you can do is feed yourself, girl."

I swallowed the first furious retort to hop onto my tongue and nodded. "You're right. Of course."

Agreeing with him only aggravated Darius' suspicions further, so I did the very first thing that came to my mind; I asked a question.

"Can you tell me about the Dreaming Children?" I blurted, stopping the Sin's argument before it could be uttered. "I mean, more about them?"

Darius shut his mouth and grunted, visibly displeased by the change in conversation. He didn't ignore me, though. That was a good sign. "I've told you about them." He sank onto the mattress next to me, exhaling gently with either resignation or fatigue. "What else could you want to know?"

"Technically, you explained about the Isle. Not about the Children," I corrected. Darius glared. "Someone, uh, I spoke with yesterday told me the Dreaming could use their voices to do...things. They could...scream and rupture ear drums."

Darius shrugged, unfazed. "Yes."

"Is it—was it—a spell...?"

He considered the question, then the fallen candle on the floor. "Of a sort," the Sin said as he rose and retrieved the candle. He set it upright upon the nightstand, forgoing the matches. "The mages have debated over how to define Dreaming magic for centuries. Theurgy or innate? They'll never know."

"What's the difference?"

Sparks crackled, and the candle's wick was set aflame. "It's the difference between parachuting and falling." Darius blew air on his red fingers, smothering the fire still burning there. "Jump from a high place and you will fall. You could say that is innate. Jump with a parachute and you will fall, yes, but with assistance. That is theurgy. Theurgy is magic wielded with assistance from an outside force."

"Those are quite different from one another," I pointed out. "How can the mages not be sure which the elves—Dreaming—used?"

"Because it's vastly more complicated than my abbreviated metaphor, Sara." Darius sat on the mattress again. "The Dreaming used a very...unique magic. I told you of the Song of Existence and their belief in Chords. Much of their magic and their culture revolved around the idea of this primary Song and the impressions of its sound.

"They Sang. When they opened their blasted mouths they weren't just creating pretty noises. They used different notes and pitches to change the wavelengths of sound and to excite different vibrations in the molecules in the air. Thus, without air or some other substance they can manipulate, their magic was...." Darius opened his hand, displaying an empty palm. "Ineffectual."

I stared at his hand, at the burns still healing on his fingers. "Then why do some think it could be innate?"

"Because it is a magic only the Dreaming were capable of. You could warble a tune all you wish and yet it'll never make the grass grow or light a fire. One hummed word from a Dreaming Child could crush a man's heart in his chest—if that Child was skilled. In that way, their magic was similar to the Tongue of the Realm. It spoke directly to the energy generated by sound vibrations as my language speaks to the essence of a thing. The Tongue of the Realm is an innate magic."

Darius's description was fascinating, and it explained the shock and power of the elf's shriek within the vision. It was hard to believe a person, regardless of species, could scream and literally render someone like Peroth or Darius helpless.

I shivered, then swiped my wrist across my sweaty brow. I felt ill. My bones ached as if they'd been hollowed and the persistent pounding in my skull was bordering on migraine status. I wished Darius hadn't lit the candle and had left me alone in the dark.

The Sin clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in a displeased 'tsk'. He could clearly see the sheen of perspiration on my skin and the weak shivering in my arms. "Don't use your curiosity as a means of distracting me," he lectured, gaze sliding from my face along the line of my throat. "I am not distracted, and I am not an idiot, Sara."

Darius moved so quickly I gasped in surprise. His fingers clasped my wrist, digging into my skin with unrelenting force. Expecting pain, I cried out when he jerked my arm straight—but it didn't hurt. In fact, my pain was lessening. Numbness spread outward from our point of contact, spilling down my arm like cold, weightless silk. In moments it covered me entirely.

"W-what—how are you doing that?" I demanded, staring at my arm, then at the creature holding it. The headache and the ache associated with my strange physical lassitude waned as if  chased away by Darius's presence.

I remembered other times when Darius's touch had alleviated my pain. I remembered him leaning into my side after the cultist had attacked me in the parking garage. When the Sin had moved away, I had attributed the pain's return to the shifting mattress. I'd passed it off as it coincidental, but this undeniable. Darius could steal pain.

"Leave a monster some of his mystery, girl," he intoned, words cold and emotionless. The blackness of hunger had returned to his eyes, consuming the vivid red of his irises as a deathly stole into the room. "If lying to me is your way of helping, it is not working. You think me stupid and I do not appreciate it. I've endured much in my shitty life, and I won't tolerate lies, Sara. Not from you."

"Darius—."

He let go. The return of my pain was so sudden it struck me like a bodily punch. I curled over my middle and cursed. "Bastard!"

The Sin of Pride did not deign me worthy of a response. He wouldn't look at me as he stormed from the bedroom and slammed the door closed. I heard him snarl something harsh and guttural in his fierce, broken language and it set the walls to trembling.

I leapt to my feet and nearly fell in my haste.

"Dammit, Darius, I didn't—!"

I threw the door open, but I was too late. He was gone.