Fortunately, this time I know what to expect. As soon as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I climb onto my feet while surveying my surroundings, seeing if that unknown figure has already appeared.

There it is. The mists slowly mould into its default humanoid shape. It walks towards me from a distance, its ever-shifting contours making it hard for me to concentrate on the figure. I avert my eyes to focus on the background, facing it but not quite looking at it.

"You didn't complete your task," are its first words.

I flush angrily. "You can hardly expect me to master my visions when you've just told me about it roughly—what, four days ago?"

It ripples with fury. "There's no time."

"Why?"

"The turning-point for the fate of the world is approaching. Only you have the ability to make it veer into one direction, whether it be for better or for worse."

With an impatient huff, I say, "Pardon me, but I don't understand a single thing you have been saying to me about the 'fate of the world'. So can we please keep the conversation for another day when I have a better understanding of my own problems?"

"The fate of the world is your problem! Do you fail to see that?"

"Yes!" I cry, venting my frustration out at the figure. "Why should I help the world when all they've done is to load me with burdens? Why should I care for any of them when they don't care for me?" My voice is a near-scream now, the flood of emotions too powerful to be contained. "Why should I continue to serve the Pietists when they allow me to live?"

The figure remains spookily silent after my torrent of words. I feel cold shame wash over me. "I – I'm sorry. I'm just...tired," I continue quietly, "of all of...this."

"No need to apologise, my child. Now though, we have more pressing matters at hand."

I nod my head reluctantly. In attempt to lighten the situation, I ask, "What is your name? You can hardly expect me to address you without any proper title."

It ponders on this suggestion for a while. Finally, slowly, it replies, "Abner. You may call me Abner."

Abner. The name of the very first Champion of Pst. Bronicus. How fitting. I endeavour to conjure a friendly smile. "So what are the pressing matters for now, Abner?"

He—for the figure's mannerisms are decidedly masculine—heaves a sigh of relief. The wisps that form Abner's 'body' pace about restlessly, forming ridges in the air, like rings of smoke from a candle or a pipe. The currents beneath my feet react to his change in composure, gaining speed and changing directions with every passing second. I just wait patiently for him to put his thoughts together while I try to maintain balance.

"Your visions...The last one, you saw a hooded man, didn't you?" he asks.

"Yes." I cock my head curiously to one side. I know that Abner probably has something to do with my Marking. However, I don't expect him to show so much anxiety because of it.

The wisps inhale deeply; the supply of air in the area seems to plummet. I slow my breathing, feeling the cool dampness kissing my cheeks. "That vision wasn't conjured by Pst. Bronicus."

I merely raise my eyebrows. "The rumours of the Marking being a 'test' by the patrons are true?"

"Yes," Abner says irritably, irked that I am not the least bit concerned by the real implication of his words. "But that's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"Patience," he growls.

I wait for his interrupted statement.

"That last vision..." His voice wavers in confidence. "It was conjured by Diomedes."

I stare at Abner. Could this ethereal creature have gone mad? No, Diomedes can't possibly be alive—my father had personally ensured of that. Yet the ghost in the field... Even if I have to resurrect myself ten times over, I will come for you, I remember its last ominous words.

"How can that be? He died twenty years ago," I stutter. "Of course, he knew how to leech life from others, but that was when he was still breathing. Even if he's that powerful, surely – surely he can't resurrect himself!"

To my dismay, Abner slowly shakes his head. "You weren't even born when he ravaged South Ghaerlere. How could you know the extents of his capabilities?"

"But resurrecting oneself...That's a feat far too impossible, even for a necromancer!"

"Pray, child, what do you know of necromancy?" He actually sounds very serious as he poses the question. I stagger backwards in shock.

"Nothing. Only that it is why only minor magic is practiced nowadays," I reply quickly. "Minor enough so that they can't be used as a threat to peace."

"I see..."

He pauses thoughtfully. I wish that I knew what was going on in his mind, to peer into the logical workings of this...guide, of sorts. He seems far too wise to be one of the earth.

"At any rate, you don't have to believe me if you don't want to. However, you saw the wraith just now," he continues. "He wants you. He wants the blood of the Spawn of the Devil."

A pathetic 'Why?' is all I can manage. Abner sounds far too earnest for me to brush off his statement as a jest. I wonder if I should inform the king of Abner's suspicions. No, not suspicions, knowledge.

"Your blood is special," he replies briefly, not elaborating his point.

"You mean because I'm Champion and the Doomed Child?" I ask. When Abner remains unmovable, I continue tentatively, "Or is it...something else?"

As though weighing if he should reveal a well-kept secret, the wisps hover unsteadily. "It's much more than that," he says with heavy trepidation. "It's something to do with your bloodline."

I consider my heritage—the Rutherland line has a rich background, full of history and intrigue, but with no particular oddities. The Lorelay line, on the other hand, is so confusing and full of contradictions that my 'specialness' must be coming from that side of the family. "From my mother's side?" I inquire.

Abner almost looks like he's smirking at me. "That's for me to know..."

"And for me to find out. Thank you for the extremely helpful information," I say sarcastically. It could be my mind playing tricks on me, but I think I see Abner's chest swelling in pride.

Then it deflates. "Oh, and when you wake up, go find the Champion of Pst. Ailith—I believe that he will have something important to say to you. Well, I believe that that's all I have to say to you for now. So—"

"Wait," I interrupt. "That's it? You dragged me here just to say that a maniacal necromancer is out for my blood, and yet you won't tell me why?"

"I said 'for now'," he snarls with annoyance. "So since you haven't mastered controlling your visions, I suppose that I can at least teach you on how to get out of it."

A sigh escapes my lips. "Fine. I'm ready."

"Good grief. Finally, you're ready to accept lessons." Abner's words rub me the wrong way round; I feel my skin beginning to prickle with heat. "Your predecessors were never as pig-headed as you," he says bluntly.

"Maybe that's because they weren't women," I remark just as dryly.

"Perhaps." A note of amusement is present in his voice. "Now I want you to close your eyes. Imagine that your vision is a room in your mind, and you're going to exit the room now. Are you doing that? Good. Now concentrate on the one place in the physical world that has the most lasting impression on you."

I picture myself in the Hangman's Tower, with the vast expanse of the Forest of Mellitus rolling below my feet. A cool breeze kisses my cheeks. In the distance I spot a buzzard diving down from the sky and emitting a thrilling cry, before it swoops up with a powerful flap of its mighty wings, circling over the forest canopy. A lone wolf howls in the distance, the thin, paltry note rising into the air like candle smoke—thin and barely visible—yet filling the forest with its crystalline clarity.

My eyelids begin to open heavily. When I realise that I'm still stuck in my vision, I stomp my left foot in frustration.

"Don't be too hard on yourself." Abner's voice is soothing and steady, a mountain in the midst of an earthquake. "The ability takes a while to control."

Taking in deep breaths, I close my eyes once more, an image of the scenery flashing like a beacon in the dead of the night. In my mind, I imagine myself exiting a dark, unlit room. When I'm out, I close the door with a soft click and walk towards my sanity point, the Hangman's Tower.

This time, I know I've properly exited the vision when I feel a violent tugging on my body, dragging me backwards, out of the imaginary room and into the physical world.

*******

A/N: Dedicated to magicolebooks for being an amazing supporter! For your share of kickass heroines and crazy supernatural wars, check out her story 'It Ends With Shadow' - and ignore the werewolf tag. I can guarantee you that it's not one of those cliche stories.