Night had come far sooner than he had expected. Mild light from candles flickered over the thousand piles of paper that lay scattered throughout the room like little scraps of his mind.

Drawings and ink adorned some, others were torn like a cry for help or slightly tarnished of a magical nature.

A fire crackled in a fireplace right next to his bed, which stood completely abandoned in the room. He hadn't slept in it for days. Most of the time, fatigue had taken him at his desk, and on some days he had had to sleep under the stars to silence his thoughts.

A book lay open in front of him, a thick tome full of runes and writings that he couldn't read. At least not yet. He flicked through the pages again and again.

Each time, something tightened in his chest. Maybe he was just imagining it, but all at once his hand travelled up to the place where something had lodged itself in his body. It throbbed under his fingertips, breathing as if a second pair of lungs had grown into his flesh.

But it wasn't an extra pair of organs expanding inside him. By the gods, that might have been an easy task to solve. Instead, he had a much greater burden to bear. And all because of his own vanity. Or perhaps his thirst for action.

Whatever it was, or both together, or possibly neither, he had to find a solution now. And quickly. Time was a scarce commodity for humans and mortals. For him even more than for everyone else.

He continued to skip through the book. Runes and writings and writings and runes. As much as he loved to read, write and learn, this task sucked the life out of him.

It was no fun, it hurt. This kind of reading had no soul because he did it out of desperation to survive. It was everything he had never wanted to be.

If only he hadn't been so ambitious. Maybe it hadn't been the problem but the cause. He still wanted to please his goddess, to prove himself to her.

But she didn't seem to be so easily impressed. If she was still willing to be impressed by him at all.

The thing inside him stirred. He could feel it spreading through his body, digging its claws into him, wanting to tear flesh. Blood was not payment enough.

Destruction could be beautiful if it didn't threaten to turn one to dust. Again he flicked through the pages. Again things were denied him. Despair choked his throat.

How much time had passed since he had last absorbed magic?

And how much time did he have left before he had to do it again?

Despair could drive people to their limits and force them to overcome them. But that would not be possible for him. His limits were a cage and if he crossed them it would be a certain end. His and that of thousands of others if he was too close to them.

The thought alone made him feel guilty right down to his teeth. Goose bumps spread across his arms. Without being able to suppress it, a growl crept out of his throat, followed by a sigh that tightened his chest.

"By Mystra's hair...", he sighed, biting his tongue almost immediately.

Her name coming out of his mouth would probably displease her. Mystra, the goddess of magic. Once she had been more favourable to him than any other.

Now he thought she wanted him dead. Or worse.

A crackling sound travelled through the fire in the fireplace, closely followed by the faint hiss of magic. A small portal of purple light danced across the floor and out jumped a small animal with wings.

"Mister Dekarios!", a voice, female and somewhat older, tore his thoughts apart.

As if waking from a dream, he raised his head. Deep brown hair fell down his sweaty neck.

"Tara...", he managed to put on an optimistic smile.

The creature, a cat with dark fur and a pair of wings, jumped onto the table. She purred as he scratched her head.

"Well, don't be so desperate my dear.", purred the cat. "I come with good news."

Tired, he couldn't help but snort. Not only was his body tired from the many nights without sleep, he could feel the blade of his mind getting duller and duller.

Every day he could feel himself slipping away from the man he had once been. A man who would have been worthy of becoming a god. But she had blown it away.

Instead of rewarding him for his ambitions, she had punished him. Now it was his greatest weakness.

"As long as you haven't found a treasure trove full of magical artefacts, we'll continue to have sleepless nights.", he rubbed his tired eyes. "Tell me something good, Tara. I'm begging you."

Tara, the cat or maybe not, tilted her head. Her small, white paws tapped in a peaceful rhythm on the dark wood of the tabletop.

The light from the candles flickered. The flames seemed to want to reach out to the little wings. A hint of a smile appeared on the furry face. Or he thought this creature could have facial expressions. At least it had a whole lot of things to say and even more attitude.

"Perhaps I have found a place that can solve our problems, Mister Dekarios.", she carefully placed her paws on his arm. "But it is far."

He wiped his face with his hand. Over the last few weeks, he had forgotten to find time for himself. In the meantime, he had grown a considerable beard, just as brown as his hair.

"I don't know how far I can travel in my condition, Tara.", he stroked the back of her neck and the places between her wings.

Not the wings themselves, she hated that. Tara tilted her head.

"If we make it there, all your problems will be gone.", she said. "Gale. I'm afraid there's no other choice."