Groth bolted upright and scrambled back until a rough, stone wall pressed coldly against his shoulder blades. Eyes wide, he stared at the man he once called enemy, more youthful now but still the same.

Athastar's golden brows furrowed comically over his brown eyes as he laughed, "What, were you expecting Norilei?"

Groth let his breath out all at once, unaware that he had been holding it. His muscles were taut with nervousness--no soreness from battle, no aches from age, and even that persistent tremor from his enemy's failed assassination attempt through poison was gone. Groth was but a youthful man, hale and hearty as he once had been.

"Can't imagine why, though," Athastar went on with a snort. "Everyone knows I'm the pretty one."

Groth met his gaze with a frown. "Huh?"

"I mean, Nori's not not pretty, and you're a handsome lad yourself, but I come with looks and charm. And quite a bounty of wit, if I do say so myself..."

Groth just stared at him, unable to shake from his mind the notion that Athastar should be holding a sword to his throat.

Athastar's smile finally began to dim, and concern twinkled in his dark eyes. "Are you alright?" He reached out a gloved hand towards Groth's face, and Groth flinched back. Athastar froze, his smile vanishing completely as his brows bowed upwards with worry. "What's gotten into you, man?"

Groth blinked hard, and then he blinked again. What had gotten into him? He scrubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, unable to fathom why he was so tense around his old friend. Or... enemy...? Groth lowered his hands again and squinted at Athastar. His broad arms, swordsman's arms; wavy hair, inherited from his mother; embroidered tunic, a nobleman garb--all of it was familiar to Groth, but not in the way it should have been. Although at that moment, he could not say exactly how it should have been.

Swallowing once, Groth said in a soft voice, "I... I think I just had the strangest dream..."

He glanced briefly at his surroundings, the shadowed interior of what clearly was a Nogastian church. The stone walls were ribbed with pillars of wood, studded with rich jewels, and the altar near which they had slept was fashioned out of the skull of a mammotaur. An inexplicable "memory" of eradicating the half-man giants flashed through his mind, but just as suddenly, it began to fade, as does a dream when one tries to focus on it.

"Such a strange dream," Groth whispered to himself, and he rubbed his eyes again. Blinking the blurriness away, he met Athastar's gaze once more. His old friend--yes, he knew this man as his friend, inseparable from boyhood--frowned at him in concern. After a moment, however, the side of his mouth pinched into a smirk, and the wrinkles in his forehead slackened into his usual mirth.

"Well, you're back with us in this world, so shake it off, eh? We've got a terrible dragon to slay."

Groth looked up sharply, but Athastar was already turning to sort their gear into their packs. Sighing, Groth shook the last vestige of the dream from his mind and clambered to his feet to help his friend.

I sat on my throne, the sky above darkening as the eclipse my plans hinged on began. The doors to the vast chamber I occupied flew open, the Hero stepping through them, determination burning in their eyes. Seeing them I sighed and rose to my feet, gripping my spear and readying myself for the coming fight.

"Well, I see you've finally made your way here, where's the rest of your party?"

The Hero took another step forward, hand hovering just above their sword, "dealing with the rest of your constructs."

"To be expected I suppose, with that question out of the way, let us begin," I said, leveling my spear at the Hero.

"No."

"I'm... sorry?" I was bewildered and lowered my spear a little.

"Listen, I heard about who you used to be." Those words set me on edge, and my grip on my spear tightened.

"I don't know exactly how you got to be where you are now," the Hero continued, "but maybe I get it, maybe you're not as bad as you think. Maybe you can change," they urged.

"Oh child, you don't understand, I've lost too much to turn back now, and even if I could I'm too far gone, there is no saving my soul."

"I don't want to kill you if I can help it," they said, closing their grip around their blade.

"I'm afraid you can't," I said, lunging at them with all the speed I could muster. The Hero blocked my strike with their sword, both of our weapons glowing with conflicting energies. The both of us pushed off of each other before lunging at each other again, the sound of our blades colliding ringing through the room as the eclipse continued toward its climax. As we crossed blades again they backed away another step, launching a feint I was unable to see for what it was until they'd already kicked me so hard I flew into the wall behind me.

"Very good..." I said as I caught my breath, "but if you want to stop me, you're going to have to kill me!"

I launched myself at them again, and this time, instead of locking blades with me, they parried my strike and used the window it gave them to slice at my shoulder. I grimaced but the wound wasn't that deep. I moved to strike at them again, but the wound in my shoulder apparently slowed me down more than I thought it would and they were able to easily dodge, giving me another shallow wound, this time on my abdomen.

"What don't you get? If you don't kill me, everyone, including your friends die!"

Those words seemed to spark something in them, and they came at me, I managed to deflect their strike, but they didn't let up, unleashing a flurry of attacks that I was more than happy to return. As the two of us sprinted through the chamber trading blows, each of us accumulated more and more wounds, until the two of us both stood opposite each other, wounded and panting.

"Please, you don't have to do this," they said desperately.

"Yes, I do," I said, readying myself to strike at the Hero one last time as they, reluctantly, did the same. The two of us charged at each other, and I felt the blade pierce through my heart. I dropped my spear and nearly fell to the ground before the Hero caught me.

"Why? Why did it have to end like this?" they asked, tears beading at the edges of their eyes.

I coughed up some of my blood, "b-bad luck on your end, if you'd gotten to me earlier, maybe you could've changed things."

The two of us stood there for a moment, and I could feel myself slipping away.

"Perhaps," I said, "in another time, in another life, I could have called you friend."

Then the world went dark.

​

I didn't expect to open my eyes, but somehow, impossibly, I did. I didn't recognize where I was, didn't even recognize my own body, at least 20 years younger than it had been, even the architecture around me was foreign, the figure in front of me though, I recognized them, it was the hero. They smiled and good-naturedly elbowed me,

"Bro, we doin' this?"

"I... I err..."

"Come on! I swear you pick the worst times to space out! You're lucky we're best buds, Damian!"

"That, my friend, is true," I gave a small smile.

"Now," they split the stack of papers they had in their hands into two, and gave me one, "I'll take the east side of town, you take the west, that sound good?"

I took a look at the papers in my hands, advertisements for a band. My hands tensed up, it had been a literal lifetime since I'd played, since those carefree days. I took another look at the person in front of me and smiled.

"Yes. Yes that does sound good."

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