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spend entire evenings just watching his father take a knife to a piece of wood. He was amazed at how the obscurity of the object was steadily removed until its inner beauty shone.
    Ardin would have killed for a piece of wood and a knife right now. Some pine would do. Even a piece of driftwood along one of the ponds could suffice. But he had nothing with which to channel his thoughts. Nothing he could carve would have blocked them out in any case.
    The dreams were fading, but his family haunted him. He had never heard them die, but the screams of his sisters remained on the rim of his reality. Just beyond his ability to grasp. To wrestle with and release. And John, his brother... that, Ardin couldn't erase from his memory. The gray walls and dim light took him back to the crater where he had held John as he died. Warm blood mixing with cool ash as his brother's life caked itself to his clothes.
    And Alisia. The idea that she was gone remained insubstantial compared to the memory of John's death. But it stung worse. Somehow it stung much worse. He traced the cracks in the floor with a quivering finger as exhaustion overcame his hunger. The dreams returned, and sleep claimed him before he ever knew he was pursued.
     

    V ITALIS .
    Ardin woke slowly, his eyes clouded with the crust of dreams.
    Ardin Vitalis.
    He had fallen asleep in the corner of his room, hugging his left knee. His right leg lay flat on the floor, protruding from his ugly hospital gown like a white stick.
    Awake. You must leave this place.
    He looked around, head swimming for a moment. And then Ardin saw him and woke up entirely.
    T here is little time. You must leave this place, or you risk your very soul.
    In front of him stood a tall figure covered in a dazzling mixture of ornate metallic plate and leather armor. Except he wasn't standing; he was floating.
    You are needed.
    Ardin pressed himself into the corner of the room. “ Who are you?”
    My name is Tristram. Of the three I am but one.
    Tristram, as he called himself, had wings. They looked much like an eagle's wings but waved subtly like cloth in a breeze. They had the appearance of long ethereal tendrils running along them. His deeply hooded face remained hidden from view behind a low half-mask.
    “ I mean who are you?”
    A friend. A good friend indeed. I have been sent to remind you of who you were meant to be. What you are called to be. But in this moment you must conceive your escape.
    “ Who I was meant... what are you talking about?” The twist in Ardin's stomach competed directly with the hunger.
    Tristram's thick, blocky boots hung just above the filthy tile floor; one was partially hidden behind the other as the toe nearly touched the ground. He seemed to take up the entire room.
    The enemy holds sway in this place, much the same as the footholds he maintains throughout this land. If you do not soon part, I fear you will perish. Make for the north. Head deeper into the mountains, and there I will find you.
    And with a bright flash and a faint swirl of mist he vanished. Ardin didn't relax immediately. He wanted to ask how exactly he was to escape, but the opportunity was lost to him now. He frowned as his weight settled back on the floor, his stomach rumbling against his thigh as he pushed the hunger from his mind.
    Ardin looked around the room suspiciously, as if the doctor might jump out at any moment and discover his insanity was real. His throat tightened at the word... insanity. Had he just been visited by someone with wings, or was he truly going crazy?
    Whoever his visitor had been, he wasn't getting out of here; he knew it. They wouldn't let him out, and he didn't think he could make a way for himself. If that floating jerk had wanted him out of there so badly, he could have at least done something more than insist he leave. His stomach churned at the thought. He couldn't just leave. Could he?
    He sighed and wondered if he still had any of the power that Charsi had given him.