It was a dream. Obviously a dream. I was asleep in my quarters, not standing in the feeding pasture with Azhrael. Not being approached by a version of Malrec who smiles like that, who laughs like that, who looks at me with warmth instead of irritation.
Not being kissed by him like we've done it a thousand times before.
But it felt real.
More than real. It felt like amemory, the same way that flash did when he said my name. Like something my mind is trying to show me that I should already know.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying to ground myself. Trying to separate dream from reality, imagination from experience. But the boundaries feel blurred in ways that make my chest tight with something close to panic.
This is the second time now. The second time I've experienced something that feels like genuine memory involving Malrec in contexts that make no sense. First the intimacy I could have sworn I felt—his body moving with mine, his hands on my hips, the physical familiarity that shouldn't exist. Nowthis. Casual affection. Easy banter. Him laughing, for fuck's sake, looking at me like I matter to him as more than just another laborer in his stable.
None of it makes sense.
I barely know him. We've barely spoken beyond terse exchanges about work assignments. He clearly finds me irritating at best, and I've spent most of my time here trying not to look at him because every time I do, something uncomfortable twists in my chest.
There's no basis for dreams like this. No foundation for my subconscious to construct these detailed fantasies where we're... what? Together? Familiar? Something that goes beyond master and laborer into territory that feels far too intimate?
It would be one thing to have a sex dream because, fine, he's hot. But a random flash while I'm walking away from him fully awake? A dream of him smiling at me? None of that makes sense.
I swing my legs off the narrow bed, feet hitting cold stone. My hands are shaking. My entire body feels too warm, too aware, like the dream left physical residue I can't shake off.
The smooth black stone sits on my small side table. I pick it up without thinking, let it settle into my palm where it fits perfectly. The weight grounds me slightly, gives me something solid to focus on besides the confused tangle of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
I don't understand this. Don't understand the gaps in my memory that suddenly feel less like illness or accident and more like something was deliberatelyremoved. Don't understand why my body responds to Malrec like it recognizes him when my conscious mind insists we're strangers.
The stone's surface is cool and smooth beneath my thumb as I trace circles across it. The motion is soothing in ways Ican't articulate, like muscle memory taking over when conscious thought becomes too difficult.
I need to move. Need to do something besides sit here spiraling.
I dress quickly in the pre-dawn darkness, pulling on work garments with mechanical efficiency. My hair gets tied back roughly, several strands escaping immediately but I don't bother fixing them. I just need to be somewhere else. Somewhere that isn't these small quarters where the remnants of the dream still cling to the air.
The corridors are empty this early. Most of the other servants won't be up for at least another hour, and the main estate above remains quiet. I move through the passages toward the stables without really deciding to go there, just following instinct that pulls me in that direction.
The stable entrance looms ahead, and I hesitate at the threshold. The air shifts here—warmer, heavier, carrying traces of sulfur and that faint metallic scent that pervades everything. The distant sounds of the beasts settling reach me even from outside. Low growls. The scrape of claws or scales against stone. The occasional resonance of magic from containment fields adjusting to movement.
I step inside.
The walkways are dim, lit only by the faint glow of rune-sconces that never fully go dark. My footsteps echo softly as I make my way deeper, past Vexris's enclosure where she's curled in the back corner, past Khorvas who lifts his head to track my movement but doesn't react otherwise.
Azhrael's enclosure pulls me like gravity.
He's awake—probably never truly sleeps given what he is—and his luminous eyes fix on me immediately when I approach the barrier. No aggression in his posture. No territorial warning. Just that same watchful awareness he always shows me.
I stop at the edge of his containment field, close enough to see him clearly but not breaching the barrier. "Hey, beautiful," I whisper, and my voice cracks slightly on the words.
He moves closer. That massive form shifting through shadow and volcanic heat until he's right at the boundary, separated from me by only the shimmering ward.
In the dream, I was petting him. Cooing at him with casual affection while he leaned into my touch like we'd done it countless times. And he'd responded not with genuine contentment. Like he has since I got here.
"Do I know you?" I ask quietly. "Did I?"
Azhrael tilts his head, and the movement feels almost like response. Like he understands the question even if he can't answer it.
The dream sits heavy in my chest. The way Malrec looked at me. The way he touched me. The absolute familiarity between us that suggested history, intimacy, something real that existed beyond imagination.
"I'm losing my mind," I murmur, more to myself than the beast. "Having dreams that feel like memories about a man who barely tolerates me. Knowing how to bridle you when I've never been trained. Reacting to his voice like my body recognizes something my brain doesn't."
Azhrael makes a low sound—not quite a purr, but softer than his usual growls. Almost sympathetic, if that's possible from a creature like him.
