Dreams and visions were a constant aspect of Amara's life. In the dulling existence of her continuity, she did not mind them so much for she had a long time to adjust to their images. There was one dream, however, which was on abiding repeat every single time Amara closed her eyes and managed to fall asleep.

Fire surrounded her, and the smoke appeared just as clearly. Observing her surroundings, seeing only the smoke filling Amara's lungs and fire burning her skin raw, she anticipated there was more to see than just the pure, evil and burning fire. With every breath, the smoke was slowly entering her nostrils, penetrating her lungs and with each breath, she was slowly but surely coming up to the last minute of her life. She needed to get out of there, but she could not; Every muscle in her body froze, something, perhaps a higher force, preventing her from moving.

It might have been the knowledge of something more worth seeing. Therefore, she ceased her silent panic and waited patiently for the real purpose of her presence; her body suddenly more relaxed.

Without warning, Amara's eyes adjusted to her surroundings and the smoke disappeared. She knew better, however. The smoke was still there, for, the fire could not exist without smoke, as smoke could not exist without fire. These elements were their own other halves. They were one. It was as if the higher force allowed her to see once again without the thick smoke obstructing her vision.

She remained standing in one spot, whilst people around her rushed around, trying in vain to stop the fire, throwing in buckets full of water. The fire, however, fought, once again breaking free, more powerful it seemed; A touch more destructive. Others were helplessly trying so hard to save the injured, yet there was nothing they could do when death was already in the air waiting to strike. Amara could sense the despair death carried everywhere it struck and it showed there would be people dying soon.

It was not a mere guess, it was a matter of when.

A matter of unfairness of life, for, nothing beautiful lasted forever.

The panic and shouting amongst the people was clear but what caught Amara's eyes almost painfully, was a little girl, maybe eight years old, crouching next to an older man whose face she could not see, who led on the floor next to a staircase. Sorrow replaced the small girl's youthful innocence, her face glooming with darkness. Her face was stained with tears and her dark-brown eyes were bloodshot from crying, her brown hair dull and tangled, probably from the dryness in the air caused by the fire. Amara had a feeling this girl looked nothing like she usually did. Her hair should have been shiny, silky to the touch and her face permanently glowing with happiness.

Now, however, the opposite was the reality, for, she was dirty from the smoke and an onlooker could mistake her for a mere beggar.

The old-fashioned white gown the girl wore, showed it was an era of few or more centuries ago, similar to coverings the people around Amara sported. The surroundings were also a sign of a fifteen century; White walls and dark marble surrounds were a dominant part of this room, which seemed like a hall. The staircase seemed slippery; a death-trap and beauty combined in the delicate cream marble.

Amara could see the man and the girl talking, more importantly, she could see the man making gestures resembling talking. Being too far to hear, however, she decided to walk closer to the pair, ignoring the rest of the chaos around her, 'Paenitet enim me vobis nocebit, Stefania,' Amara finally heard the man speak a language she could not distinguish.

Somehow, however, Amara knew what was being said. Sorry for I hurt you, Stefania, the unknown, yet such a familiar man, have said to the little girl. It was like the words changed in her mind into something she understood, she knew.

'Master, whatever do you mean?' it was the girl, Stefania's turn to speak.

The man was barely moving, barely releasing each breath; close to a certain death. However, Amara could barely see his face or his body. The only thing she saw was a silhouette and heard his raspy voice, 'I wish my mistakes could be erased. I wish they were never made,' he laughed a bit at the end of his sentence and continued, 'How foolish of me.

'My mistakes cannot be changed but I will give my everything to protect you, that I promise you,' the man could only cough after his small speech, sounding unable to speak anymore. Nothing else came until death separated his soul from his body.

Amara could feel his soul leaving, shocked to sense the difference between a human soul and his. It was powerful, that much she knew. What was unknown, was why.

From nowhere, the whole scene disappeared in light-blue mist, white light covering Amara's vision, until the passage changed.

Just a male chest covered in blood, a sign carved in a drastic practice Amara presumed; carved with a knife or perhaps something more powerful.

A cursive written letter A, carved inside a peacock feather; a picture so bizarre and innocent, until it caught fire, turning bright red. Not by blood but a colour of pure evil.

A tattoo carved by force, imprinted by fire. Fire stronger than any other.

***

Every single night, only the pureness of moonlight to keep her company, for, she slept no more than an hour. That was more than enough for creatures like her and she should have been rested.

The opposite was true for her, however.

Due to her vivid dreams which were next to realistic, Amara felt as if she was wide awake during her repeating dream. This meant, she spent centuries being chronically tired, for, every time she closed her eyes there would be the same scene on repeat. Annoyingly for her, she could not escape, for, Amara was haunted by nightmares, accompanied by the pure moonlight and by day, when the burning sun shined bright, her eyes would stay open, yet see daydreams which belonged to dying souls which were assigned to her.

She was a definition of a dreamer.

She long got accustomed to the occurrence of the dream, however, she was never truly rid of the chilling intuition there might be more to the recurring nightmare which visited her every night and sixth sense never lied to the likes of her.

Even this night, Amara's eyes met darkness, memories of the nightmare still lively circling her mind; a touch disorienting. Her sight was blurry and only feeling the softness of her bedding together with the soft floral fragrance of the fabric softener, showed it was not real, only a mere film of her mind. She felt no desire getting up, but remembering yesterday's events, she slowly sat up in her old bed in Syndesi, still a bit lightheaded.

Her mind once again wandered to Thanatos, for, throughout the whole of yesterday, she could not forget the raw pain in his eyes, just before she was forced to go soul gathering. She still felt the powerful urge to help him, as if she knew how to. Therefore, she stood up, wanting to speak to Thanatos, yet as she was walking down the dark halls of his castle, she realised it was still night and he might be sleeping, or whatever he does during his nights.

Therefore, she headed to the only place in Syndesi, which could provide her with solitude; the music room which held the grand piano. She almost expected Erich to still be playing his heart out on the instrument, but to her relief, the room was perfectly empty.

Amara lowered herself onto the comfortable, soft black stool and stroked the piano keys softly with her fingertips, enjoying the cool and smooth surface. She could smell the mixed energy of sadness, happiness, anxiety and pure bliss in the air, caused by the musicians who previously composed and played in this room. with an utter concentration on her anxiety caused by her recurring night terrors, she played the first song coming to her mind; Moonlight Sonata.

Amara stroked the keys expertly. Her heart was tensed, beating to each press of a key, for, she was her heart and her heart was her soul.

Each ferocious note reminded her of the nightmare, yet the music, no matter how gloomy it might have been, calmed her at the same time, for, she was able to release her tears first time in decades. Music was her only friend who was always there to calm her, yet in the depths of her heart, she wished there was someone in her existence, who she could tell her deepest secrets, her fears, and her happiness, for even Elisabeth did not have the privilege. But she knew that dream was impossible for her, just like any other.

For, she was a soul gatherer, a loner and she could never have the privilege of a friendship.

'Bravo!' A deep male voice sounded, accompanied by an applause, throughout the room when her music ceased. Amara jumped out of the seat quickly, almost falling in the process and the voice added, 'and I thought an immortal could not die of a heart attack,' the unknown voice spoke once again before she could turn around.

Amara span to face the intruder, leaving her looking at a pale, weirdly handsome man, azure hair his most domineering feature. His eyes, the colour of the aqua ocean, slowly slid up and down her body, the intensity making her feel self-conscious, 'What an outfit sweetheart,' spoke the man again.

Amara quickly checked her body, realising she was only wearing her black silk shorts and camisole, the fabric suddenly feeling too light, almost non-existent. She placed her arms over her chest, trying to cover as much as possible, 'Who are you?'

'My apologies sweetheart, for not introducing myself. I am Poseidon, but you probably know I'm the prince of Okeanos, the ruler of all seas and oceans by now.'

Amara moved her eyes along his length. His blue silky wings which were so beautiful, each feather could have been painted on. The chiffon he wore was magnificent, the fabric just like the waves of the ocean, light and the length falling towards the floor.

Of course, she heard of Poseidon from many books she read, either by Mortal writers or minor immortals of many Patheos. As with many Greek gods, the stories were both shocking and disgusting, yet that might have been a normality in the ancient times. No matter the excuse, his presence made her feel tense.

'You are a bit shocked to be in my graceful company I see,' Poseidon said and walked past her to smooth his fingers over the side of the piano, 'I was there, in the same room when Ludvic composed Moonlight Sonata,' he chuckled quietly, 'we had a weird friendship going on back then.'

The information was praiseworthy, yet she did not fancy being in this man's company longer than necessary, 'Who sent you?' Amara questioned, watching him with caution.

'What makes you think someone sent me?' He asked innocently and Amara narrowed her eyes.

'Alright, alright,' Poseidon raised his arms defensively, "I want you to have your answers," He said and walked closer towards Amara.

She took a step back, not trusting his actions and he laughed, 'Don't worry, I just want to return your forgotten memories,' he informed.

This confused Amara, for she was not aware any of her memories were missing. Before she could react or even ask what he meant by his words, Poseidon quickly took her head gently in his palms, whispering something which sounded like a spell, 'xechasméni mními emfanízontai.'

Amara's head began feeling heavy and her eyes closed. Her body which felt weaker and weaker, fell limp against Poseidon's arms, which caught her just in time. Her mind, however, was more than conscious, more than awake.

It felt as if for the first time, she knew who she truly was.

She was Stefania, born in Poson on a first summer day of 1400.