I tumble down the steps, feeling every jagged rock along the way. The lute followed after me and landed just within reach when my world finally stopped rolling, leaving me confused and a bit bruised from my not so magical ride. I sat up with a groan, noticing the mist turn into a thick fog, cutting me off from the rest of the world around me. 

I hear footsteps climbing down towards me and for a moment I felt relieved that it was Stephan. But I was proven wrong when I saw something else emerge, chilling me to my core. 

The figure was too pale to be alive, creaking like old wood with every step it took to get close. Graying chestnut hair wired from parts of his head and chin that hadn't rotten away. dull as the eyes that burrowed into mine. Rags hung loose from torn skin, similar to those my father wore just before his death. 

"Dad?"

He tilted his head curiously, like a cat that caught a mouse. "Wesley of Erns..." 

I felt something prod around in my mind and everything I knew about him started to surface. A criminal and a murder.

"I saw you hang..."

"Thanks to you, I did,"  the voice sounded parched, as if all he was breathing was dirt for the last twelve years. With a twisted smile, he tapped his bottom lip.  "Nasty scar you got there, my boy. Shame I only left you with that." 

I rose slowly, the lute in my grip again. "I'm not here for your games, whatever you are."

"You're here to slay the lizard in that tower," he chuckled, "my son, a bard. I wonder what you will do without your hero to protect you." He craned his neck to the sky, much like the troll. "Oh, I see. I suppose I'll get my answer sooner than I thought. A certain lizard wants you dead!"

I stumbled back against one of larger stones, watching his form bubble and warp like watery clay, transforming into someone more recent in my memory. Stephan.

He was as ghostly white and dull in the eyes, armored and drawing a sword before it was fully formed from its scabbard. "It pains me to end a life so young, but orders are orders! Hold still, will you? I would hate to drag this on." 

I ducked to the right as the sword cut through the air, hearing the steel scrap against the stone where my head was a second ago. "Wait, hold!"

"Your time is over," fake Steph advanced, his sword at the ready for another strike.

Instinctively, I raised the lute to block the blow, hearing the strings absorbing the force, but not breaking. The runes began to glow a golden hue, now charged. 

He leaned into to it, gaining the strength I remember the actual Steph having, keeping the crude grin as I struggled to keep the lute from crushing me. "I see where your attention drifts off to."

"Shut it."  I kicked his gut, giving myself enough room to roll out of the way from the next blow. Though this time the blade managed to slice my arm deep enough for a new scar. I held back a cry, falling to a knee, clenching the flowing wound. Warm crimson leaked between my fingers. 

Fake Steph flicked my blood off the blade. "Does it hurt? I'm sorry. You won't feel a thing soon enough."

I tighten the hold on the lute's neck until my knuckles turned white, swallowing my fear that threatened to take control. For Stephan's sake, I needed to get out of here alive. "I'm sorry," I say, "But I'm not letting some low hanging cloud tell me when to die." 

Fake Steph paused his assault, his head tilted again. "Oh?"

Back on my feet, I extended my bloodied hand, feeling the runic power flood my veins with the same golden light, putting the magic into my voice. I needed a song. 

Taking a chance, he raised his sword once more. Before he could do anything, I snapped my fingers, sending him flying with the same power given to me. He crashes into stone with the sword landing somewhere far off in an echoed CLUNK. My eyes stayed locked on my stunned attacker, the amusement on his face vanishing. 

He sprang up to charge, snarling like an animal, as I focused on the song my late master once sang to me when I was a child. “In the midst of old, the solemn song I heard...of a warrior lost from the old weathered war. He rides the winds, his steel by his side, to vanquish the evil upon the old weathered grounds…” 

The wind began to whip around me as the spell fed from the runes and my own energy. “Spirit in the wind, come as I call, to the old weather grounds you once bled for all!” The rush raced passed, freeing my hair from its tie and dancing it through the gale. 

Fake Steph never made it far. He turned tail the moment I began to sing, getting caught in the gust and torn by an invisible blade until there was nothing left of him but wisps that floated back into the Fog itself. 

When the last of my energy was spent and the runes mimicked embers, the spell fell apart, letting the chaos dwindle back to normal. The gold was gone and I collapsed with the world darkening around me, never feeling the landing.  

I was back in Bard School in the city, a child at my late master's feet, sharing the warm fire by the hearth. In chair, my late master hummed the song, playing the soft notes that went along with it. Plates from dinner surrounded us and in my lap was the cake the headmistress baked hours earlier for my name day. The room swayed as if we were on a boat in a storm.

I feel his fingers ruffle my hair after he finished the song and I look up at him. "This is a dream, isn't it?" I felt so drained. 

"I think so," He said, a gentle smile tugging on his lips. His long beard draped across his knees with the beads he braided in. "Magic affects everyone differently, they say. Perhaps this is a way for your mind to keep you grounded while you tamper with something you're not meant to. Just a theory."

I pushed the plate off my lap, drawing my knees to my chest. "Feels real enough to me."

"It's one of your favorite memories. You felt safe here. Loved. It's easy to see why being a bard meant so much to you."

"Are you the Fog again?" 

My late master laughed, patting my head like he did before. "No, lad. I bring you no harm. This is a safe space for the mind! I love you, Wesley."

"I love you too..." My voice was barely a whisper. It hadn't been a year and the pain from his passing pricked at my heart.  "And I hate the fact that you're gone."

"I wasn't really planning to go so soon. But that's how the world turns now ah days. I spent those last days with you, who had the talent far greater than my own. There's something I need to show you." Getting out of his chair, he wobbled over to the stairs, beckoning me to follow. 

At the top was the library of every song known to man horribly outdated by at least fifty years. Dust and broken shelves littered the place. Newer looking books had their pages ripped out and left barren on the floor.

On a pile perched a barn owl, turning its head to look at me. "Well done, Bard!" It's voice hummed against my ears once I entered. "Surviving an attack like that is no easy feat! Nor is surviving that spell's demands! Call me Asher, the Guardian of the Mind. Your mind to be exact." 

"Um...thanks, Asher. I appreciate it." 

"No problem! I aid those who are never born with magic and wish to dip their toes in some of the arts and to warn about the diving they might do in the future!"

"Sure. But um...I'm kinda in the middle of something. My friend and I got separated and--"

 "You wish to be with your boyfriend, understandable!"

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"I see all your dreams," Asher smugged, "In any case, I must tell you why I wish to see you and interrupted your time. What you will be facing is no normal lizard, but a guardian as well. What he protects is something that will turn the tides in a war you have yet encountered. Unfortunately, walking away will no longer be an easy task, for the dragon now sees you as a risk!"

"Because I defeated some fog?"

"It was an old spell," My late master informed, "Never been surpassed since it's cultivation. And having some unknown bard dismantling it is quite insulting to the dragon's ego."

It was true that dragons could be spell casters. When they started to be was much debate in the circle of elders who smoked magic history for a living. Most agreed on the time when language was more than a few grunts and voices created what magic is today; lacing the idea that dragons themselves were the first to do anything remarkable. Like creating mountains. Others leaned towards the idea of them being the last to gain the gift, based on the belief that lizards weren't that smart and were just bullies in the sky.

"That's wonderful to hear," I sighed, edging my voice with obvious sarcasm. "It'll follow me everywhere until I'm dead or its lunch."

"Basically.  I reckon the nap on the stone isn't a bright idea." My late master stroke his beard thoughtfully. "Let's wake you up, then." 

Reality hit and sprung me back to consciousness. A horse's nose filled my vision until I gently pushed it away to look Sven in the eye. "Hi again."

He backed up for me to regain my senses, licking my cheek in greeting until I was standing. My arm throbbed after hauling me into the saddle, storing the runic lute with my other. Blood started to seep and I tore my ruined sleeve to make a bandage.  

It wasn't the first time I took the reins, though this felt different from lazy trots around a fields or empty roads. I feel Sven eagerness to charge. "We need to find Stephan, quickly."

We raced up the stairs, dodging every crack and hazard the stairs provided, gaining speed to a blur.  I called Steph's name without much of a response. We cut through the fog like a knife and I urged Sven to slow to see if I could spot the hero. Or a clue.

Sven did slow. Only after something solid met his powerful legs, making it fly in a flurry of white fabric and curses. 

I pulled the warhorse into a full stop, fearing the worst. "Steph?"

"Fuck!" Was the reply. The hero was sprawled like a dummy on a road, too stunned to move. 

"Oh gods," I dismounted, running over to him. 

Steph looked up at me confused, his blonde hair ruffled from the accidental attack from his own horse. "Wes? I thought--ow!" He held a rib, trying to sit up. "Gods, Wes! You almost kill me!"

"I know, I'm sorry! I thought Sven knew what he was doing!" 

"He's a horse!" There was a dent in the armor, making me wonder how powerful the warhorse really was.  Taking a painful breath in, he managed to stand. "I'm starting to think that elfen armor was the best decision I've made in my life."  He noticed the blood on my arm.

"It's fine, just a flesh wound." 

He pulled me into a hug. "When our hands let go, I knew something terrible happened. Sorry I wasn't there to protect you." 

Right, we held hands. 

I felt color rush to my cheeks, clearing my throat. "Sorry for almost kill you with your own horse. " 

"Not the worst thing to ever happen." Letting go, he patted Sven's neck once the warhorse wandered over. "Nice to see you again, you bastard. Running away over a dumb troll." 

The horse let out air from his nose in response, nudging his master's shoulder.

"Steph," I say, getting his attention again. "There's something I need to tell you..."