Milo had always had nightmares.

Since he could remember, they had woken him up at odd hours, with an even odder feeling lingering in his bones long after it was over.

That night, he dreamt he was on a ship, from the continent to an island. The water around him was dark, too dark. He stepped away from the side of the ship, too terrified of the unfathomable depth of the sea below him. He found himself standing next to a young girl and her mother. The girl could not have been older than eight or nine, and was singing a song he recognized as being used to tell a tale of a girl who loved the sea.

"Is that your favorite tale?" he asked the girl.

"Yes its my favorite ever! What is yours?" She beamed up at him like he was the first to hear her in all too long.

"Have you heard of the Tale of Moon?"

She nodded proudly. "I was the main character for my school play."

The mother smiled, a protective hand on the top of her daughter's head. Milo thought, for a moment, that a crown sat among her curls. It must have been a trick of the light. "Oh you don't want to know my favorite, it will make me seem very old. But... it's a little something about a lost crown, and someone destined to carry it some day."

Before Milo could process her words, the boat had arrived, and they made their way from the docks to....

He wasn't quite sure where.


The land had trees unlike he had ever seen, with thick vines falling from their branches and orange flowers blooming amongst them. It felt like the warmest day of summer, without it being overbearingly hot. Jasmine flowers sprouted at his feet, filling the air with their soft scent.

Then, he heard the first explosion.

Milo hid behind a wooden crate, doing what he could to show the panicked people around him to do the same. But some didn't listen. It was like they couldn't see him at all.

He heard more explosions, and heard people fall.

He followed people running back to the docks, making sure the mother and daughter were close by.

Another closer explosion. "He killed ...!"

He didn't remember the name. A deep part of him recognized it, though. It was too familiar for him to not know it.

Milo woke up then with a gasp, a sheen of sweat on his face. All he could do was hope the mother and daughter were alright before realizing it had all been in his mind. He swore as the too-familiar after-feeling settled in.

His entire body tingled as if he had been tense for hours, his hands were curled up tight enough for his nails to mark his palms. Every place he had a small scratch hurt a little, as if they had just been made. He loosened his fingers - his nails through his palms, pooling warm blood in his hands, yet again. His mother had taught him a simple healing spell for when that happened.

Watching his skin close after casting it was always oddly fascinating. It was only a shame he couldn't quite figure out the spell to remove the bloodstains from his sheets and clothes.

He checked the time: 5:30 in the morning.

Milo waited for those uncomfortable symptoms to subside before curling back up to sleep. He gasped awake when a thought entered his mind - he didn't want to go back. That name, the one who was killed... it echoed wordlessly in his mind. He couldn't see it happen again.

He wasn't sure what was worse, - the panic or the lingering tingles. Maybe it was the fact that he coudn't remember falling asleep that night.

Milo sat up with a notebook, working on simple equations as he wondered how the story seared into his mind may have ended.

No one ever said he wasn't morbidly curious.