The world became a blur, and each day became nothing more than a list of hours that went by, one by one.

Nonetheless, Milo Anani learned exactly three things since he opened one, simple letter. 

First, he wouldn’t be able to finish his degree, or at least, not right away. With the Holn watch after him for war desertion, he couldn’t simply show up to his classes. It didn’t truly matter, but still, it bothered him - he had spent so long on his project, it was a shame to let it go. Maybe if he waited some time, or got his family to support him, he could return to it someday.

Second, the man he loved had died in a disastrous battle. Micheal had assured him that Corym had saved many, as he had wished, but Milo could not make peace with it. Forty-six students had died that morning. 

Finally, he was a Leitar. An almost-human with a dream spirit that lived in his mind. And that spirit - Ashtai - had a plan for his survival, and wouldn’t let him stray very far from it. 

Every night that Milo didn’t follow its instructions to leave the Stars Reach tower, Ashtai liked to toy with him. It’d give him nightmares, each more grim than the last. More often than not, the dreams included him holding Corym as he bled out on the battlefield, begging for him to wake up, to look at him, to stay with him. Other times it was an oppressive darkness, dreams of drowning, or even a collection of Morningstar lilies that were on fire. 

He didn’t like it, but on the evenings where his sleep deprivation was too strong, he’d turn to drink. Never too much, just enough for the dreams to be… blurred. Muted. He knew Ashtai hated the whiskey, but at least he’d get some sleep nonetheless.

Sleep well, Mi love, and live brightly. - C

The note never left his shirt pocket unless he was reading it. Never had he been so devastatingly careful handling anything he owned. He could hear the words in the voice that had become entirely familiar to him. They were a lifeline, an encouragement to move on. Milo needed sleep before he could move on. He just needed stability. He needed to - 

You need to follow my lead. Go to the outer city.

Ashtai would say, over and over again. But too much held him back. He was exhausted, his injured hands hurt more with each passing day, but his energy was too low to use magic to heal himself. 

The day he had let go of Corym, the day he had tried to follow him to the battle, he had hurt himself. Now, he understood what had happened; Ashtai had tried to manifest, and did what they could to stop Milo from running to the field, likely getting killed in the process. The struggle between himself and Ashtai pained him, made him dig his nails into his palms, digging into his hands more than ever before. After that, his memory was simply blank. He woke up hours later, wished on the morningstar Corym had given him and only cared enough to notice his injury the next morning.

Days had passed, and he started to believe that his injury was worse than usual. He could not fully close his fingers. An anatomy book suggested that he had affected the tendons in his hand. It would be difficult to heal. 

It didn’t matter. 

He didn’t care

He was too tired. 

But no matter how tired he was, he couldn’t fall asleep, not when rest meant his mind wandered to everything that was missing.

Until one night, after one too many drinks with Micheal and Liam, he finally slept soundly. Micheal flinched at noises, Liam drank to his best friend.

Milo finally left his study the morning after and listened to Ashtai, making his way to the outer city, one quiet street at a time. He did what he could to act casual, to look forward, to not stop at the places that held shadows of memories.

Seeing his own face plastered on wanted posters was not something Milo had ever thought he’d witness. 

Corym did a better job drawing him than whoever drew those posters. 

Milo found himself following the familiar streets to Lockwren’s house. As he passed by it, he considered knocking on her door to ask for shelter. He was sure she would give it without question, but the thought of facing her made him feel sick. She hadn’t lost someone she had known for barely a year; she had lost her only child. 

He promised himself to visit her in the following days, once he had enough sense to string some words together. 

Milo barely remembered walking into a dark inn, or being given the keys to a room. He just remembered crawling into an uncomfortable bed, wishing for the day to be over. 

See, that wasn’t so hard now was it? You’ll sleep well tonight.

Milo exhaled quietly, still not responding to Ashtai.

Almost as if by reward, Milo slept perfectly that night, dreaming only of his favorite. 

He dreamt of himself lying with Corym in a field with a few morningstar lilies. Corym’s head was on his chest, his hand over his own heart. He was holding a morningstar lily between his fingers, smiling easily, relaxed. 

Milo had had so many nightmares about him in the past week, he didn’t realize how much he had been craving such tenderness. 

He was too far from him...

Milo shifted, urging them to both sit up, and pulled Corym into his lap, wrapping his arms around him, holding him close. Milo buried his face in Corym’s neck as the latter ran his fingers through his hair, over his back, comforting him in a way that said that he was still loved. Milo couldn't let go, being exactly where he wanted to be.

When Milo felt the familiar pull of waking up, he clutched onto his partner more tightly as Corym gently pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“I love you, Mi.”

Milo let his forehead rest on Corym’s. “Then stay with me?” he asked, his voice breaking.  

“Of course. Always.”

It was a perfect dream.

The nightmare was waking up alone, away from any semblance of home.