Ledger :
The nightmares were back.
Of all the things that troubled Hirem, nothing hurt quite as much as that simple fact. At first he refused to believe it, thinking perhaps that it was the product of a bad meal or a restless evening, that he couldn't possibly be slipping back into the state he was in the summer prior. I was cured, he thought, thinking of the relatively peaceful fall. And even though this winter had been difficult at times, he had still been able to get full, restful sleep. He hadn't been living in fear of a dream. He thought that Nysel had been protecting him. But now, that faith was coming undone at the seams.
The nightmares were back, and they were worse than ever before.
Hirem knew, as he stepped out of the Alements tavern and into the quiet night around, that the looked half-dead. The deep, black bags under his eyes had grown considerably, making him perpetually exhausted. Worse, he felt perpetually exhausted, unable to get a wink of sleep in at least... the days felt too long to track. Five nights, he realized with a lurch of his stomach.Five nights I've gone without sleep. He had managed to sneak a few light naps into his daily routine, but whenever he settled in for a night's rest, the nightmares clawed into his heart and brought him screaming back into the waking world. Every step of his felt unsteady, the world dizzy all around. He felt as if he might just collapse and fall unconscious at any moment, and might have welcomed that relief if he thought it might work to soothe his nerves.
Outside of Alements, the sky was pale and the winds were warm, a sign of the winter's end. Glad to finally have some heat in his tired bones, Hirem closed his eyes and breathed deeply, clenching the small bottle he had wrapped in his hand. It was a bottle he had hoped never to procure from Caelum again, but with the nightmares having wreaked on him a terrible sickness, he had grown desperate. The Ethaefal's tincture was the only balm for his symptoms that he had managed to find, although it did little for the cause of his disease. Thankfully, the tavern had been completely empty at this late hour, allowing Hirem some peace from the public eye. He was too ashamed to be seen by his fellow Rivarians in this state.
Letting out a deep breath, the Benshira stepped out into the dark city street and took a swig of the tincture. The immediate reaction he had was nausea, and he almost collapsed to his knees after the heady drink passed through his lips. But Hirem managed to stand his ground, letting the tincture work its magic on his shaking body.
As his trembling finally stilled and he was able to get some peace back into his system, Hirem cast his mind towards his many troubles. This season had started out well enough, and deteriorated one step at a time until it reached... this. He figured that if he tried to sort out his problems and work through them individually, he might be able to work through the stress that was causing the nightmares. But even the thought of trying to do that made the Benshira fell sick, and he put a warning hand on his stomach. Calm down, he told himself, wary of being pushed over the edge of comfort. All you need to do is just bring them to mind. One at a time. You're suffering enough from these many problems, surely you can just name them? Walking into the street and massaging his brow with his thumb, Hirem tried to categorize everything that was causing him harm.
Firstly, there were the nightmares. Claws cutting through my flesh like ribbons, blood oozing from my eyes. The darkness growing oppressive all around, lights within taking on a sinister gleam. Red and blacks swirling about until I cannot see the path ahead of me, and I fall into a pit of thorns. Madness all around, taunting at me, laughing at me and eventually laughing alongside me. Hirem had no idea why he was experiencing this relentless torment once more, but he knew that he would not survive it for much longer. It frustrated him to think that he had come so far in this city of healing, and yet was still being laid low nightly by his imagination. But there was nothing he could do about it now, since he did not attempt to think of a cure.
Secondly, there was his growing awareness that he was becoming dependent on alcohol. The thought brought him distress, but he knew that he could ignore his constant consumption of ale. At first it had just been a drink or so every other fortnight, in the interests of experimenting... after all, he had not drunk anything alcoholic in over ten years. But as the season wore on, the visits to the tavern had become more frequent, and Hirem's purse was becoming increasingly bare. Every time he had a drink, it brought him one step closer to near oblivion, and he kept pushing himself to that edge without thought of the consequences. And then, five nights ago... he had reached it. He had reached it and the knowledge of that ashamed him.
And he had been drinking that night because he had a son.
Hirem's steps came to a halt, every part of his body clenching at once. I have a son, he remembered, having tried very hard up until now to forget that fact. But it was impossible for him to doubt anymore that Timothy, the boy he had met earlier this season, was indeed his child. He possessed the green eyes of his mother, wore Hirem's own childhood bracelet, and his age was... too convenient to ignore. For the past twelve years, Hirem had had a son. For the past twelve years, long before Hirem ever went out into the desert in search of Yahal, he had possessed a family that he neglected. While he had been suffering in the Burning Lands, languishing in an Ahnatep jail, trapped in Hai... there had been a little boy, wondering where his father was, that ended up getting sold into slavery. And if Tim had ended up in Kenash and then Riverfall, it begged the question - what had happened to Stella?
Hirem knew that she was dead.
The only woman he had ever loved was dead, and he didn't get a chance to see her in over twelve years.
And when he thought of Stella, he thought of Marion, and the damnable woman's magic, and the practice of magic in general, and the Cytali, and Kavala, and the Ruv'na, and...
"Petching benachags," he hissed, slamming his fist into the nearby building and sinking to his knees. He didn't know who he was cursing - the Eypharians? Himself? The gods? Finally, Hirem found the target to direct his rage upon, his teeth grinding together. Glaring up at the pale sky, the Benshira began to whisper under his breath. "Lhex, I have never once offered you a prayer, and for that I am sorry. But what you have done to me... what has been done to me and my son by you and your ilk... that cannot be forgiven. Do you understand?" He knew in his heart that he didn't mean his angry words, but couldn't stop them from tumbling out of his mouth. "You cannot do this. You cannot break men apart like this. You cannot... cannot... oh please," he begged, hanging his head low. "Please tell me what I can do. Tell me how I can fix this. Tell me what must be done so that I can reverse my fate. Just give me back Stella. Give me back Tim when he was a child. Let me take care of them the way I should have done years ago."
