“I’m going to kill that fucking djinn.”

  Sorina scoffs. “Not if I get to him first. But, really, it's not Baroth we should be worried about.”

  Right. “This warlock you talked about—describe him to me again.”

  So she does. As the snow piles high and we drift through the white like old pilgrims on a forsaken trail, Sorina tells me her own story.

  And it makes me livid.

  This bastard Baroth—how much can he hate me? It's astonishing that he dares to elicit this much fury for a man that he attacked. A boy that he tormented.

  And yet he thinks he’s deserving of revenge? He thinks he can lie to me about Sorina, kill her friend, and maim her?

  I’ll rip him apart again.

  “He’s got long, brownish hair,” she continues, breaking me out of my wrathful trance. “Curled up like a lion’s mane. And he uses dark, smoke powers I think—something to do with shadows.”

  “Another thing I’ll have to ask Hypna about,” I mutter.

  She frowns. “Right. About that: I still don’t understand… well any of that to be honest.”

  “What’s so hard to understand? I befriended my enemy’s dead mother who only exists in her dream form because her very conception is so powerful that she managed to implant herself in Thraevirula’s mind.” I say with a deadpanned voice. Sorina can sense the teasing. She stops and stares at me. “Oh, and also, she teaches me how to knit sweaters like an old lady. All for the purpose of learning Aether. Which will supposedly help me immerse lightning into an element.”

  Sorina works her mouth for a moment before shaking her head. “Why is she even on our side?”

  “That’s a good question.” I look up at the falling snow, feeling it tickle upon my nose. A sneeze wretches forth and I cover my mouth. Sorina pats my back. “I think—” I sniff, “it's because she’s a good person.”

  “That’s not enough of an answer.”

  “Well what do you want me to do? Ask her outright?” Sorina doesn’t respond to that. I sigh. “Look: she helped me fight Thraeivrula in the dream, gave me Aether which saved me during the battle in the Giant’s Glades, and to top it all off, she’s been teaching me all sorts of things about magicks—including how to—how to…” I stop myself from saying it, but she catches on quickly.

  “How to heal me. Come on, Raiten. You don’t have to shy away from telling the truth.”

  “Sorry.” I start moving forward again and she follows along. Umbrahorn wades behind us, peeving on the conversation as always. “But you see what I mean, right?”

  Sorina hums. “I suppose the witch has given you no reason not to trust her.”

  “Exactly.”

  We walk in silence for a few moments. Our pace quickens while our strength returns to us. The briars are almost fully behind us.

  “So that’s all she’s been doing at night. Teaching?” Sorina asks, a stark accusation lilting her query.

  “She’s also been protecting me from Thraevirula.”

  “Well she’s doing a piss poor job at that.”

  “She’s doing her best,” I snap back. I don’t know why I feel compelled to defend Hypna—but seeing Sorina try to critique her like this angers me. “She’s been the only one with me throughout all of this.”

  Sorina nearly trips at that. I shouldn’t have said it. But, the mayor recovers quickly, shaking her head.

  “She’s not doing enough Raiten. You’re suffering.”

  “She said—”

  “I don’t care what Hypna said. The next time you see that witch, you’re going to ask her specifically what she’s been doing to protect you at night. That way I can verify it. Understand me?”

  There’s something final about that last question which broaches no argument.

  I just nod in resignation, trying not to escalate this further.

  “Fine.” That is, if I see her again soon. It's been a few nights of constant torment. Sometimes, Thraevirula relents on her attack after waves like this. I hope that will be the case tonight.

  …

  “Uppity little girl thinks she knows anything about magicks?” Hypna mutters with a scowl. It's the first time I’ve seen her so angry. The witch’s purple eyes droop. It makes me wonder what her limits are, in this dream space. How much can she endure?

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  “She’s just worried about me Hypna.”

  “Well tell her, that while she was sulking and wallowing in her own self-pity, I was protecting you from constant attacks. Both internal and external.”

  Internal? “What do you mean—”

  “Do you think that the centipede she forced down your gullet was just for show?”

  It takes a few moments for me to realize what she’s referencing. “You mean back in the dream battle?” Hypna vaguely talked about it after I woke up from the long dream and she imparted Aether unto me

  “It was rendered into reality for a reason, Raiten. She put something in you that I’ve been trying to exterminate. And, at the same time, she’s been attacking you for the past few nights outside. It's a war for me on both fronts.”

  “I see.”

  Hypna stands up, staring down at me. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, Raiten. It's not your fault. But, tell your friend that she has no right to levy her criticisms at me. In fact,” the witch laughs the sort of laugh a mother might give a child who knows nothing about the world. “Ask her why she didn’t teach you about magicks stages. Maybe she’s not somebody you can trust.”

  “Hypna…” I know there’s probably a reasonable explanation. And she knows that as well. She’s just trying to get back at Sorina—for some reason unbeknownst to me. Maybe the weight of defending my mind against her own daughter is finally getting to her.

  “Go on. I’ll be waiting right here.”

  With that, Hypna snaps her fingers.

  …

  The dream ends and I wake up with a start, nearly jumping out of my cot. Sorina is watching over me from the log, scraping some bark off a stick to fuel the fire. She perks up as soon as I awaken.

  “Well? What did she say?”

  The night is still dark. Young, in its twilight glow.

  I tell Sorina what Hypna told me, watching as my friend’s face slowly twists into righteous anger.

  “She doesn’t know anything about me, and yet she dares to criticize me like this?”

  I clear my throat. “So, why didn’t you teach me about stages?”

  “I don’t know too much about stages…” she says before sheepishly adding “And didn’t think it was necessary.”

  What? “What?!? Doesn’t it seem kind of important?”

  “Yes, maybe to a mancer. You forget Raiten, I wasn’t exactly classically trained in magicks. I was born with an affinity to air and sound magicks. And my spirits were given to me. Besides, my husband once told me that a good rule to live by is to assume that everyone is stronger than you. It doesn’t matter what stage they’re in. Just fight as if they’re better than you, and then that way, you won’t underestimate them. You won’t make stupid mistakes.”

  “I—actually kind of agree with that,” I realize. What do stages matter when I’ve been doing well without understanding them so far? Just as long as I can progress, it should be fine, right?

  “That’s because you're my student. Not hers.”

  “Uh, that’s actually not what I meant—”

  “Go back to sleep and tell her exactly what I said. Let’s see how she responds to that.”

  Suddenly, I feel like I’ve started a cycle that I’m going to regret.

  …

  “Tell that child,” Hypna speaks, her voice low. “That such a foolish disparagement of stages is why she lost to the warlock. If she only took the time to realize how outclassed she was in that battle, by evaluating what stages he was at, then maybe she would’ve been able to run away.”

  “But Hypna—”

  Before I can even stammer the words out, she snaps her fingers.

  …

  “Tell that bitch, that it wouldn’t have mattered. I’ve beaten people who were a stage or even two stages above me, via cunning and tact. So…” Sorina stands, furiously cutting the stick up now. “Life can’t just be categorized into pretty little numbers and markers of progress. It's more complicated than that”

  I stare at Sorina, not moving for a moment. She glances at me. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go back to sleep. And, be sure not to leave a single word out of what I said.”

  “Including the part where—”

  “Yes, including me calling her a ‘bitch.’”

  …

  “Tell that impotent brat that stages are usually a reliable way of gauging who will win a fight—so even if she did luck her way to victory a few times, it's nigh idiotic to think that mere cunning will make up for her deficiencies.”

  …

  “Tell that old hag—”

  …

  “Tell that upstart—”

  …

  “Tell that—”

  Tell that tell that tell that—

  I rip at my hair “Enough!”

  Hypna pauses, staring at me in confusion.

  “Look. Just—bring her into this dream and tell her yourself! Alright? Let me just—” I can’t believe I’m saying this “knit in peace.”

  “So you do agree that stages are necessary then?’

  “Hypna.”

  “Alright, alright,” she says, holding her hand up. “When your friend goes to sleep, I’ll bring her into the dream. And we can have a nice, long chat—woman to woman.”

  I start mumbling obscenities about eccentric teachers as I summon two needles. Then, after a moment of hesitation, I add: “Hypna?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be nice to her.”

  “Tell that to her—”

  I glare at her. And for the first time in a while, I hear the genuine, bubbling laughter of the Witch of Dreams.