Borne on great leathery wings glittering with scales of ruby and gold, the mighty dragon Gameliel braves the blasting winds of the unnatural storm, opening his great maw to bellow a defiant roar.

On his back is a mighty warrior, clutching tightly the prize he has fought tirelessly for, the Sword of the Star – an ancient relic obtained from the Ends of the World, which burns brightly as a beacon in the darkness of the storm.

The Mephitian's eyes bulge out of their sockets, and his mouth drops down to his chest as he stares agape all around him. By the Star?!?

With a face frozen into an exaggerated, and even somewhat comical expression of utter incredulity and awe, Galen slowly cranes his head about him, left, right, up, and all around. His eyes catch the shine of the Sword grasped in his hand, and his expression grows even more intense. The light from the Sword shines with a light unlike any light he had ever seen, a light of purity and crystal radiance that pierces the otherwise impenetrable black that surrounds the dragon and its rider.

In his saner moments, Galen might have begun wondering why such an incredibly bright, white light source could radiate such brilliance without burning his eyes out. However, his awe is short-lived. No sooner does he slowly look over the blazing Sword, looking down to its luminescent hilt, than he sees, just below him, and uncovered by the gigantic dragon's wings… nothing. Nothing but a sheer drop, hundreds upon hundreds of feet, into swirling clouds of blackness far, far below him…

Oh, VAIGH!! he mentally shrieks, and he quickly bends down in his saddle and tries desperately to clamp onto the dragon's thick neck with outspread arms (while holding the Sword in his right hand), and clamping his eyes shut. Oh, please, oh please, oh PLEASE let this all be just a dream. A horrible, horrible dream. This has GOT to be A DREAM!!

Galen is suddenly aware that he is being watched. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the distinct outline of the head of the dragon he is presently riding, the massive shape limned by several successive crashes of lightning. "'Ere now, Hilarion, sir," the dragon rumbles in a voice so low and strong that Galen can feel it in his bones, "'Ere we've gone to the Ends of the World, fought off monsters 'n such, and … you can't right well get frightened by a little thunder 'n lightning! It's downright humiliating, I say! Lord Dagh must be laughin' his pointy little skull off right now." The dragon tut-tuts.

The wind howls and roars in Galen's ears, and a violent rapid-fire volley of lightning bolts shoots down from the turbulent crowds, shattering trees and who knows what else somewhere on the landscape down below. The dragon, however, seems not the least bit disturbed by the predicament.

The dragon's deep, rumbling voice surprises Galen so much that he instantly bolts back up in his saddle, and his eyes bulge out again. He stares at the shadowy outline of the dragon's head out in front of him, and manages to blink, once.

First this darkness and lightning. Then this nightmare of a Citadel up ahead. Then this shining Sword. Then the bottomless drop. And now a talking dragon, thinks the gaping Mephitian. That proves it. Beyond a doubt. This is all just one incredibly detailed, incredibly REALISTIC, horrible dream. A dream about…

His thought processes freeze. After a few seconds of recollection, he slowly begins to realize what this story – now a very, very realistic dream – was all about. Oh, DAGH, he thinks, in stony shock.

After a few more seconds of recollection, Galen closes his eyes, takes a deep, deep breath (perhaps the only breath he's ever taken since his whole nightmarish incident began), opens his eyes, again, and quietly, ever so politely, asks the dragon, "Your name… " He hesitates, then clears his throat. "Your name … wouldn't happen to be Gameliel, now, would it?"

The dragon rolls his eyes. "Down right certain of it, I am! Really! What's got into you? Ohhhh!" Suddenly, there's a dawn of realization. "It's one of Dagh's enchantments! The Dweomer of Disillusionment! Or the Breath of Bafflement! Or maybe the Vindictive Vertigo of Vashar. Don't worry, your honor, it'll pass! You've got too strong a will to fall for his petty enchantments! Chin up! You'll show him!"

Perhaps it is just Galen's imagination, but he's fairly certain that through the crashing of thunder and the howling of the wind, he can hear dramatic music playing, sounding suspiciously like the Rephidim Temple Orchestra … or perhaps the band pit at Alysin's Opera House.

Galen's eyes blink sporadically as the dragon states the variety of enchantments. Afterwards, he just nods his head, very, very slightly, his face still etched with incredulity. "… okay… " He murmurs… then he closes his eyes, and takes another deep, silent breath.

If this is a dream, thinks Galen, Then I may as well play along. It'll be over soon, anyway, after the time egg's alarm wakes me up. It'll all be over soon. So just play along, Galen … just play along.

The dragon nods with a look of begrudging satisfaction. "There you are. Just remember, you're Hilarion, Hero of Heroes, Bearer of the Star Sword, Doer of Good Deeds! Dagh doesn't stand a chance! We'll show him, ey?"

As the dragon's flight continues, Galen slowly, and somewhat hesitantly, begins to regain his composure. He starts breathing a little easier now, and he begins looking around himself again, gradually becoming accustomed to the sights… though it admittedly takes a little while, to say the very least, to grow accustomed to the sight of darkness and blackness, roiling clouds filled with explosions of lightning and thunder, the horrid, barren landscape far, far down below …

… And especially the nightmare of a Citadel up ahead. Galen has to turn his head away, blink five times, and look forward again at the horrendous, gigantic, mountainous structure in front of him, before he can begin to fully comprehend its insane and twisted architecture. Dagh's palace,, he recalls from the tale.

All of a sudden, he feels very, very cold, right down to his bones.

He gulps, rather loudly, as his throat has suddenly become very, very dry. He leans over a little in his saddle. "Um … Gameliel? What is this Dagh like?"

"Evil. Very, very evil!" Gameliel says. "But you already knew that much, eh? Well, you see that big coil wrapped around the spire? That's him." The dragon nods in the direction of the spire. A flash of lightning illuminates an enormous serpentine shape that is tightly coiled around the spire, mind-numbingly huge, dwarfing even the already enormous dragon. Baleful eyes glow with hatred, flashing with each clash of lightning.

"Right sure of it, he's a tough one," the dragon rumbles, "but no match for someone who could make it through the Labyrinth of the Lost, eh, Hilarion?" The winged creature chuckles.

Upon witnessing the lighting-illuminated sight of the titanic, slithering nightmare coiled around the spire, Galen sits stock-still in his seat. His shoulders droop, his gapes so wide that his epiglottis is visible, and his eyes bulge … and when they can't bulge anymore, they begin to slowly glaze over.

Dagh, is the only word that forms in his head. It is uncertain if he means it as a acknowledgment of the horrifying, scaled fiend looming before him, or as a single, hopeless curse.

Galen doesn't hear the dragon's acclaims of his venturing through the Labyrinth. He doesn't even hear the deafening booms of thunder rolling at all sides around him. Everything has suddenly become very, very silent, to his senses. But not his eyes. For they are still transfixed upon the form of the evil Dagh before him. The Dagh that Hilarion fought and destroyed in the fairy tale. The Dagh that he, Galen, posing as Hilarion, in this nightmare, was just about to meet.

He did not feel very well.

A hole parts in the clouds, letting in a single shaft of sunlight that illuminates the dragon and its rider, causing the Sword of the Star to glow brightly and warmly in Galen's hand, filling him with a surge of power.

The same sunbeam passes by the dragon and its heroic (?) rider, perfectly illuminating part of the stone spire, and Dagh's reptilian gaze momentarily flinches from the intrusion of the light. Illuminated on the mountainside are two thick wooden poles, surrounded by a pile of bones, and roped between the poles, hanging dejectedly, is a beautiful lady of the same apparent species as Galen, with glossy black fur and a white stripe partially visible on her voluminous fluffy tail. Her head-fur hangs in disarray, matted by rain and distress, but at the shining of the light, she looks up, blinking, and there's a glint of hope that slowly shows in her emerald eyes.

The sudden burst of sunlight blinds Galen temporarily, and he shields his eyes with his free forearm … but it is enough to break the spell that the sight of the dark wyrm had over him. Yet even that was nothing, compared to the sudden surge of power that flashed through his entire body.

The feeling was indescribable … words simply could not illustrate the feeling that went through his body, from the tips of his head hairs all the way down to the tip of his tail. It could only be described as … Good. Like Goodness tangible, Goodness in physical form, flowing through him like a combination of liquid and lightning.

All of a sudden, Galen feels his heart begin to beat inside him with a rush of life and vitality he hadn't felt before, ever, in his life. His eyes, his ears, and even his senses of smell, taste, and touch, he fancies, feel more acute and sharp and healthy than ever before. The sense of touch is especially strong in his right hand … in which he holds the Sword.

He looks at the Sword again. It shines … almost impossibly … even brighter than ever before. It seems the Sun itself couldn't compare itself to the light that issued forth from the holy blade.

Galen turns his gaze from the Sword, to the sight of the beatific damsel tied to the posts far, far below him. She was beautiful … and even though he never set eyes upon her before in his life, Galen knew that she was brave. That she had offered herself as a willing sacrifice to Dagh, to appease his dark perverted hunger for the flesh and lives of the innocent. She did not deserve to die. Not this way. Not for…

… Dagh. Not for the serpent who he was now nearing with every wing beat of his draconic steed. Not for the Devourer of Worlds, this fiend of darkness. Not this time, nor ever again.

Galen shifts his eyes to the Serpent, and holds them fast. This time, he doesn't gape. His fear, though still existent, is rapidly being replaced by a feeling of … conviction. Destiny. Certainty. The certainty that this evil, evil Dagh, villain of the entire world of Sinai, was his Enemy. And he, Galen, would fight him.

And destroy him forevermore.

Just then, Gameliel turns around and with a chitinous claw, pokes at Galen's shoulder. "Good morning, Master Galen," he says, in a surprisingly Zelak-like voice. "It's time to get up." The sunlight seems even more bright and glaring than before, and the thunder seems to be dying away, sounding rather more like the roll of a wagon's wheels across a cobblestone street outside a window.

The prone form of Galen is entirely hidden underneath his thick blanket, save for his head, which is sunken into his pillow. The sun shining from the window makes his heavy eyes squint, blink narrowly a few times; he turns his head and shifts his body away from the annoying glare.

"Mmm … let's get him, Gameliel," he murmurs, half-consciously, as he begins to fall fast asleep again. "Hey," he murmurs again, "Since when did you start growing chitin on your scales? And why the voice change? You're starting to sound a lot like… "

His eyes open wide, and stay open. "Zago."

Galen is awake.

The Zelak nods, his antennae wiggling as Zelak antennae often do. "I will tend to the lobby." With that, the Zelak scuttles back out of Galen's room. He usually doesn't intrude on Galen's private space, really, but Galen must have overslept this morning. For most of the time he can remember, that hasn't happened much, but ever since these awful headaches have been setting on, he's been a little less reliable as a morning person. The throbbing in his temples reminds him of that, though it's only a dull ache, and not nearly so bad as it was last night when he turned in early.

He slowly, hesitantly, pushes himself up to a sitting position on his bed, then looks around him. He sees his chitinous servant walk out of his bedroom with his multiple legs, and hears him scuttle down the stairs.

I'm home, he thinks. He blinks many time, very quickly, as his eyes get adjusted to the sunlight pouring in. He looks out the window, squints, and realizes it must be quite late in the morning. He looks down at the time egg on his bed stand, then picks it up with one hand, and looks it over. It's still ticking: it didn't wind down during the night.

Perhaps I forgot to set the alarm last night, while I had that horrible headache? he wonders. Puzzled, he puts the egg back on its stand, and rubs his eyes. Oooweee … what a dream! he mentally exclaims. I simply can't believe what's been happening to me these past few weeks. These Dagh headaches, pounding more than ever before … these nightmares … and now dreams like these?? What's the matter with me?

After a few minutes of silence, he slowly, sadly shakes his head, recovers himself, and sighs. "But, life is life, and work is work," he says to himself. "Time to be up and about, Galen."

Seven minutes later, he's gotten himself out of bed, made the bed, taken off his nightshirt, put on his clothes, brushed his teeth, and is coming down the stairs. "Zago," he says in a loud voice, "Has anyone come in since I was asleep?"

"No," Zago answers, in the middle of sweeping the floor, though it hardly looks like it needs the attention. "No early arrivals yet today, Master Galen." His vocabulary may be somewhat more impressive than the average Zelak, but he still delivers his words in an artificial-sounding voice, filled with odd and equally artificial inflection, as his mandibles clack with each word.

The roll of a wooden wheel on cobbles can be heard out on the street, and some rapid boot-steps, intermixed with the usual sounds of morning activity in the Scholar's Quarter of Rephidim.

Galen's ears flick to the sound of the wheels on cobblestone outside; he nods. "Zago, thank you, Zago." As his mother, Nayla, has always taught him (Procession bless her departed soul), he always addresses the Zelak servant by his name, before issuing any commands or saying any other things to him. Zelaks were that way with instructions.

Nevertheless, Zago was relatively unique for a Zelak: he had been in Nayla's service for many years, and had been able to learn and pick up quite a few phrases and mannerisms during his service. Just his being able to politely prod his current master, Galen, awake after he overslept made him a genius by Zelak standards.

Galen grown up with him, ever since he was a little boy; consequently, he was quite fond of him, and regarded him more kindly than most other people in Sinai regard Zelaks. After all, the insectoid race was much, much better known for its combat proficiencies than greeting guests in the waiting room lobby; he often had to calm some of the jumpier patients whenever they saw Zago's potentially disemboweling forearm sabers (even though Zago had been taught to try and hide these as well as he could).

Today, Galen was thinking of making breakfast for Zago (who usually fixed his own meals), to thank him for waking him up this morning. "Zago, what would be your favorite food for today for breakfast?" he asks loudly, as he walks into the kitchen.

"Honey-gruel, Master Galen," Zago answers predictably. It really matters not to him, so far as it seems, whether or not the gruel has honey in it, or even whether it's gruel, but that's as much creative input on the matter of food that the Zelak can muster. A Zelak, after all, would be just fine subsisting on vermites, for all that can be told.

"Zago, very well, honey-gruel it is," answer Galen. After a few minutes, he's set up on the dining table a bowl of slightly steaming gruel laced with honey for his servant, and some simple smoked sausage, cheese, and crackers for himself. "Zago, breakfast's ready!" he yells.

The Zelak puts aside the broom, at the "command" of "breakfast's ready," and scuttles into the dining area. Back in the main room, though, the handle of the front door can be heard rattling – not successfully opening, since the clinic is not due to open yet for almost a half hour (Galen is only late by his own usual routine, not by operation of the clinic), and thus the main room hasn't been opened yet.

Galen blinks once, then stands up out of his chair, and pushes it back in. As he walks to the lobby, he brushes past the Zelak. "Zago, you go and eat, and afterwards do you usual household cleaning activities until I call you, please. I'll take care of whoever's at the door."

"Yes, Master Galen," the Zelak clacks, and goes in to the dining area without any further ado.

Meanwhile, at the door, Galen can see through the curtain over the front window the silhouette of an adult someone standing outside, holding a bundle of some sort, in the process of turning around, perhaps having given up on the door already.

Galen makes his way to the door, and looks through the small glass window in the middle of it, trying to get a glimpse of the potential visitor. Who could it be? he wonders, They should be able to read the opening hours posted up front – unless they can't read, of course. I just hope this isn't an emergency; I'm hungry.

A woman stands outside, wearing a long and hooded cloak, the cowl drawn over her face against the faint drizzle that is coming down outside, a light curtain of run-off forming over the overhang of the rooftops. Her species isn't immediately evident, except that she has a large black tail, and Galen can catch a glimpse of a white stripe down the back, before she turns again, her cloak obscuring the fur as she starts to head back down the steps to the street.

"Oh!" he exclaims out loud. A lady.He quickly unlatches the three separate locks on the door, and swings it open. "Excuse me, wait!" he says to the retreating figure on the steps below him.

The woman twirls about, and Galen immediately catches a glimpse of vibrant green eyes lined with weariness. He also gets a glimpse of the bundle held in her arms: a sleeping Mephitian kit.

Galen's eyes grow wide, and his mouth opens a little. He looks at the lady, then at the kit in her arms, then at her again, in silence.

Procession above! thinks Galen, shocked where he stands. Could it be… ?

And he's shocked that they're mephits, just like him; if this lady looks like the one in his dream, he doesn't realize it yet, even with the green eyes (she would have to take off her hood for him to see that she's familiar, if this is indeed the case).

No, it couldn't be. As the woman turns full around and pulls back her cowl enough so that he can see her face, he can see that she's a bit older than the damsel in distress in his dream, even if she happens to sport green eyes. He catches a whiff of cheap perfume, and other clues about her that immediately remind him of some of the people he has seen in Rephidim, particularly during his rare forays to make risky house calls into Darkside. It doesn't take much deduction to figure out that her profession is that of a "lady of the night", and judging from her age and the fact that she's carrying a kit, she's probably not one of the more monetarily successful ones (though at least she's managed to live this long, which is saying something, considering Darkside's reputation). "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't notice your posted hours. I was going to come back later. I … " She looks down at the bundle in her arms. "She won't wake up."

The Mephitian healer just stands there. His shoulders droop. His stare won't stop.

Oh Star … oh Star above, oh my Star my Star my Star … it can't be. He blinks, once, slowly. It's happening all over again

"I heard," the woman starts, "I heard that you'd dealt with problems like this. I … " She stammers. "I can't pay you much. I haven't been able to work much … with her … like this … but as soon as she's better, I'll be able to pay you. I'm good for it. Friends can vouch for me."

Galen just stands there stupidly, as if she hadn't spoken at all… then he blinks three times, quickly shakes his head, and recollects himself. "No! No! No! I believe you! I believe you! I was just having breakfast when you came to the door!" He glances at the sleeping kit, then focuses back to her. He beckons her, "Come on in, please, come in!"

The woman blinks a bit at Galen's sudden outburst, but she is evidently not one to shun such an enthusiastic welcome, and quickly shuffles past him, out of the thickening downpour, and into the much drier interior of the clinic lobby. "Thank you, thank you so much, sir," she says, multiple times.

"You're welcome, you're welcome," says Galen, obviously agitated. He closes the door, looks at her one more time, then quickly turns his head away from her, and shouts, "Zago! Get four towels from upstairs, and bring them to me! And fill a kettle with water, and hang it and warm it over the fire in the fireplace until it's slightly steaming, and not so hot as to burn a person's tongue! Then pour the water from the kettle into a pitcher, and dunk four tea bags into the pitcher to make tea! Then take out the tea bags, and bring the pitcher and two cups on a tray with sugarfir and cream! We have a guest!"

He quickly looks back to the lady, and speaks quickly. "Zago is my servant, he's a Zelak, he won't harm you or your child. He's good, but I need to be very specific with my commands to him." He beckons her quickly and excitedly. "Follow me into the healing room. Let's see your child right away. Tell me his symptoms, what's wrong with him, anything."

Zago clacks his acknowledgement, and the scuttling noises indicate that he has begun to carry out Galen's orders with typically Zelak deliberation. The woman nods and follows Galen into the room, carrying her kit.

As he leads her to the healing room, a hurricane of thoughts wind around and around in Galen's head. This can't be. This can't be. But it is. All over again. Just like that night so many years before. First my splitting headache last night, then the weirdest, strongest dream I ever had in my life, and now THIS. Oh, Procession above, why is all this happening to me, today?!? Oh, what does this mean, what does this mean, what DOES THIS MEAN???