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It's the early hours of the morning. Much of the village tucked themselves into bed hours ago. A large shape flies overhead, not waking a soul. The world is at peace.
But inside the tower is a different story.
The wizard tosses from side to side, clutching at his bedsheets. His hair is tangled and his pyjama robes are soaked with sweat. He has not been having a pleasant night, not that he rarely does these days. It is hard to sleep when his past will not let him out of its grasp.
In his dreams, he is back to that day where things changed. There is a pulsating pain in his right knee and he can feel a warm trickle of blood working its way down his leg. He faces the ex-paladin, or rather current paladin, whose face just exudes hatred. A sneer hangs from his lips.
“Please don’t do this,” the wizard begs, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” The paladin replies. “You are not powerful enough for that. You have hurt this village enough, necromancer, and you shall pay for your crimes.”
“I swear I haven’t done anything!” the wizard cries. “I would never touch that sort of magic.”
But the paladin ignores his pleas. Advancing forward, his large broadsword guards his chest. The wizard knows that despite its size, the paladin does know how to use it.
He has no choice. Raising his right hand, he gathers his energy in a spell he has never had to cast. It congeals in a sickly ball of green light, sparking between his fingertips. Just as the paladin steps into slashing distance, the wizard casts, striking the other man right in the chest. The paladin crumbles slowly, the sound of his armour ringing out.
The wizard stares over the unconscious body of his friend. Now what? He can’t just leave him here. The paladin could get hurt, and it won’t stop him trying again. But he could never do anything more … permanent, to stop him, even if he was trying to kill him. He could never harm his friend like that, even if he doesn’t currently remember being his friend. Collapsing to the ground beside the still body, it is all the wizard can do to hold back tears.
Back in the waking world, a little black cat squeezes herself through the door left ajar. She pads straight for the wizard, jumping onto the bed with a slight twitch of her tail. Clambering onto her master’s heaving chest, she turns in a circle before settling, beginning to knead her paws in the front of his sleeping robe.
The feeling, the purring weight with tiny sharp pinpricks, is very familiar to the wizard. Even in his dreams, he would recognise it. It pulls him away from the unconscious body of his friend and into the waking world. He sits bolt upright, the little cat letting out a hiss of annoyance.
“Shh, I’m sorry, my dear,” he reassures her. “Thank you for waking me. You definitely deserve a little extra this morning for that. Perhaps the salmon? I know you loved that last time.”
The little cat just purrs in response, the slight quickly forgiven.
He sighs, pulling a hand through his tangled hair. Well, the wizard thinks, at least he is seeing his therapist today. Having his trauma fresh in his mind always leads to a deep session. He will have to tell the ex-paladin that he will not be available for lunch today. As much as he wants to see his dear friend, he is scared that he will not be able to look him square in the face without flinching, and he doesn’t deserve that. Maybe tomorrow will be better.