?They?re going to take her back. If he doesn?t help her they will take her. She?ll be so far away and we won?t be able to reach her. Not through that darkness, not through the shadows, the ferry man wouldn?t take our coin. He knows us to well.?

?Finch??

The Dreamer looked with the startled eyes of blue as a hand paused in its braiding as she glanced to the shimmery, wavering presence of Delirium in her mirror. Pheus knew well enough to not look over her shoulder to seek out Delirium because she knew the girl would not be there.

Finch was more then a delusion or a figment of the imagination, but her existence was more a conjure of illusion and insanity then truth of stability.

?Yes. Yes. Yes. I?m trapped here too? he has me again. It?s up to you to tell him? if he cares? Does he care? Do any of them. The darkest of us is the easy one to be lost and they don?t know.?

The frantic rhymes and tangents of Finch?s musical voice danced and darted like the bird she was named after as Pheus watched her sister?s presence in the mirror.

?You have to tell him. Have the King work sense in the Darkling before they take her? and they will? they want her so bad? and she doesn?t care. Not anymore. She thinks she?s alone.?

Pheus winced as she heard that yelp of pain. She knew what the colors meant as they painted a new hue across the flesh of Finch.

?Help her. You must. He must or we all will die if the Death Raven goes mad??

The illusion, the conversation shattered and splintered leaving nothing more then the startled eyes staring back at her from her reflection.

The brush fell from her hand in a harsh clatter against the vanity as that thread of pain lanced through her, the starting of connections between the three growing far more fragile then ever before? those ties? were being severed string by string of soul threads.

Her fingers touched to her temple even as she felt the dreams alter around her, to change the physical appearance of the Dream Maiden once more. Still of the silvery blue depths and the wispy mane of mist and ash, snow and ice but now was the presence of one? who knew that in order to save them and herself? they had to find a way to free Solah from the grip of Thanatos.

It was never an easy feat to escape the Hand of Death, a far harder task to free another from his icy grip.

He kneels in what was once the cell of a nun, in the very back of the old, abandoned church, the sacred text before him, his eyes staring at the pages and yet not seeing, the position of the penitent, hoping for a miracle, praying for help.

"My Lord, I pray to you to take me away from this place, to hide me in a place as you see fit, no matter where it may be, so that I may speak the truth of your grace."

He has made the same prayer for the past three days, knowing beyond doubt that they are closing in on where it is he has hidden himself and the sacred texts, the words of which have affected him and his life in ways greater than anything else he has yet encountered in his existence.

His loyalty had always been to the faith first, since coming to understand that there must be something more than interacting proteins and cellular biochemistry at work, something from which all things had come that he could not find under a microscope or in a laboratory, that he could not reproduce for himself.

Which is why he had betrayed the church. His life has been about seeking the truth, and they had sought to cover it up! Sacrilege!

And they had the gall to call him heretic, he who sought to show the truth to the world, for fear that it would bring ruin to the Church.

Fools.

But anger about it is wrong, he well knows. Forgiveness for them, their eyes blinded by what he knows not - greed, ambition, power, or simple fear, who is to say? He is not their judge, simply a poor sinner, servant of the Lord.

He stands, picking up the pages laid out before him and holding them to his chest, his eyes closed, his head tilted back, speaking soft words to the air.

"My Lord, I come before you, Geoffrey Aldwin, your humble servant. The pages I hold in my hands are said to be Your words, the words of your Son, and I believe it to be so. If it is Thy will that these words should be lost, should be taken and hidden when they speak a truth that calls to my soul, then Thy will be done, o Lord, but I beg of you that it not be so. I will be Thy messenger, to go where You would have me, to spread the truth of Your word, and to follow whatever other path as You see fit, o Lord. In nomine Patris, et Fillii, et Spiritus Sancti...amen."

A crash of breaking wood, the sound of voices echoing through the church comes to his ears as suddenly the room spins around him, a whirlwind of color and roaring sound...

...and then darkness...

He is aware of himself, and yet his body seems...unimportant somehow, as if it exists merely as a vessel to conduct his mind and soul to where they will, nothing of great consequence.

They are nothing, to the presence that he feels around him now.

Warm, welcoming...and yet with a certain cold, amused indifference.

Straining, he seeks to hear. Some sound. Breathing, a footstep, perhaps a soft clearing of the throat. Not only can he not hear, but his sight is gone as well, it seems.

Finally, he clears his throat softly, asking the first question that pops into his mind. Not because he believes it to be true, but it's the first possibility to occur to him.

"Am...am I dead?"

The response is immediate, so loud to his - ears? mind? how is he hearing this? - that it is almost soul-shattering. The tone regal, warm, reassuring, and yet amused.

No, Father Aldwin, you are most assuredly not dead. You have asked, and been answered, to be taken to a place far from those that would seek to cover the truth of my words to further their own selfish motives. But in return, I would make a request of you - that you find those I wish you to seek. In their salvation shall be yours.

He is shaken, to the very core of his being. Never, in all his wildest imaginings, did he ever think he would be standing within the presence of God, to be spoken to by the Father, to be asked something of. And yet he is surprised to find his voice strong and accepting, calm and patient and humble, as he answers.

"I am Your humble servant, my Lord. Lead, and I will follow the path You set for me."

The first image to appear to his eyes is that of a woman. Tall, slender, graceful, with smooth lines, dark hair, her eyes the same, large and lovely and so very expressive, a beauty of the kind that makes one ache to hold it close. And yet, looking into those eyes of hers, he feels a certain chill, as though he were looking into the eyes of death.

This one I would have you seek. But in order to find her, you must first locate this one.

And the shape of the woman becomes a man, darkly clothed and nearly as beautiful in appearance, even for a man. Pale skin, dark hair, eyes...the eyes gold and red colliding with each other, a dark, infernal presence that he nearly recoils from, recognizing traits of mythic, unholy creatures he has never seen or encountered, and does not understand. As he does, the Presence speaks again.

Be not so quick to judge what you do not understand, Father Aldwin. You see him for what he is, and yet do not be so certain that he is unholy. For in the end, do not all things serve Me?

Still shaken, this time he can hear the tremor in his own voice as he speaks. "Forgive me, Lord..."

The sound of dismissal in the voice can be heard as it speaks yet again.

You know no better, but in time you shall understand that not all things you have been taught are evil are, in fact, truly evil. Some are good by nature, some by the touch of something else...love, perhaps. You must find the vampire, Father, and follow him to the Death Raven. But in order to find them, you will have two you must find first.

And the form before him shifts again, this time to a tall, broadly built man of tousled blond hair, gold-brown eyes, a smile on his lips, and yet all over his body the strange, shimmering shift of what look to be reptilian scales, as if his very skin cannot decide if it would rather be human or snake. At his side, a woman of the same heart-rending beauty as the first. But where that one had been dark, this one is lightness, silver and light, winter's cold touch, but with a heat in her eyes as she looks upon the man next to her, the same heat shown in his eyes as he looks upon her.

They can show you the way to find the vampire and the Death Raven, Father Aldwin. Find them, before they are lost for good and will have no way back to the light of each other, before their loss costs others the ones that they hold dearest.

A blast of light and sound and color, a warm breath of air upon his cheek...

With a bone-jarring crash, he lands in a darkened room on his back, his arms crossed over his chest instinctively to protect the ancient papers he has been protecting for months now, stunned into a temporary paralysis as he tries to get his bearings.

The crash in the room jars him awake with the sudden swiftness of old, of another lifetime of alertness where anything could happen in a single moment to bring your life to utter ruin.

His dreams, since remembering who he truly is, have not been the dark ones of death and sorrow, but rather of more pleasant things. It is truly remarkable, he's found, to have one within your dreams that can share every moment of both wakefulness and sleep, a never-ending cycle of pleasant memories, of sweet moments and pleasurable intervals.

Which is why his first instinct is to look around, a soft hissing exclamation from his lips igniting the many candles in a single breath, flames that spring to life as though they had merely awaited his word to awaken.

At his side, he can feel the comfortably cool presence of Phaedra, her curled into his side, already stirring from her own slumber as she sensed him snatched from their reverie together in the realms of dreams.

His dark eyes scan around the room, taking account of everything around him methodically, until they come to rest on the dark-robed man laying in the middle of the room, looking as if he had landed there from the air itself, stunned for the moment. Despite the fact that he's not a fan of unwelcome intruders, he can't help but be slightly amused.

Still, he's not going to welcome being awoken from such a pleasant slumber.

"You have about one minute, chummer, to explain yourself, before I decide you're not here to tell me I won the RhyDin lottery. After that, I don't think it will matter to you, seeing as you'll have all the mental capacity of a three year old child."

He's not hurt, only stunned for a moment from the landing. He's just getting his senses back when he hears the voices. The first to speak is a man, his tone somewhere between amused and irritated, followed by the softer, lighter voice of a woman, concern and curiousity in hers.

Slowly, he picks himself up from where he's landed, making a thorough inventory of himself. Still dressed in his priest's robes, nothing seeming to be broken, the ancient papers still cradled close to his chest. As he's getting to his feet, he starts to speak.

"I...I do humbly pray your forgiveness for this intrusion...I don't know how I got into your home, but if you would be so kind as to point me towards the exit, I..."

His voice trails off into silence as he looks to the pair, still in bed, curled closely together.

His silence is a product of shock. Before him are the first pair, not clothed as they were shown to him, but still with that sense of comfortable closeness and warmth between the two of them that he would have recognized anywhere.

"You...it's you...the two I was commanded to find..."

He stops, suddenly, realizing that the story he is about to tell will most likely sound utterly ludicrous to the pair...it seems to be so even in his own mind.

Who would believe that God had plucked him from his refuge, commanded him to find specific people, and then dropped him into the bedchamber of the first two he was instructed to find?

He's not entirely sure he believes it himself.

Finally, he finds his voice. "Again, I humbly apologize for my untimely and disruptive intrusion...to be honest, I don't know precisely where I am, or what I'm doing here...but I was told to find you two first..."

He stops himself from saying the rest. God told me to look for you. No one ever believes that, even those that are supposed to be the most devout of His servants.

"...I'm sorry, but this is probably not going to make any sense to you...it makes none to me. I was told you would be able to help me find a..." The word sounds incredible to him as he says it. "...a vampire...whom I'm supposed to reunite with one that is called the Death Raven..."

The more he speaks, the more ridiculous it sounds. Here he is, standing in the middle of this pair's bedchamber, talking about vampires and Death Ravens. He can only imagine what they must think of this.

There was nothing but the shadows, nothing but death and blood and pain that bled and trickled into every waking hour.

Wordless was her suffering, never would that carrion call be a cry of pain or anguish.

The midnight blue of her eyes had become as black as the River Styx, just as endless, just as empty of emotion.

She moved in her cage, crawling to the bars, fingers stained with her own blood and the blood of others curling to the bars as she pressed her head against the cold iron of her cage.

Trailing thoughts, shattered images. Pieced together like they were unwilling to become unrecognizable.

A breathless kiss shared.

She held back a strangled cry of loss as the image near broke her.

Perhaps this is what Thanatos meant to do, meant to break her to be a perfect willing pawn.

"Lucius..."

A broken raven call before she opened her mouth and screamed as the pain tore through her again and the darkness seized her mind once more.

The vampire. The Death Raven.

The word strike a familiar chord, even as Phaedra presses against his back, the curves and smooth lines of her body molding themselves to his, that inviting coolness that he finds himself subtly snuggling back against as her presence soothes the irritation away from his mind, replacing it with images of the pair that the priest had mentioned.

The vampire he recognizes easily enough for what he is, even if the face is unfamiliar - they had their kindred in the world he had been born into, and it seems that no matter how many he sees, they all seem to be so similar.

Pale. Graceful, even in stillness. A certain aesthetic beauty, whether they were male or female. And every single one of them with that same hunger lurking in their strange eyes.

The images of the Death Raven, he recognizes more easily. He had passed into Phaedra's dreams, had seen her sisters there, even as he had brought his lover back to the realm that waits for every dreamer to awaken.

The feather, black as night, lays on the table not far from his reach. His gaze settles on it for a moment, before turning his head towards the lovely vision of Phaedra reasting against him as she speaks, his nose delicately brushing her cheek as he smiles, inhaling the sweetness of her scent, listening to that voice that had so captured him the first night he had awoken in Rhy'Din, with no memory, no idea of who or where he was, with nothing but his dreams to guide him, that had drawn them together.

She seems to know a great deal about the priest, or at least more than he does. The smile on his lips is both of adoration and understanding. Strangeness is something he's no stranger to.

He's been in Death's clutches, been beyond that fabled River Styx, and, somehow, had managed to escape to this new life. It doesn't get much stranger than that.

His gaze drifts back to the priest, and around his eyes the skin shifts, a subtle flickering as reptilian scales shimmer over his skin, there and gone so fast it could have been mere illusion. Nothing off about him, looking through eyes that see beyond the physical. Normal enough.

And if Phaedra accepted the priest, that was good enough for him.

Finally he speaks again, a wry smirk on his lips. "Well, Father, you seem to have come to the right place after all, so I guess I won't be reducing your intelligence to that of the average cucumber. You got a name?"

Everything was dark and suffocating. The sensation made her claustrophobic as she felt that she was trapped, entangled in some insufferable webbing that was keeping her bound. Her mind was coherant enough to realize that it wasn't truly she that was ensnared in that suffocating, thick darkness but another... yet the trap still was felt.

"Lucius..."

A weak crow of his name as she struggled to open her eyes, the pain of broken wings leaving her near motionless on the steel bottom of the cage Thanatos had forged for her.

Death Raven again, a Soul Collector. The only thing she knew was the Market of Souls, the gathering and taking to ferry the spirits to not heaven or hell or purgatory but a place that Solah found to be far worse. The Soul Market where anyone and any sort could bargain and bid and auction a soul.

Solah could not help but do the job, terrified if she resisted again that she would be the next soul to be placed upon the auction block. Or worse... her sisters or Lucius.

Still the strength of her will remained as she closed her eyes, spirit attempting to reach out to him as she chased the mind's eye vision of those life threads that wove them all together.

Always there was one that seemed untouched and unclaimed by the threads of life, Delirium herself that so long ago had been Delight. Solah had to wonder if the life blood that bound the sisters together would be enough to reach Finch.

To send Finch to Lucius, to free him from all that bound him even as Deliriums Champion, the one that had pledged servitude to Felicia for eternity would help to free them all. Gods knew that Finch was mad enough she would go by herself to take them all, just as she had led the King to the Dream Maiden.

Another close of eyes and a glimpse of dull gold strands and copper penny eyes flooded her sight, another flash and there of a man of vows twisting and weaving through the life threads of her sister Pheus and her lover.

So many threads and Solah was ensnared in them all.

His eyes show their confusion as he looks upon the pair, curled so close to each other with intimate familiarity, their manner completely lacking any form of self-consciousness whatsoever. He feels a momentary stab of longing and, yes, jealousy as he watches them - this is the sort of close companionship and love that most dream of finding and so rarely do.

He chides himself internally for his feelings, knowing them for what they are, a frailty of his weak, human self. Thou shalt not covet. Should he be meant to find such a thing, he thinks, he will...but he has his doubts. He was not always a priest, and has had his share of romantic affairs, but after choosing the priesthood, he wondered if such a thing would even be possible.

Such is the life in service of the Lord. Sacrifices must be made...

He barely hears the girl's claims that he was sent here to find another, the only acknowledgment of her statement a moment of confusion shown in his eyes as he looks to the man. The shifting of scales around his eyes gives him a moment of pause, a chill wriggling its way along his spine and across his skin as he suddenly has the feeling he was just x-rayed, and as the man relaxes, so does he. Apparently, the pair have some other kind of accord, for it seems to be her words more than anything else that relax her strange lover, his manner more open and friendly as he asks the priest's name.

He bows his head to the pair, his voice soft and respectful, looking away to avoid staring at the pair curled so close together, a gesture that is more self-conscious on his part than it is uncomfortable. "My name is Geoffrey Aldwin, sir. Forgive me...I was told to find you, but I was not told what your names are...?"

Even as he asks the question, the sacred texts in his arms are looked over, the ancient papers that he has watched over for the months since he found them buried deep under the earth. He is relieved to find the skin they were wrapped in remains soft and supple, the papyrus pages beneath undamaged. Again he is surprised that, for something so impossibly old, they seem to be so strong, as if they carried a blessing and magic of their own.

"I am often called Pheus... but my given name was at one time...and perhaps still today Phaedra, and this is Phillip." Soft and delicate the gentle soothe of her voice as the Dream Maiden smiled to him with kind offerings and the lack of hostility.

She stirred briefly against her lover's back, arms embracing his waist to bring his form closer to her own as she breathed him in.

A deep sigh of tranquility as she smiled to the priest.

"It seems your journey has been quite long then... strange though that a stranger would come. Curious even more so that they would come for the Death Raven and her bound."

Brow furrowed in thought even as she trembled against the back of her lover, eyes widening in surprise as another vision stirred in her mind.

Was it truth, a dream, or reality?

"StyLz?"

A whisper, hardly audible but filled with wonder and shock at the stirring presence of her once Guardian there again in her mind. The life force of his own so well known.

For a moment she saw the gargoyle, saw the others. Did they not realize that all of the rest ... the women of the Crystal still remained in Rhy'din... that she... that all of them were still there?

Her spirit seemed to reach for the gargoyle even as she felt that aching empty presence, the hole in her spirit he once had filled... just as much as the soul spot that Zedi had left unfilled with his disappearance.

Cobra's gentle murmur of concern for her well being brought her back to the room and she smiled apologetically at the pair of men even as Cobra's thumb brushed against her face to take away the tears she had not realized were shed.

"My apologies... I thought... it matters not more so would be for the reason why you have come and who you might be."

Even as he feels the wetness of tears against her cheeks, even as his eyes are beginning the motion of turning, it all changes.

Suddenly he is no longer there, no longer in the bed with his lover in his arms, that beauty of his waking dreams, as well as his sleeping ones.

No longer does he hear the voice of the Father, speaking to them both.

He is standing, the room gone and replaced by a strange, almost temple-like building.

And there before him, She lays coiled, Her head up and eyes of gold reflection and ebon darkness upon him with the same calm, knowing gaze of amused aloofness and secretive knowledge. Her magnificent hood spread, moving to bring her head closer to him, the forked tongue flickering in and out of sight.

My dear Phillip, he who has taken My name. It has been long.

Her voice cuts into his mind, just as it always has, the gaze upon him reflected in her tone.

It has been. Just as always, he answers her in the same way, for here he has no secrets. She knows his thought,.s his dreams and hopes and fears and nightmares, as surely as does his Phaedra.

The pleasantries are over quickly, it seems, as she speaks again. You must realize yourself again, Phillip, who has taken My name. You have passed through the Shadow of Death himself, and you know now who you have always been. It is time for you to shed your fear and become again that which you once were, in order to become that which you should have been.

He knows the fear of which she speaks, why he has been hesitant, why his efforts have been hampered. The vision of another standing over his unconscious body while he watched, helplessly, as his own throat was cut.

Since pulling Phaedra from her tortured dreams, he has tried once to venture outside of his body, only to find he was not able to make himself wander far, for fear...

She goes on before him, Her voice cutting into his thoughts. Yes, you know the fear. You have no reason for it, King. The name his Pheadra calls him comes from her lips with a tone of affection mixed in with her haughty tone. You have those willing to help you, should you need it, a place of safety if that is what you require. You will seek out the Vampire, Lucius by name. Realize yourself again, King. Become what you know yourself to be. With that, the great hooded Cobra lunges forward, a sudden baring of fangs to sink deep into his chest, only instead of poison burning through his veins it is knowledge filling his mind. Flashes of the Death Raven clinging to the memory of a man of grey eyes flecked with gold, holding off madness with one simple, single glowing spark of hope that fades rapidly...flashes of a similar memory clung to in a mind being consumed by its own madness.

Just as suddenly as he had been in Her presence, he is back in Pheadra's arms again, in their room, her midnight blues filling his vision again. The priest's voice in his ears, speaking of the reason he had come, the Power's request for him.

Phaedra will have noticed, that look of sweet, tender concern replaced with something else, shocked awe and realization, as well as acceptance for the priest's story.

He knows something himself of Powers.

"The vampire's name is Lucius..." His voice is softer, calmer, kinder, stronger, as he looks deep into his lover's eyes. "We will bring them together again."

His gaze turned to the priest, then, his voice strong and sure, the King showing himself at last. "You'll find near the door a small chest. Take what you need from it, get a room and some rest. You'll be safe there, I swear it." His eyes drop to the sheaf clutched in the man's arms. "As will what you carry. I have to...see to some arrangements."

the images that flash through his mind now, his sister of the flaming hair, of rituals performed in the wild under the watchful eyes of his family and the guidance of his love, can be seen by her as he turns his attention away from the priest again.

"Phaedra...I will need you with me...if you are willing."