5

I see Sarai and yet I know it’s not her, can’t be her. Her long brown hair is pulled up in a bun, a few stray strands hanging down to dance across the ivory skin of her shoulders. She’s wearing a toga of pale seafoam silk, held together by a pearl clasp. Her long, lithe fingers stroke across my temples, my head reclining on her lap. Her hazel eyes are loving, eager, as they gaze down into mine.

My body is speaking, but I barely recognize the emerging voice. It is deeper, purer, a baritone trumpet next to my normal tenor sax. “We could deal with the Faceless Ones in one strike. What few orphans survived would scatter to the ends of the worlds.”

Not-Sarai’s voice is patient, an alto feminine mate to my dream voice. “The elders were cast out for a reason. They cannot be trusted, my love.”

“Bah,” I counter. “The elder ones love destruction and chaos. I will give them the chance to rain it down one last time: a battle to end all war.”

“You are too confident, my knight, my heart. Do you think the elders will willingly return to the outer oblivion when they are done serving as your mercenaries?”

“No, my moon and stars, they will not.” I rise from her lap to pluck a kiss from her lips. The vibrations of it rumble through my essence. “But I can force them to just the same. I will not open a gateway, but a transfer. I will go to the outer darkness so that I might hold their leash.”

Not-Sarai shakes her head. “I know the plan. But is it not possible that they might try to outwit you, to snap their tethers?”

“Then I am lost and the worlds will be theirs again. But what other choice do we have? I will not let the Faceless win.”

She frowns and my heart breaks at the sight. “We could...”

Knock, knock.

“What was that, my love?”

Knock, knock, knock.