Two-Thirds Blue

Chapter Ten: Elegy

Dusk snapped upright in a cold sweat, gasping violently for breath. His subconscious had filled his head with images of brutalized corpses and howling rozkod that even now refused to fade. He quickly abandoned his efforts to calm himself with the classic "it was just a dream" line. It had been more of a memory than a nightmare.

He'd been an active member of the Resistance for a little over two years, but this was the first time the battlefield had leaked into his dreams. His parents' deaths during Delrox's initial invasion had brought about similar sporadic nightmares, but they'd eventually vanished thanks to Rade and Syk. He'd met them more than a decade ago, but they'd started training to fight when Dusk was about ten. The proximity of his friends, and the knowledge that he could beat the monsters in his dreams, had finally made his nights peaceful again. He reached out and put a hand on his sword.

No, Onyx's sword, he remembered. She was here too. She'd gone through the same horrors he had, if not worse. At least he wasn't alone.

As his breathing slowed to a more conventional rate, he realized he wasn't in pain anymore. His hands barely stung now. He decided not to ponder his recovery, and instead to enjoy it until his mind had had its fill of rest.

The only light source was the lamps on the walls. There was no way to gauge time, so he might as well assume it was morning. He pulled the bag of supplies toward himself and fumbled it open, removing a canteen of water and a crumbling handful of bread. He considered rousing Onyx and presenting her with the same kingly breakfast, but promptly dismissed the notion. He wasn't completely certain that startling her was a good idea.

As he ate, he pressed a hand to the wound on his jaw, feeling a slight prickle from whatever mysterious energy had invaded him, and remembered his battle with Delrox. What exactly had happened to him? And how? He had no way of knowing whether it would have any lasting effects, or even if he was about to slump over and die. He was desperate to know how he'd repelled Delrox. And why had Delrox confronted him in particular? What was his connection to Onyx? Why was Dax was so interested in–

His internal monologue cut off as he remembered whose room he was in.

He swallowed the last mouthful of bread and water, stoppered the canteen, and approached Dax's massively ornate desk. It could be a valuable hoard of information, brimming with rozkod plans and tactics, vital knowledge Ralevoir was fighting so hard to uncover. It could even hold the secrets behind Delrox's powers. And it had been right under his nose for months.

He shuffled through the papers that had been stacked neatly on its surface. Inventory reports, maps, mission transcripts– nothing of any use made itself immediately apparent. Its drawers, once opened, bore similar results– personnel files in the first two, battle statements in the third, old records in the fourth, some kind of statistics in the fifth, and nothing in the sixth. While curiously scanning the numbers, he couldn't help but notice that the Resistance's mortality rate had been gradually increasing for nine months. That added up, based on when Onyx and Eclipse estimated the real Dax's body had been dumped in the river.

Nine months. Nine full months, and no one had suspected a thing. Surely Dax's behavior would have changed. Dusk wondered if he'd have been able to prevent this from happening if he'd just paid closer attention.

Backtracking to the first and second drawers, he flicked through each file until finding the profile labeled Dax, Hallen. It held nothing he didn't already know, aside from his exact height, weight, and date of birth. His rank, career, and commendations were all common knowledge thanks to his bragging.

He caught a hint of movement to his left and looked away from the documents to where Onyx had begun to stir.

"Morning," he said with false joviality.