Hawk had been under his Silkin’s care for many days as he rested and they rebound his soul. During that time, he wrestled with nightmares. Unable to tell reality from fabrication, he came to believe that he had never left the train to Twilight Town, and that his soul had joined the hundreds lost to the Dread Land’s monster.

  During that time, Hawk could often not feel his body, but when he could, it was numb and tingly. The allowance of that sensation must have been the monster’s way of giving him hope. Hope was energy that could be exploited. Regardless, he fought hard to regain control and wake up. His soul rattled looser with each attempt.

  Some days, a glimpse of light burned at Hawk’s eyes, lifting him out of the nightmares, only for him to then be cast deeper into his slumber. So far, it had been worth the struggle to be able to see the melting walls and rippling bed sheets. Silkins spinning in the air, weaving patterns, spiraling patterns, weaving him back together before sending him into deeper spirals….

  The Dread Sea stretched before Hawk, still as spilled blood. An old rowboat full of holes carried him over the Void. His shoes soaked in the charcoal-shaded water. It was light and cool. The white sky above did not reflect from the opaque sea. If any of this was real, he believed that he would soon be dead. If it was fake, he was already dead.

  A glare in the distance. A palace of stained glass broke across the horizon, standing on the surface of the sea, rising to fill all that could be seen. The stained glass walls had no end. They might have crowned the whole world. A fractal pattern of columns and fragmented windows formed the facade of the palace. From it’s ornamented towers, bulb-shaped roofs swirled in every color. At its base, a multi-colored mirage wavered in place.

  A clear gateway of melted glass approached the boat. Behind it the glass palace awaited. To Hawk’s sides two other travelers joined him. A little fairy kid wearing a bone mask with a cloak that covered his wings paddled along on a folded paper boat. The soggy boat was beyond waterlogged, and more useless than driftwood.

  Shoving them both to the side, a battle-worn vessel loomed other them. It’s sides were charred and the deck rails were still on fire. Flames ran up the sails and bit into the masts. The ship nearly cleared the gate, cracking its mast against solid glass. It rang out like a high-pitched bell. The captain of this funeral pyre dressed like the fairy kid and did not look back after crossing the gate.

  Hawk reached into the sea, pulling the fairy kid into his boat. Removing him, the paper boat sunk until it could no longer be seen. He set the kid on the bench across from him. Hollow eyes stared back at him. Silent gratitude. Following the ship, they passed under the arch.

  Through the gateway, streams of the Dread Sea rose into the pale sky. Even the liquid in Hawks boat was floating up in inky bubbles like a lava lamp. On the other side, the great ship was gone. It had sunk and the last flames from its sails had just been extinguished. In the place of the wreckage, Hawk’s very own purple amulet glimmering in the air.

  Rods of light appeared around the amulet, suspending it at the center of a web of stars. Giant neon Silkins emerged in droves from the distant glass palace. They strode over the Void to where the amulet was framed. Bright strings manifested for them to climb up into the web where they began their work. The Silkins pinched sections of the web together and spun new branches. Hawk recognized the forming patterns of a language. He knew it from the Silkin spells and enchantments. It was the language of True Magic.

  The web was so bright. Hawk shut his eyes and the pattern was still there, burned into his memory. Each path of light and every nexus. It was fate weaving prophecy.

  The chill of the Void crept up Hawk’s drenched clothes. His boat was flooded past the benches and approaching the lip. Something light touched his knees; he looked down to see four dragonfly wings drifting in the water. And on the bench where the kid sat, the skull mask and cloak remained.

  In front of the boat, the Void ballooned up, blocking Hawk’s path to the glass palace. At the same time, the neon Silkins descended on wires attached to nothing. Hawk raised his hands up against the blinding light from above. The Silkin’s vivid blue eyes bore into him. He blinked, the Void consumed him, and he woke up….

  Surrounded by the whole of the Spix clan, Hawk sat up from bed. All of their little beady eyes watched him expectantly. First, he pinched himself, feeling the weakness of atrophy. The sting felt real. Then, he scanned over his Silkins looking for Spinner. Yellow, orange, brown, his Silkin friend was sitting on his lap.

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  “Is this real?” He asked, frantic.

  Spinner replied. “Yeah?” another Silkin kicked his spindly legs causing him to stumble. “Ow! I mean, yes, this is real.”

  “It’s too good. Too good to be true,” Hawk said, becoming distant.

  The gentle tapping of Silkin limbs over him was his only anchor, but even that could be faked. Hawk needed something more. His purple amulet rested on his chest. The complex power held within could not be replicated. It was with him during the approach of glass place, or had he been within it. Contemplating it anymore threatened to break his mind. He held the amulet tight, feeling the light indent of a new crack under his thumb. Memories of his dream played out in his mind.

  “Someone, get me some paper and a pen,” Hawk ordered.

  A group of Silkins slipped out of the room and returned with the materials. Hawk began drafting the pattern that was revealed in his vision. The web pattern had nine sides and small emblematic symbols on each side. The emblems were connected through paths he drew in ink. Bright rods that radiated in his mind were made solid in dark ink. The Silkins gathered in close, in awe. They had never seen their mage write like them before.

  With the pattern complete, Hawk threw the pen down and exhaled. “Tell me, anyone, what does this say?”

  “It’s a key,” the head elder spoke up, striding to the paper. She traced her limbs over the drying ink. “There is a message in it too, but it is hidden behind a cypher.” The elder pointed to the symbols, saying “these are seals for elemental magic. And the distance of perpendicular lines from the center indicates time. This marking,” she pointed to a coiling line, “means that it’s written in future tense. How strange! What we already know might allow us to crack the code. Would you like a team to work on this?”

  “I would appreciate that, ma’am,” Hawk replied, impressed with her knowledge. He folded the paper nice and small and passed it to her. “Now, it relieves me to see you all again, and I'm grateful for the care you have provided me, but I need some space, please.”

  The Silkins nodded and moved to leave the room. The elders nudged them along. Spinner was going to follow them before Hawk put his hand in his way.

  Hawk told him, “you may stay, if you wish.”

  Spinner smiled. Hawk turned his hand over, an invitation for Spinner to sit there. He placed himself between Hawk’s thumb and pinkie, tucking his limbs under his body. “I’m glad you’re back, sir.”

  “Me too,” Hawk said, with a laugh. “You’ll have to explain how we got here.”

  Spinner’s eight eyes shifted side-to-side. “Only the most reasonable modes of transportation were used.”

  “Hmmm,” Hawk eyed him suspiciously. “Are we in someone’s house?” Hawk looked around the bedroom at the ornate curtains and stocked book shelves. All evidence of the Silkin’s work had been removed from the room before he had awakened. All that remained was the lines they had used to climb up the mahogany bed frame.

  “It’s an inn in Twilight Town.”

  “It’s a nice inn. How did we pay for it?”

  “We had some emergency funds stored away from Vera City. After that we have been working,” Spinner replied.

  “Oh,” Hawk said disappointed.

  “It’s not an issue. We need to keep ourselves busy. Might as well make some money out of it.”

  “Right.”

  Hawk wanted to go to the Finne Islands to compete in their magical tournaments. At least then he might be able to contribute more to the clan. It was only right after all they had done for him. But as usual, the Silkins proved themselves to be entirely self sufficient. He was starting to think he should just compete for his own training. His water magic was laughably weak.

  “I hope you all have not gotten too settled in,” Hawk said getting out of bed. He was wearing a loose inn robe.

  “Why’s that?” Spinner said, moving to his shoulder.

  Hawk entered the neighboring bathroom. He leaned into the mirror. “Ugh… That’s my face?” Hawk’s short black hair was stringy and slick with sweat. His eyes were hollowed and his arms were so thin. A lot had changed in so little time. “I think I could use some makeup,” he said, pulling at the skin around his eyes. I was also thinking that someone might have been looking at shipping times to the Finne Islands. If its not too late, I still plan on competing.”

  “You are serious about this?” Spinner asked, looking uncertain at himself and Hawk in the mirror.

  “I said I was going to fight, so that’s what I’m going to do. Don’t worry,” he said as he tapped Spinner’s head. “Fate has it’s ways to make things more fair for my opponents.”

  “You’re funny, sir.”

  Hawk went and set Spinner outside of his room. He had to freshen up and make up for all the time the Silkin’s had seen him anything less than presentable. While he went through his routines, he filed away his nightmares and dreams, focusing back to the upcoming tournaments. The people of the Finne Islands will know his name. His current weakness would only do more to shock the world when he inevitably wins.