Chapter Text
Stars and canopies swaying in a cool breeze should not have been the first things Shadowheart set eyes on upon waking. Certainly not a full moon. By all rights, it should've been only in its first quarter.
She sat up. This was definitely not her tent. Grass and dirt as a bed instead of a soft blanket was not right. Looming trees and deep shadows instead of the sweet little cove home to camp was all wrong.
For Gods' know what reason, Niko was sitting by a crackling fire nearby, shadows shifting over her face. She was wearing clothes different to anything Shadowheart had seen her in before -- a belted tunic, dark olive and embroidered at the hem. Drawstring trousers hung over sandals tied around her ankles.
Where in the Hells had she gotten them? Certainly not stripped off a corpse; Niko had made her feelings on that known. None of the traders they had met so far offered anything like this amongst their wares, armour favoured more by adventurers looking to buy.
''Niko, what's going on? What are we doing out here?''
The last thing Shadowheart recalled was a final prayer to her Lady before letting sleep claim her. As far as she knew, she had no tendency to wander off into the forest while slumbering. So why did she have no memory of coming out here? Had Niko lifted her from her bedroll without waking her?
Niko ignored her questions, bringing her knees up to her chest instead. Brows drawn tight, she looked... unhappy. Shadowheart had seen a variety of emotions cross Niko's face since meeting her, but unhappiness was new. She found it quite disturbing.
Feeling this new emotion deserved a smidge less of her usual sharpness, Shadowheart crouched by her side, and reached out. Her hand didn't make contact. She pulled her arm back, inspecting it. Nothing seemed amiss. She frowned, and looked back up.
Closer now, there was something different about Niko. Something younger.
Baby fat still hid finer forms of the face Shadowheart knew. Muscles didn't fill out her arms. The tenets of her oath weren't tattooed on her shoulders in dark ink. Coffee curls only reached the nape of her neck, free of the usual half-ponytail the paladin had employed every day since the nautiloid.
This wasn't her Niko. Or, no, it was. Just -- young. A teenager, approaching the cusp of adulthood instead of firmly past it.
Then, this... this wasn't the forest near their camp. Most probably. Seeing their surroundings in a new, foreign light, Shadowheart glanced around them, peering past the light of the fire. Any number of dangers could haunt these woods. Where were they? And why was Shadowheart here, somewhere in the past?
Beside her, the young Niko sighed suddenly. ''He's not coming back.''
''Who?''
Again, Niko didn't answer. Instead, she stood and kicked dirt over the fire.
Shadowheart wrinkled her nose. ''Excuse you.''
Crawling into her bedroll, Niko pulled the blanket up to her nose. She drew in a deep breath, then closed her eyes. ''I'll wait until morning.''
''Wait for what?''
Shadowheart wasn't stupid. Finding herself in Niko's memory, she had figured out by now that the girl couldn't hear or see her. Still, it felt good to speak; to voice her questions. If Niko deigned to explain further, she could almost pretend they were holding a conversation. But she didn't.
Whatever was happening -- dream, vision, or true time travel -- it didn't feel like speeding along to whatever Shadowheart was here to see.
Left to her own thoughts, she made herself as comfortable as one could without a bedroll, kneeling before the smothered fire. Any sticks she tried to add to cooling coals didn't respond to her touch and remained firmly on the forest floor, proving the truth of her incorporeal form. She spent a good few minutes experimenting before conceding that she couldn't interact with anything around her. Some rhetoric about squashing a bug leading to the collapse of civilisations whispered in her mind.
In that time, Niko's breathing steadied and deepened. It amused Shadowheart to discover that the soft snoring pattern wasn't a new development. By then the fire had fully petered out, so she fell into prayer to forget the cold that alone insisted acting on her.
The stars had turned a quarter-ways when Shadowheart ran out of prayers to cycle through.
Just as she was questioning the mechanics of sleeping in someone else's dream (since that, she figured, was most likely what was occurring. The tadpoles must have connected and drawn her into Niko's mind, bodies left in their bedrolls safe in camp), adrenaline shot through her system like a bolt.
''Niko. Wake up, now.''
She knew it wouldn't help. She knew. But was she supposed to just watch this happen? This was what she was here to witness. How could it not be?
Whatever logic lingered in the back of her mind insisted Niko would survive. That didn't mean no scars endured, her fear rebutted.
Out of the darkness the wolf paced closer, nose almost to the ground and ears forward. Busy following a scent, it hadn't noticed Niko yet, lying still in her sleep. Shadowheart held her breath as it wandered past the both of them. Unhurried, it shoved open a bag opposite Niko across the ring of stones where embers still burned. Its teeth caught like daggers in the low red light, snapping at food inside the bag.
Watching it carefully, Shadowheart braved rising from where she kneeled, every shift of her muscles slow and deliberate. Breaths short and sharp in her chest, she glanced behind her to check on Niko.
She was awake. Moving in much the same way as Shadowheart: intense gaze fixed on the wolf, rising slow and deliberate to a low crouch, shrugging the blanket from her shoulders in such a way that it draped off her soundlessly. But she was reaching for something--
A spear, just inches from her bedroll, wooden shaft glossy and metal point glowing in the light of the full moon through the canopy. Faintly, Shadowheart recognised it.
''Don't,'' she warned, her voice low.
Not that Niko could hear her anyway. Not that she could change anything. Not that she could do anything but watch, lump in her throat suffocating.
It happened quickly.
Niko, priming to strike. The wolf, raising its head from the bag, locking wild eyes with her.
Embers scattered -- the wolf leapt, scrambling over the stones on too-long limbs. Metal rang -- the spear was knocked from Niko's hand, clattering out of her reach.
Niko gasped, air expelling from her lungs as the wolf slammed into her.
It was a miracle (a curse) Shadowheart heard anything over the thundering roar of her heartbeat in her ears, but Niko's desperate cries were piercing. Nothing, nothing in the world could have drowned them out. She knew she'd be hearing them echo around her head forever.
Heavy paws pressing down on her chest, Niko's whimpers were almost drowned out by the wolf's snarling. Her face twisted in terror and panic, one straining arm pushing against its chest, staving off snapping jaws by mere inches. Hot breath and slobber assailed her face, wide eyes glistening with tears.
Her other hand was folded beneath her torso, flexing as she writhed fruitlessly. Then it swung out to her side.
Shadowheart saw the flash of metal before she heard the yelp or saw the blood. Her fingers twitched with the urge to move, but proved too numb to respond. Her heart leapt into her throat instead, fragile hope clawing to escape.
Seeking to kill, to kill, to taste blood, the wolf didn't let up. Niko struck again, crying out, fighting its attempts to close its jaws around her neck. Again. Again. Again. Again--
A blur of metal burst from the dark.
All at once the wolf was pinned beneath armour and muscle, teeth bared, rope flashing silver--
The newcomer pushed sandy hair out of his face, crow's feet creasing around tight eyes. Beneath him, the wolf had stopped struggling. Chest heaving from the exertion of the fight, its side was matted with blood.
The wolf contained, at least briefly, Shadowheart found herself at Niko's side, hands hovering over her, magic that wasn't there -- this was a dream, a dream -- called to the tips of her fingers. Lying panting on the moon-damp grass, Niko wasn't injured save for blooming bruises. The blood wasn't hers.
Still holding it an iron grip, Niko raised her arm from her side to regard the dagger. One edge caught pale moonlight, and the other red embers. She turned it over, watching her reflection shift under dark blood dripping languid from its tip.
Slowly, her breathing came easier, more regular. She tossed the dagger away and sat up.
''Alain,'' the girl croaked. Shadowheart followed her gaze.
The armoured man looked up, so she made an educated guess as to his name.
''It's okay, Niko. It's dealt with. You did just fine.''
''Is that--?'' She gestured to the wolf, tied by silver rope.
Shadowheart frowned; its wound had been healed. Shouldn't it be put out of its misery, not saved?
''Yes.''
Standing, Alain took a collection of heavy steps back. On the ground, the wolf quivered.
Shadowheart watched, horribly transfixed, as it changed under the light of the moon. Paws lengthened into bony fingers. Legs stretched into bare limbs. Its muzzle shrank to a flat plane. Teeth blunted. Ears shifted further down its skull. Fine hair replaced thick fur.
In the wolf's place, a man quivered bathed in pale light. He hugged himself, eyes glassy, thin fingers digging into his ribs.
''A werewolf,'' she whispered, for no one's benefit but her own.
Niko had never told her about this. No wonder. Was this what it looked like when she...?
A choked sob beside her broke her out of her stupor.
Niko was folding into Alain's arms, pressing up against dirt-caked metal. He must have been pursuing the werewolf a while. She buried her face in the hollow of his neck where armour gave way to a soft gambeson. Cupping her head with a gloved hand, Alain rested his chin atop her curls. He frowned.
''I'm sorry, Niko. I should have been faster.''
''You're here now.'' Her voice was muffled against him.
Niko tightened her arms around his breastplate. Alain closed his eyes, took a breath, then opened them, and a fire burned then amidst ocean-deep blue. In his gaze, staring right through her, Shadowheart recognised a promise to protect. Despite having never met the man, respect for him swelled in her chest.
Reassured Niko was safe, she turned. The werewolf was still on the ground where he had shifted. Tears stained his grimy cheeks as he watched his hunter and his victim embrace.
''Thank you,'' he whimpered, barely able to force sound from his broken throat. ''Thank you.''
The moon still shone bright. Shadowheart suspected she knew the cause for his shift. If Alain was the man who had trained Niko, that meant he was a paladin. Paladins didn't kill if avoidable. They cured.
Would Niko expect a repeat of this night?