Lillian woke in a flustered sweat and threw off her sheets blindly into the dark. A little glass clock display on the wall to her left read one twenty-seven am. Shit, she thought as she sat up and glanced out the window at the moon's silver light. She didn't feel like she had woken up at such an hour, she was energized and antsy like one is before a major event. Not anxious but active, and able to see sleep was a lost cause. Her mind was going on without stop in regard to her strange and as far as she could tell nonsensical dream conversation. She was weirded out, confused, and needed fresh air yet despite all that oddly inclined to happiness.

Getting out of bed her legs felt light, in a good way. She felt more agile than normal, like a feather twirling in the breeze she found movement to be far more trivial than normal. She exited her room and navigate the old halls to the outside air. Cool and serene the night bathed in the soft moon's light, which was far more noticeable now. The whole landscape before her swayed slightly in the whispering wind. Beautiful, she thought letting her mind drift away from the night's oddity. "Not sleeping either?" asked a friendly voice from her right. Sledge was standing against the wall of the manor in the day's same attire.

"I don't think I could if I wanted to, the great thing is I don't," she explained with a smile. He gave a chuckle.

"What on earth do you mean by that?" he queried seemingly in a comparable mood. Lillian's expression grew.

"I'm thoroughly confused but I feel good, really good for once. I don't know why but well, I feel excited and for once in control." She twirled in the night her skirt spinning up barely not enough to reveal what lies beneath. "It's hard to explain but it's just... right," she exclaimed to him.

"You definitely seem more alive than usual," he commented with a grin. "You sure you're not just intoxicated?"

"With what?" she returned. Sledge shrugged.

"It's good to see you like this, I'm envious," he commented with a pleasant lack of sincerity. "Though I don't know why you'd be confused."

"Oh that's because of a dream," she told him with a giggle, partially at him and partially at the absurdity of the actual dream.

"I thought their medication wouldn't let you have dreams."

"This wasn't one of those things, this was not bad at least."

"That's good to hear."

"It was sort of similar though, a dream so vivid and easily remembered it feels like it may have actually happened." Sledge nodded, Lillian wasn't the only one to have troubles in the night at times. "But it was so strange."

"Well, you have to tell me about it now," he argued with his familiar grin, a grin Lillian noticed for a moment. It sort of caught her off guard for a second, she didn't know what to make of it, and how much she valued it.

"It was like I was talking to a giant crown, but the words were both mine and theirs. It talked about me, and this game."

"Game?" Lillian shrugged, smiling still.

"It even said it was related to me."

"Like a family member?"

"I guess." Sledge looked out at the night sky, dotted in white.

"I remember my grandparents you know, do you ever think of family, of before when things were how they should have been?" he asked. Lillian looked out with him.

"Sometimes, but not really. I'm better at remembering what I really wish I could forget."

"I remember we had an old cable TV box hooked up to this creaky satellite dish on the roof. My grandpa would often tinker with far outdated tech like that. One year a windstorm came and ripped the dish right off." He laughed softly, "the real miracle was how it was still there in the first place."

"What about parents or siblings? Do you remember them?" Lillian asked.

"I had a sister I think, my mother was scarcely around. Usually, it was me, my dad, and my grandpa. A recipe for bad ideas but it was fun."

"Do you ever miss them?" Lillian inquired, curios about another's past, not wanting to reminisce on her own.

"My grandpa passed before everything went bad. Sometimes I wish my dad was still around, but I moved on long ago, probably not in a healthy way but," he shrugged and shook his head, "what was I to do?"

"Hm, you never think about your sister?" she prodded. He glanced at her.

"I don't think I need to anymore." Lillian's expression shifted.

"You're saying I'm like a sister?" she asked flatly. Sledge let out a long chuckle.

"Not if you don't like it," he assured, smiling once more. Lillian tilted her head.

"I'll think about it," she gave him before returning his smile. "But you have to do something for me."

"Oh?"

"Tell me a story, from your childhood, something nice."

"Let's see then," he started looking back at the sky. "I was probably about seven, it was my birthday, and I think my mom had stopped by to give her wishes but no matter how much I begged her to stay, she left again shortly after. I was in a bad mood for the rest of the little party we held. My dad did his best to cheer me up but nothing worked, now I realize I must have been a pain to deal with. My grandpa, however, came up with an idea. He asked me, well are you frustrated? and I nodded. He then walked outside our little house and returned with a red punching bag about as big as I was at the time. Then hit this, he told me. You'd have no idea how much that helped. Even since then, by the time I was in Arentas, getting into fights was never too bad. I sort of thank him for that."

"That's why you use Kinuon knuckles?"

"Yep, nothing feels more natural than my fists. And now getting to use them near-daily is helping with my mood."

"You do seem better as well," Lillian commented. "We really have made it haven't we."

"You mean to a decent life? Yeah, I suppose we have made it back."

__________

In a small room on the east wing of the top floor of the Kiyene manor, an older man stood in front of the window. It was on the only wall not taken up by shelves lined with dusty books of many colors. Like others, he was gazing at the night's brilliant moon as the cool glass of his phone pressed against his left ear. "You do have a granddaughter, is she not more important to you than the others?" Asked a feminine voice from the other end.

"I'll think about it," he responded as he took the phone from his head and ended the call. He slipped the phone into his pocket then reached to his left and rolled a velvet chair over before sitting down slowly as he stared off lost in thought. In his right hand, he spun a black pawn between his fingers. The only piece not perfectly set up on the chessboard, which sat on the vintage wooden desk behind him. He fiddled it some more before grasping it tightly. His expression twisted in frustration as he brought up his arm. With an angry exclamation, he whipped the piece as hard as his arms could manage. The sharp thud against the bulletproof glass was audible from quite a way away.