Chapter Text
Prologue
Do you believe in second chances? He did not, at first. After all, we die, we become dust and that’s that. To expect there is something waiting for you on the other side, whatever it is, is fool’s errand.
These invasive dreams had changed everything. They have started a while ago - unremarkable at first for he had been dreaming of battlefields his entire life.
But then she came to him, her hand blazing green, its glow and purpose repulsive to his very nature.
She was some kind of noble and he did not like them, pampered and useless as they were. But she reeked of magic, making his head spin and forcing him to keep his distance at first. She, in turn, saw him for what he was and never came close either. But the gazes lingered, a fraction of a second longer with each passing day.
He had finally been caught day dreaming behind the desk. A colleague gave him a prod, nudging him out of the stuporous haze.
“Care to explain this?”
It took him a moment to see the problem, the woman’s finger tightly pressed near the field with the signature. He had readjusted his glasses carefully and surveyed the supposed problem. ‘Cullen Rutherford,’ the name said, clearly written in his own handwriting.
His hand ran nervously through his neat golden hair, settling down on the back of his neck.
“Arthur?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed perhaps a bit too enthusiastic and huffed in frustration. “I - I’m sorry but I have no idea why I did this.”
“Are you well?” she asked tentatively, examining his features. He knew what she saw - a pallid face of an insomniac. For quite a while now, despite the fact he slept soundly through the night, he woke up as tired as he had been the day before.
“I -.” he stuttered, unable to answer such simple question. Was he well? What were these dreams? And she -
“Arthur!” the woman snapped her fingers in front of his nose, making him gasp for air in surprise. His reaction made her frown and she scooped up the paperwork from his desk, nodding at the door. “Take a day off, Daniels, you are no good to us this way.”
All he could do was nod and stand up, droning down the stairs and out of the building. Aimlessly he wandered around muttering her name. His name. The name of the people and places he had only seen through a prism of his feverish dreams.
A bench in the park was as good place as any when his body gave in to exhaustion and he dropped down, laptop falling on the ground with a loud thud. It must have been a while, sitting there and staring at the pigeons digging for food in the dust.
The shadows became longer, the sky darkening slowly when he had finally stood up, deep sigh leaving his chest and trudged back home, a feeling of extreme sadness so numbing it was difficult to think.
He had promised to protect her from anything and anyone.
He killed her.
His cruelty and vengeance knew no boundaries. He came for them and made them pay for every doubt and opposition he had encountered along the way.
The doorbell rang shrilly through the quiet apartment, jerking him to his feet. How he ended up back in his bed, office clothes cramped and stained with sweat was a mystery. This had to stop. Perhaps if he were to go to someone... Hypnosis, therapy...
Maker, anything.
His head was pounding, just like when the poison was still coursing through his veins, leaving his battered body slowly and painfully. He did it for himself back then.
No.
For her.
Struggling with the locks he had finally opened the door and the sight made him freeze on the doorstep, eyes open wide in utter disbelief.
The stranger in front of him.
Tall and elegant, her raven black hair was tied behind in a bun. Heavy golden earrings accentuated long neck and paleness of her delicate skin. Blue eyes shone brightly on her heart - shaped face. In her hands she was holding a familiar black case - the laptop he had so carelessly left in the park.
“You’ve left this at the Tayster Park, mister - ” she quickly checked the case. “Mister... Rutherford?” her voice waned for a moment, a strange tone in it. Her eyes darted to his face and back to the suitcase, unable to comprehend her own guttural to reaction to the surname she had read. She shook it off, he could tell - creases on her forehead smoothing slowly.
“I, ah, am very much obliged,” he mumbled, trying to ignore the - yet another - evidence of the alien surname sneaking into his daily life. “Do you want some tea maybe?”
“I won’t say ‘no’.” was the simple answer.