Patience, infinite patience was part of the Dreamers. Their lives, what passed as lives, stretched on in eons. Here in this park, on this world, the entirety of the Xindhi people had turned their collective attention. It had been a thousand years, a million seconds, a day or tomorrow depending on how the Dreamer viewed the events occurring. 

The Cughtagh, a title bestowed on the greatest warriors among the Dreamers.  A title given by the Queen, a title that bore little relevance in the greater multiverse save for those who understood the importance of it. Skallagrim the Cughtagh, champion for the Queen, and more importantly champion for the entire race within him lay the life and death of the man. Before him, the body of Scion lay some feet away.  A thousand voices all spoke rapidly in a complex web of dream fragments. The image of the man’s smoldering body framed and locked into the dream, solidified as an enduring image. Yet as that happened, a stirring of dark energies, subtle, barely perceptible occurred drawing the attention of the Cughtagh. 

It was a shifting of realities, a trace signature of somewhere both familiar and not. Silence met the gathered Dreamers, all slowly focusing their attention on the man. Something was happening, something special, and something wholly unexpected. Scion was able to enter another dimension, a place of sanctuary. A murmur rippled through the Dreamers, low at first then a crescendo of rapid-fire dream fragments. Through the cacophony a sole voice spoke, silencing all else. 

[color=f7976a]“This Scion, this man, what is your assessment my Cughtagh?"[/color]

Skallagrim said nothing, time seemingly slowed to an imperceptible crawl, yet in the realm of the Dreamers it was expected. The question was asked, and an answer had to be given, yet to hasten it would cheapen it. The Dreaming Queen had spoken, every Dreamer, regardless of what they were doing, where they were gave pause. 

[color=a187be]“He is young, brash, and cocky. He is also capable and worth watching, studying and understanding. Is he a threat to the Dreamers? Is he a threat to you my Queen? No. Perhaps one day he may be, but for now he is not.”[/color]

[color=f7976a]“Then do not kill him. Allow this Scion and his watch to live that we may study them, so that we may learn from them.”[/color]

[color=a187be]“Yes my Queen.”[/color]

Through the entirety of the multiverse, every Dreamer heard the decree and agreed. This man was worth watching; to extinguish him would be a tragedy. Skallagrim had made the assessment and now would carry it out. He would subdue the man; render him inoperable, unable to continue the fight. Lethality was no longer an option.  

The Dreamers watched as a portal to a world that no longer had the warmth of a star to warm it opened. It reminded them of Graff’s realm, the land of the Icy Emperor. Skallagrim studied the portal, creating fragments of understanding in the short time of its existence as much as possible.  The reason was obvious; a desire to shunt the heat from the park was required for the continuation of the fight. With a few steps, Skallagrim moved back, giving the man and his faithful watch the opportunity to finish their flushing of the heat. As Skallagrim moved, so did the balls of plasma, growing smaller as streamers of energy creating a spider’s web between each of them and the Dreamer. 

Skallagrim was drawing the energy to himself, each of the plasma balls shrinking until they were no larger than tennis balls.  The writhing black dagger reached out, interacting with the plasma, causing a loud static hum to fill the air. The war sword held loosely but ready shimmering as silver-blue energies raced along it at such speeds it appeared to be made of light.