[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220103/a23b101f65fc952fbb8066d625af9719.png[/img][hr][img]https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/bd/Die_Gartenlaube_%281858%29_b_689.jpg[/img][hr][/center]Dreams come easily to some. They come and go, forgotten once dreamt. Others have mostly bad dreams, others mostly good. Yet a select few have the same dream which comes to them every time they close their eyes to rest. That is, “rest” in the most superficial of ways. For what is rest if your mind is awake, picking out details in a dream you have seen a dozen times. New and old, all arrayed to in the mind before you on repeat, again and again, every night. At times, trauma does not leave so quietly in the night. It comes as sharp as it was or perhaps, duller than the time it was last felt. But come it does, every night, without fail.

A tiger and a lion, battling in a myriad of different backgrounds. A jungle, a forest, a snowstorm, a desert. Different places but same two animals. At first, it was a stunning sight to watch. Two primal, proud beasts pawing at each other pitilessly as apex predators. Gnashing teeth, extended claws, deep growls. Yet even the best of sights dull the eyes in repetition. It was the same, no matter where the two fought. Same fight, same participants, same outcome. The metaphor to real life was so obvious that it felt like the brain shoving allegory down the throat. The lion, felled in battle with exactly twenty wounds, head bowed with the proud tiger standing over its corpse. A Bengal, of course, to hit the point closer to home.

This time, the duel was fought in tumbling water, strong tides interrupting the familiar staccato of swipes and bites. But even this could not blur how it was the [i]same[/i]. Every night, without fail, the same dream which faded like white noise to his eyes. He was muted, inattentive yet giving all the focus he had to the scene before him. To think too much was to break the spell of the dream and come to life again. 

Not that there was much to his life now.

And just like that, with a final swipe from orange paws, the lion slumped in crimson water. This was when the dream would stop, focusing on the Gharbi lion twitching in its final death throes. Instead, the tiger shifted in the water, turning to face him in an unexpected move. If Kalil could, he would gasp. A chill would rise in his spine, his fingers would tremble. But in his mind's ocean, the churning of the water prohibited him from moving at all. He felt weightless and thus, powerless. Emerald eyes stared at his own, flecks of azure in theirs while none in his own. His vision zoomed into the bloodstained fangs, the opening jaws, the powerful bite which kept coming closer and closer. He stretched his arm out in front of him to stop those unrelenting [i]teeth[/i]-[hr][color=goldenrod]"Pah, fuck!"[/color] The heir of Gharbi spat seaweed and seawater, the ocean splashing on to his face. He sat up immediately, trying to come to his senses. Eyes bleary from the intrusion of salty water, it took him a few seconds to realise where he was. Or how little he knew about where he was. His clothes were soaked from head to toe, his turban discarded to his side and its jewels mysteriously missing. He was cold and filled with sand and confused and what the hell was that dream?-

He hissed, the saltwater hitting his left palm on to a- [color=goldenrod]"[i]Wallah[/i], I did not have this last night!"[/color] The dream faded in his mind as Kalil honed in on the injury he seemed to maintain from unknown origins.

Quickly using his prodigal dynamicism to dry himself off, Kalil got his bearings and stumbled his way from the beach back to his dorm. By this time, he had just missed the roommate he barely remembers existed, feeling a hangover in the worst way possible. Questioning his choices in going out last night (and smoking whatever was in that flavour the Bengals gave him!), he decided to forgo showering in a bout of laziness and changed into new, simple white robes with a blue turban messily covering his long hair. He wore similarly coloured azure gloves to cover the wounding, a fitted gift courtesy of his employers. Thoughts raced in his head as he tried to recall the last night's events or even what he was up to at the ball but once again-

[b]DING DONG DING DONG[/b]

The prodigy jumped out of his mind and walked to the door, expecting that blurry-faced roommate of his to show themselves. He knew by now that breakfast had finished and hoped they brought him something out of kindness. He paused at the door, scratching at his memory to remember the other occupant of his dorm. Tanned skin was all he could remember which seemed to make him shake a little in fear. Why does the name Whitehall ring in his head now? 

Alas, there was no stalker behind the door, only a letter with the confusing Bengal seal and a messenger long gone. Kalil only spent a few seconds making sure no one saw what was in his hands before closing the door and fleeing to his room to read it. Curiously, it was in Latin of all things. The handwriting is poor and the characters almost blended together. Whoever the writer was, messenger or not, had to do this in quick time. This did nothing to hide the disdain inside.

[quote=বাঘ][color=goldenrod]As a prodigy, I would have expected early mornings and an eagerness to study in the best university in the world. Not making a fool of yourself in the first formal function of the school year and sleeping in on the next day. In a public place, of all things.

Remember your place, fool. You work for the leaders Dhaka, the entrepreneurs of the Mughals, the hidden network which keep our great nation intact. You work for an organisation which goes past your own selfish needs, a Majesty which surpasses anything on this world, one which no nation and no [i]person[/i] is peer. We stand alone. You have succeeded, for now, but if you continue to gallivant as a careless dog, you will be put down as one.

Your stumbling, arrogant dealings have been backed by the coincidence of a lifetime. The sick, old man of Europe has fallen to its own arrogance but stay alert, for deals may change. Alas, the winds have changed and you have been given another assignment. It smells of burning, doesn't it mutt?

A fool has burned down a library. Where you may smell foul play or an arson's work, we smell opportunity. Read carefully, mutt, or you may prove too worthless to let live.

Remember what is at stake.[/color][/quote]

The letter continued in the same insulting fashion. A silent Kalil gripped the paper tight in his hands after ashamedly reading the letter several times, to the insult of his own pride. An instinctual calculation later and the paper became embers in his trembling hand. Several names were now engraved in the inside of his skull, a mantra to listen to on another job. Some familiar, others not. Fear gripped at his heart like a vice, tightening and squeezing.

He took an instinctual, deep breath of his pipe, letting it swirl in hoops. No use on letting fear grip him like this. [color=goldenrod]"And thus, the 'great collaboration' begins."[/color]

The Bengal left swiftly in pursuit of his next targets. And perhaps a library.