Mixali did not have to wait long. The slight shift in the air told him that the mage was very near. The mage must have been very convinced that nothing could hurt him, not in this neutral territory of the unsuspecting humans. He could feel the air, as if it was getting thicker. The mage was very near now, he must be. Mixali looked up from under his hood, eyes warily scanning the thinning crowd in the restaurant. The humans semed oblivious and the demons and braeddis were discreetly aware of a mage’s presence but out of courtesy did not look around to see who is exuding such energy. They also knew that the pulsing energy was not directed at them. His eyes stopped on a figure gliding smoothly between the tables, and in an instant his posture siffened. The slightly hunched figure was covered in a blood red garb, with a heavy hood. The hems touched the floor, slightly soiled as it dragged on the floor everywhere the mage goes. Mixali’s ears twitched, like a cats’ when flies are hovering around its head. “You found me,” he breathed, overwhelmed by the energy projected to him. “You know I would,” was the response. Mixali stared at the mage, feeling brave underneath his own hood. All he found were pale lips, a thin line cut into marble. He was not sure, for what he saw was hidden beneath the shadow of the hood. “I guess I knew. I have never really believed in scrying,” as soon as the words were out, Mixali was horrified. “..aah…I have never went to a Scryer before.” The mage chuckled. The sound was high pitched but at the same time. He could sense rather than hear the deep rumbling in the mage’s chest. Mixali clutched at his glass, suddenly realising that it was the mage’s doing. He had heard rumors before, about the powers that these creatures hold. “I know desperation,” the mage took his glass, and Mixali shuddered at the mage’s cold skin. Mixali did not let go of the glass. Cold fingers were wrapped around his own, and Mixali was transfixed on them. “Mixali,” it was his name. He lifted his gaze and met two silvery orbs. They gleamed underneath the hood and he noticed nothing but them. The bar was only a colourful blur. The eyes were expectant but Mixali found it difficult to say what he wanted. More specifically, what he wanted from the mage. It was a wonder, even to him; his refusal to say what he wanted. Death looks like a more attractive option at a time like this. “Mixali,” his name again, from the pale lips. The mage’s words from earlier on rang in his ears. I know desperation. The mage was stating a fact. It was as though he was saying ‘the sky is blue’. “I know why you wanted to see me Mixali but it is something you must tell me. The contract will not be verified if you never say anything to me.” Suddenly, the idea of talking about it seemed not so terrifying. It was for the contract. It was necessary. It is something formal and official. “I do not want to die,” I do not want to die. He had voiced it aloud. The room swam back into focus. He could hear the tinkling of glasses. “I do not want to die, and the scryer told me that you…a mage…a mage can help me.” “I could,” “But?” “There is no but. You will need to do as I say,” the tone was final. Mixali’s heart raced. His thoughts flew to when he was but a foal. He braying of his brothers, the clouds of dusts, the dry air, the sweltering heat and the punding of hooves on wood. They all assaulted him. Bile rose up his throat. When the smell of greenweed from the pills reached him, he came back to his senses. Death is not an option. “Yes,” a sense of dread filled him. He knew he would regret it later.