“Fine,” Wesley murmured. He knew he should be more friendly to Rraiec, but he wasn’t in the mood for company. He couldn’t get comfortable around the young dalhari, or Rinhe, who also visited him regularly. That was mostly due to the fact that he’d been told just how it was he’d gotten changed.

It appalled him to learn that he’d actually attacked the elder. He didn’t remember the event, or the hallucination he’d apparently had. They had told him as much of what he’d said as they could decipher. From that he figured out that he’d been dreaming of Lilah and Connor—which did explain quite a bit. He was loath to tell such things to Rinhe and Rraiec, though. His reticence left them with many questions, but he just couldn’t bring himself to discuss it yet—that was too intensely personal.

“Iaka said that you would be ready to move back to your quarters soon,” Rraiec commented as he prepared Wesley’s meal. “I took the liberty of getting it ready for you. I hope my boldness does not offend.”

“No,” Wesley replied quietly. He didn’t care who prowled through his quarters, or what they did while they were there. He was glad he’d be allowed to leave the sick room soon, though. Even his quarters were better than this place—he could lock people out of his quarters… well, maybe. Rinhe might not let him for some time. She hadn’t been very impressed with his efforts to starve and freeze himself to death.

Honestly, though, he wasn’t sure why. If he’d died, a lot of trouble would’ve been avoided.

“Do you need help with this?” Rraiec asked, presenting Wesley with a bowl of soup and some soft bread. Wesley shook his head and took the tray. After a moment, Rraiec left. Only then did Wesley begin to eat.

Rraiec was met by a messenger as he left the sick room. He was handed a message that requested his presence in the elders’ hall. Curious and a bit worried, he directed himself that way.

When he reached the hall, he found several elders gathered around a merrily crackling fire. They were deeply involved in a discussion, so he hung back far enough to allow privacy. It wasn’t done to interrupt the elders.

“Rraiec, please attend,” Rinhe said formally. Rraiec tensed slightly and moved forward.

“You are familiar with Wesley,” One elder murmured to the young dalhari.

“Somewhat, yes,” Rraiec replied.

“More so than the rest of the hold,” Another commented.

“Perhaps,” He said quietly.

“Enough. We need someone to guide him,” Rinhe said firmly.

Rraiec blinked. “I am still a student,” He replied. “I do not—“

“You are very skilled in the techniques and philosophies that he needs,” Rinhe interjected. “Consider this, if you like, your final assignment. Wesley trusts you far more than anyone else here, and you have a better understanding of his mind.”

Rraiec saw that he had no real choice in this matter. And of course there was Wesley to think about. “Will I receive any guidance?”

“Of course,” She said sharply. “All you could ever want. But this is to be your task, no one else’s.”

“As you wish,” He responded, bowing slightly. The elders dismissed him, so Rraiec left immediately. His first stop would be the library. He had a lot of work ahead of him.

•••

“Try to focus on the stillness of the air,” Rraiec instructed calmly.

Wesley grimaced. “I *am* focusing on the stillness of the air. It’s just that there is nothing to focus on!”

Rraiec rubbed his eyes. It had been a very long day. Actually, the entire week had been trying in the extreme. Wesley was trying… well, he was trying to do something, but Rraiec wasn’t sure what it was. He kept explaining meditation techniques, philosophies, and the like, but Wesley was having no luck. He wasn’t sure what the newly changed dalhari was actually doing when he meditated, but it wasn’t working. If only Wesley would talk to him. “Is there really nothing, Wesley?”

“Air. Still air. The point of still air is that it isn’t moving. You can’t feel it, because there is no movement to brush it across your skin. That is why it is still air!”

“Ah. So, you cannot feel it because it is not moving. What about when you move?” Rraiec asked.

“When I move? Then I stir the air. It is no longer still.”

“Oh. Do you stir the air, or do you move yourself through the air?”

“Very funny, Rraiec. It’s both. Yes, I am moving myself through the air, but it is also being displaced,” Wesley shot back.

“Ah. So when you are not moving and the air is not moving, then both you and the air are still.”

“I think we’ve established that already,” Wesley ground out.

“So can you sense yourself when you are not moving?”

“What? Yes, of course I can. I am me, I can always sense me. I am all around me. There is no escaping that,” Wesley replied huffily.

Rraiec smiled. Wesley said just what he wanted him to. “So if you can feel yourself when you are still, why not the air?”

“Aargh! Look, I can’t. It’s just that simple,” Wesley replied.

“Perhaps you’re trying too hard,” Rraiec offered.

“How so?” Wesley snarled.

“You are stretching your senses to feel something, correct?’ He asked.

“Yes.”

“But you can find nothing. Perhaps you are looking for something that is not there,” Rraiec said.

“So I’m not supposed to find anything?” Wesley asked.

“Sometimes nothing is what you’re looking for,” Rraiec replied. “Occasionally the lack of something is as noticeable as its presence.”

Wesley thought for a moment. He straightened and took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. For the umpteenth time, he began the meditation. This time, though, he didn’t focus on trying to feel anything. Instead, he searched for what he couldn’t feel.

There was no breeze, no slight disturbance of the hairs on his arms.

No change of skin temperature. No dryness as moisture was whisked away.

No extra air pressed into his lungs as he inhaled. No wind blowing his breath away from his face when he exhaled.

No sensation of dynamic atmosphere—of existing within a moving something. Just the feeling of being submerged, stationary.

There was nothing.

Rraiec stood silently, having realized that Wesley finally understood at least the core of the meditation. He backed out of the room, leaving the man to his work. Perhaps there was hope yet for the new dalhari.

•••

Wesley ended his meditations a few minutes later, only to see that Rraiec was gone. Sighing softly, he stood to stretch his muscles. It was no wonder that Rraiec had left; dinner had long since passed them by. Fortunately Wesley still had food in his quarters and wouldn’t have to travel to the kitchens. He still hated being around others.

While his meal heated up over the fire, Wesley reached around to his back, trying to massage the sore muscles surrounding his wings. They ached almost constantly now—to the point that he’d almost given up on them ever not hurting. The things were growing quickly; already after only two weeks since they first appeared, the they were almost a meter in height. Oh, they still had almost that much left to grow, but they seemed to be enlarging faster and faster with each day. His tail was already at full length, and he kept it wrapped around one leg most of the time. He wasn’t quite used to the sensation of it hitting things.

After his warm and nourishing but boring meal, Wesley retreated for a bath. He stripped down quickly, trying to avoid actually looking at his body. Right now he was undergoing the most cosmetically troublesome part of changing—pigmentation. At first, it hadn’t been very noticeable—it looked like he was developing freckles. After a few days, though, they enlarged to the point that he could see what color they were. Now his body was a horrific patchwork of moss green and nauseating gray. Eventually the green would prevail, but until then his still-human pigments continued to show through, only altered slightly by his new physiology. Instead of a light pink, he looked like a decaying corpse. It was disgusting.

The rest of his physical appearance didn’t bother him at all. His eyes had faded to a dull, changeable green/gray, which extended over the white. He could barely tell where his iris began; the only detail that could be discerned was the dark gray pupil. His teeth and nails were a dark green, and he could already see his hair—now a similarly dark shade of green—growing in as it displaced his brown human hair. He felt like he’d been painted with a forest, all shades of green. It reminded him of camouflage.

Once the sun was set, Wesley climbed into bed for another long night of not sleeping well. He couldn’t seem to make himself sleep soundly, no matter what meditations he tried or herbs he took. Iaka gave him treatment after treatment, thinking that perhaps it was an aftereffect of the change. She had told him he wouldn’t sleep as much now that he was dalhari. He didn’t think, though, that he would cease sleeping altogether. Unfortunately, that was what was happening.

•••

Rraiec watched, pleased, as Wesley mastered yet another meditation technique. It seemed that his breakthrough a month ago gave him insights into the way his mind worked—which was precisely the goal of the exercise. From that day forward Wesley had taken to his studies with vigor, learning them more quickly than most dalhari did.

This technique was a rather difficult one—Wesley was learning how to differentiate his memories, sort through them efficiently, and utilize the information within them. It was hard because memories tended to blur together, but the lesson was vitally important. Although right now Wesley only had a few decades of memories in his mind, eventually he would be burdened with centuries, perhaps even millennia, of them. If he didn’t learn how to keep his mind uncluttered, he would find himself bound at the ankles.

Wesley ignored the sounds of Rraiec rustling about as he looked inward. He had been waiting for some time for Rraiec to bring up this lesson. It was the one he’d wanted ever since he’d first heard of it. The technique would let him dig into his mind and find all those nasty things he’d lived with for so long. And once he found them, well… they weren’t staying, that was a given.

The dalhari didn’t teach how to remove things from memory, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be done. Wesley knew how, at least in theory. His only stumbling block had been that he didn’t know how to work his new mind—how to control it, how to make it orderly. Now that he did, he could actually get down to the dirty job of sanitizing it. All he had to do was finish this exercise and convince Rraiec that he was adept at it. Then the dalhari would leave him alone.

“So?” Rraiec inquired when Wesley finished for the day.

“I believe it went very well. My memories are far clearer than before, and I managed to keep them from overlapping significantly.”

Rraiec nodded. That sounded about right. “You may want to practice a bit—just to keep up with the skill.”

Wesley smiled. “Of course. Now, though, I need to rest. That is a rather trying exercise.”

“As you wish,” Rraiec replied, standing to leave. “We shall resume lessons in three days. I must depart for Xo’pa tonight.”

“Enjoy your visit to their library,” Wesley murmured. “And I shall see you when you return.”

Once Rraiec was gone, Wesley resumed his seat in front of the fire. He quickly descended into a deep trance, letting his mind fill all his senses. Wesley allowed the swirling mire free reign for a time before wresting control from it and imposing his will.

Then he began to hunt.

His parents were first—his mother’s dislike for him and desire for a daughter. His father, the acclaimed Watcher, disapproving of his son’s lack of ability. The lack of celebration when he was assigned to a Slayer—something that not even his father had done. Their knowing frowns when Faith turned on him. The last phone call he had with his mother, when she informed him that he’d been disowned by his father due to his spectacular failure as a human being.

Since they were related, the next target was his childhood, specifically friends and colleagues. Schoolboys could be so cruel, taunting the bespectacled Wesley. Young Watchers who got him drunk and set him up with prostitutes. Faith, who did nothing but hurt him, physically and mentally. Giles, who simply had no time or respect for a struggling young man. Cordelia, who played with his hormones, only to drop him in an instant.

And Cordelia led to Angel. Angel, the demon who had purchased his heart for nothing but a smile and a caress. The souled vampire who chose to disown him, an act far more painful than his parents’ abandonment. Connor, Angel’s son, the one thing Wesley had loved more than the vampire. All the memories of that very personal Armageddon. The memories of how he got the scar on his throat that not even dalhari physiology could completely erase, although it would fade eventually. Lilah and her hellish presence. Angel. Cordelia and Gunn—and Fred. And Angel, always Angel.

He gathered up those memories, the whole writhing mass of them, and forced them out. They resisted of course—after all, his mind was their home. He ignored the innumerable cries and kept pushing, thrusting, making them go away. Eventually the noise abated and the memories were gone, either pushed into some deep hole or actually eradicated. Wesley didn’t care which it was, so long as they stayed away forever.

Lastly he returned to the whole of his mind. It was calm and clear, the sickness and murk of his pain gone forever. He reveled in it, the purity and the cleanliness. Perfection.