Vikas stumbled in the muddy field, chasing the figure of his father in the cold night. The damp earth made his task difficult, but no matter the speed he was able to achieve, the apparition was always just out of reach. At times, it seemed like it was running ahead at an impossible speed, while at others it looked as if it was purposefully waiting for him to catch up.
The unnatural silence around them made the chase dream-like, a thought that clashed with the sharp chill coming from his wet feet. The thick fog made impossible for him to keep his direction sense: even if he wanted to stop, he would have had no idea on where to turn to get back home. But Vikas felt oddly compelled to keep running, as meaningless as the pursuit seemed. He needed to reach his father, no matter how long it would have taken.

At some point, a rocky hill appeared in front of them. Its profile wasn't familiar to Vikas. As a matter of fact, no such ridge was closer than a few days walking from Prabhata - just how long had they been running? - but as the young man pondered this thought, the shade before him disappeared. The farmer stood motionless for a couple of seconds, but no noise nor motion disturbed the stillness of the mist around him. Uncertain on what to do next, he looked at the climb in front of him. Maybe the top of the hill was higher than the low clouds? If so, he could search for a landmark to get back to the village. "Makes as much sense as anything I've done tonight" he thought to himself, as he began the ascent.
The hill wasn't particularly steep. The fog got thinner as he got higher, but the temperature also got colder and colder. When he reached the top, he was welcomed by a completely alien landscape: the hill was surrounded by a massive wasteland, with no river nor settlement in sight. A couple of campfires dotted the steppe, while on the horizon a lightning storm flashed strange colored lights. The top of the hill was bare and blasted by a cold wind: shaking, he turned to avoid getting dust in his eyes.

Before him, in front of a reddish, huge moon, stood a massive building of silver. In the faint light, Vikas couldn't quite see what it looked like: unbelievably high towers, arches and walls seemed to dot the construction without rime nor reason, and the crystalline surface reflected the surrounding area and sky as well as the moonlight, making it all but impossible to understand the size or height of the palace.
It took a while for the young man to notice the armor-clad figure that was approaching him. Black as the starless night sky, the warrior was probably at least two meters high, if not more. It had two pairs of arms, and its posture was strangely rigid. The elaborate cuirass covered him from head to toe, and the massive humanoid went forward with an ungainly gait that reminded him of the automatons he saw once at a travelling carnival. When it came closer, though, he noticed the vapor coming from behind the visor with a wheezing, irregular breathing sound: the thing was alive.
Dread filled Vikas as it slowly got closer. He knew what it was. Slowly, he realized where he had seen it before: in his nightmares. That was the monster that had killed his father.

Vikas
a voice called behind him. Startled, Vikas turned to face Amu's figure. The shape looked semi-transparent in the moonlight, as if it was made of smoke or fog. In the hand, it held a knife, which instead looked very real and sharp.
Take it
The apparition voice sounded like that of his father, although faint, distant and cold. Vikas wasn't certain if the shape was speaking or if the words were in his head, like a stray thought. He took the knife.
You know what to do
The huge warrior had stopped, and he stood immobile in front of him. Vikas weighed the knife in his hand. Dread became rage. He could avenge his father, avenge the sorrow of her mother, stop the pain he felt in his chest.
Could he?
Kill him. Now.
Anger gave way to doubt. His father never owned a knife. Amu used to say that whoever carries a weapon will one day draw it. "And whoever draws a weapon ends up regretting it". Despite his job, Amu wasn't a violent man. He did what he needed to do, but cold-blooded murder was never an option. Vikas looked at the knife: it looked ancient and vicious. The farmer turned to the shade:
"What are you?"

Before his eyes, the face of Amu Darya twisted itself in a horrible grin:
"Heh. Clever. Observant. Patient. Your intelligence belies your age and your caste, Vikas. We were right to search you."
The voice and the figure mutated in unison, until only a vaporous shape floated in front of him.
"Pardon this charade, but we thought you wouldn't even listen to us if we didn't lie to you. I'm Bael, Harbinger of the Master Beyond the Mirror."
The figure swirled, in a strange imitation of a curtsey. Vikas tried to mantain a semblance of control, but he was panicking.
"W-w-what do you want from me, demon? I'm but a poor farmer."
"Make amends, in a way. The death of your father was a tragic occurance. In a certain way we admired him. We were disappointed to see so much potential getting squandered. So, we offer you revenge in exchange."
With a clang, the warrior loosened the hinges of the helm, uncovering his face. The giant had a delicate, almost elven face, even though it was swollen and expressionless. The neck was bent in an unnatural way, as if it was broken. The eyes were glassy and vacant, but imbued with an unbearable sadness and terror. Vikas couldn't watch for long. He turned away from both monsters, shivering.
"Palehawk here would certainly welcome death, as you can see. He's a useful servitor, even though an unwilling one, but we'll happily part with him to show our goodwill."
"No, I don't- I won't do it."
"Ah, I thought so. It wouldn't be a worthy tribute to Amu's memory. He's but a mindless monster, and your father knew the risks. He's not the one your rage is directed to."
The changeling paused, then swirled in front of the young man.
"But what if I could give you revenge against the true culprits? The rakshakas that signed your father's fate when the apothecary left him choking in his own blood?"
Vikas twitched.
"We can give you power. The power to avenge your father and complete his dreams. The chance of glory isn't something that we easily give away. It's an honor reserved for a few notable individuals - like your father. Like you. Whether you understand it or not, you're made of the same substance, the same hopes and ambition. We can make you put it to good use."
"I-I-I've heard about your kind. Chi'chi'an is a liar, w-why would its servant be different? How do I know that you're not leading me towards death?"
"Ah, but I don't claim to speak the truth. You see, we trade in possibilities, young Darya. The future is an infinite chain of choices and turning points, everflowing and unknowable to anyone but Tzeentch. Me and my masters are below in the food chain, though not by much. I don't know which path will bring you to triumph, and which one to tragedy..."
The daemon crept closer, and it was like the cold had penetrated the young man to the bone.
"I do know, however, which path doesn't give you any closure. The path where you go back home, live your life as a farmer, bow the head to the tyrants of your land. You might be even happy, hell, maybe you will find a wife and have a family, or maybe you will become a bitter, greedy, lonely man. You will live the life that kings and rakshakas have chosen for those of your station, you will receive your birthright. But, in the end, it will all come to an end, and when it does you will ask yourself: 'What if?'. The If that led your father on a Blood Bowl pitch, the If that they told you it's not for people like you. This is my offer: take the If into your hands, embrace the power of Change. Be responsible for your destiny. Be free."
As the speech came to a close, the Changeling's shape started to circle faster, and faster, and faster. Soon, the man could see only the swirling depths of the creature, and fainted.

Vikas woke up in a lake of sweat in his room of the Darya estate. The hot sun of the waning days of summer was starting to rise. He sat for a moment, thinking about the dream he had. Better to clear his mind before a hard day of work. It must have been a nightmare, right? No way it could be real. The hill, the desert, the palace. It had been a tough time for everyone, especially for him. It was only natural that it would have some kind of fallout. So he had a weird nightmare. Big deal.
And yet, what if...?
Something on the floor caught his attention. Vikas froze for a moment: muddy footsteps went from the entrance to his bed, although the clay elsewhere was dry, and he only now realized that his feet were dirty. And in the middle of the room, gleaming in the morning light, half-buried in the soil, there was a knife. It looked ancient, and vicious.
What if?
What if?

Bael floated past the giant, towards the Mirrored Hall.
"He will come back. They always do."
The warrior stirred and turned slowly.
"And we will keep our promise. Won't we, Palehawk?"
The armor-clad figure started walking towards the building, stiff like a marionette. If somebody listened closely, it would have heard its faint, desperate sigh of anguish.