Author's Note: Don't worry, I'm not abandoning my other on-going stories. Those all have chapters I'm currently writing and just have to hammer out a few more details in before I put up for y'all. For now, you get a little bit of my run-off creativity that I have but isn't helpful for the stopping places I'm at in my other fics. :3

Disclaimer: I do not own Power Rangers or any related media or characters. The story idea is my own but the rest isn't. Everything is copyrighted to its respective owners.

WARNING!: This fic will contain slash, femslash and possibly even some het. Please keep this in mind. Fic ratings exist for a reason, but I'll warn before stuff if I can.

Extra Note: Contains some spoilers for certain plot points in the series, blah blah, AU, blah, my usual.

A cool breeze filtered through Dillon's window as he lay in bed, eyes barely lidded as he watched the numbers on his clock shift from three-fifty-nine to four. Partly, he was trying to fall back asleep, but partly, he was just trying to re-enter the dream he'd been having. It was different from his usual nightmares, and it felt like he was just starting to remember something, but not quite.

As the man heard a car driving by outside, it shattered the cool silence of the night, and suddenly he remembered the scene he had been so trying to get back to. A scene that felt like a new memory – something from before Venjix had entered his life and stripped it of all that had mattered. Maybe because this had had no meaning and just felt like a childhood dream, but it was still blissful on the rare occasion that Dillon could remember it, because it was a fragment he could hold onto for a brief period of time.

It was a rainy night in a city he couldn't quite identify. There was light flashing from cars as they drove through slick black streets, and the city hummed with the thick noise of traffic and businesses. For being so rainy, it wasn't humid, and the city shifted in leaps and bounds, no logo on a sign easy enough to read through the blur. It all flew by him quickly, but so beautiful just the same.

Through it all, he noticed people bustling up the street in front of him. Scenes blurred and flashed and whirled like he was shifting between awareness of time and place, and before him the sidewalk seemed wobbly and infirm. He was walking running along it, feeling sick and tired, desperate to get home soon and vaguely aware of the chilled little hand held in his own.

The city's beauty was heavy around him, and there was a weakness to his motions. Things spun around, and he felt his steps shaking, falling harder, pulling the other person along behind him. They slowed so much and he couldn't go on more. No! He had to get home! He couldn't fall now, not now, not so close! He needed to get them back. It couldn't end here...

As the dream started to fade and the only thing he could concentrate on being the falling rain, something black ended up blocking his view. It was a man, who despite Dillon's failing vision, was perfectly easy to view. His clothing was dark and he wore a large black leather jacket that shined with the falling rain. The man himself had long hair, but what it looked like, or even the man's skin-tone escaped memory. The only thing that was really physically clear at that point was the feel of that wet leather of the jacket as he clutched at it, begging with a voice that wouldn't work to get his sister home, that he just had a little ways more to get them there.

The scene always went black at this point, but on rare nights, like this one, Dillon could remember the voices. They hadn't been like normal voices, but each had had a strange musical quality to it that he had always equated to other things. They had been discussing something, but it was so hard to be clear on what.

"Okay Drameer, what ARE you doing?" A voice that seemed earthy in texture flitted through the dark coating his mind.

Another voice came now, an ebony timbre that was both crisp and strong with warmth. "You brought humans here?"

"I had to!" spoke a voice sounded like rain and like music all at once.

Vaguely, Dillon realized that the burning cold feeling that wrapped so bitingly around his body was gone now and he was relaxed in something warm. With each of the voices he was now also starting to get scents and emotions, though each was stranger than the last.

The first voice returned now, accompanied by a smell of fresh growing plants and new life, and spoke gently, tenderly, "I understand that you are fond of young ones, but it was their time."

The voice closest to him, the one like rain, seemed to give off an aura like a dark storm now, but still had a fresh clean smell like after a light shower. "Yes, because I'm just going to let some kids run into me and beg for help then just die. I thought part of this game was to be more in touch with mortals."

"There's a fine line between more in touch and interference," came a new voice, older sounding but in a way it also felt newer, with a hint of purity to it.

The one nearest to him spoke now, almost violent, "Oh and I'm sure YOU'D know about interference, Angellus! How about that little princess you watch over, hm? Going to just let her perish to some horrible little malady you could easily stop? Because if you'd like, I can just provide that for you right now!"

"You're just being cruel now, Drameer," the voice from the beginning said again, and it was starting to become obvious that this was less a name for the person he was with and more her – he was sure it was a her speaking – saying something he could with an accent. "We all have our own mortals we are protective of. That's part of the game."

A higher, more teasing voice came in now, "You're the one who gifted them with death to begin with!" this one obviously just playing now, very light and airy.

"And I who gifted them with emotions," came the strong, voice once again, accompanied by the smell of burning wood. "If he wishes to save them, I see no reason to not let him – it merely shows that our game is successful if he cares about something beyond his own realm. We shall allow him to continue and take a penalty as Andalucia had to."

It was about this point that the words began to fade out, and usually Dillon would wake up. But not tonight. Tonight things stayed fuzzy and black for a time, but he was able to catch on to one last little tidbit. It seemed to mean nothing, but at the same time, it was almost exciting to remember just a bit more of it.

"So, Draameer, does this mean you have chosen?"

"Yes. The boy will do. He will be my champion and one day he shall grow older and find himself called to my service.'

"I am sure he will rue the day he is subjected to the whims of a fickle god such as yourself."

It was then that Dillon woke up, panting heavily, and staring out the window at the cool evening sky of Corinth's dome. It was just then that their automated weather system seemed to be overridden and it began to rain.