15
The Dream
The table was alive with the sound of laughter and the clinking of goblets, the warmth of the hearth casting flickering shadows across the room. Alyc sat at the head of the table her father Durk sat across from her with the Emberfall competitors filling the spaces in between, their voices filling the room with tales of battles fought and victories won. Durk's deep, familiar chuckle rumbled like thunder through the conversation, grounding Alyc in the comfort of the moment. She leaned forward, eager to hear the next story, her mismatched eyes one blue, one brown glinting in the firelight. “You remember that duel, don't you, Durk?" one of the competitors, a burly man named Brook, asked, grinning through a thick beard. "The one where you knocked my sword clean out of my hand before I could even blink? “Durk chuckled, shaking his head. "It wasn’t my skill, Brook. It was your habit of leaving your guard wide open. You’ve got the reach of a bear, but you swing like one too. “The table erupted in laughter, and even Alyc couldn’t help but smile. But as the laughter died down, a chill crept into the once jovial room. One by one the competitors began look at Alyc first it was Brook, then it was Sace, followed by Bregund and Magra each one staring silently. Alyc’s smile faltered, her gaze darting between them. The warmth of the hearth seemed to dim, and the shadows on the walls stretched longer, darker. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice quiet but edged with unease. Brook leaned forward, his grin gone, replaced by a somber expression. “You’ve got to avenge us, Alyc,” he said, his voice low and heavy, like the weight of a blade being drawn. Her heart skipped a beat. “Avenge you? What are you talking about?” “You know what you have to do,” Sace murmured, his eyes hollow, his tone devoid of the liveliness it held moments ago. Magra’s head tilted slightly, her gaze piercing. “Don’t fail us, Alyc. Not again.” “I don’t understand,” Alyc stammered, pushing her chair back as if distance would break the spell. The room darkened further, the fire now a faint ember, casting a weak, flickering glow. Bregund stood, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. “You’ve already made your choice,” he said. Durk’s voice cut through the oppressive silence. “Alyc.” She turned to him, relief flooding her chest until she saw his face. His steady gaze held no warmth, only a quiet resignation. “Do what must be done,” he said softly. Her breath caught as Firefang appeared in her hand, though she didn't remember drawing it. The blade gleamed faintly, catching the dim light of the dying fire. Alyc's fingers gripped its hilt tightly, her hand trembling. “I... I can't," she whispered, shaking her head. Her gaze darted to Durk, hoping for reassurance, for some sign that this wasn’t real. “You must," Brook said, stepping closer, his voice eerily calm. "It’s the only way. “One by one, the competitors rose from their chairs, their faces pale and void of life. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the room itself was closing in on her. Alyc took a step back, the chair behind her toppling over with a loud crash. "Stay back, please" she pleaded, her voice cracking. Magra stepped forward, her voice sharp and cold. "We trust you, Alyc. Don’t betray us. "Her breath quickened, panic rising in her chest. "I haven’t betrayed anyone! I don’t know what you’re talking about! “Durk stood slowly, his chair creaking under the weight of his movement. He walked toward her, his eyes locked on hers, piercing through her like he could see every doubt, every fear. "Alyc," he said, his tone calm yet commanding. "It’s time. “Tears welled in her eyes as her father stopped in front of her. "I can’t," she whispered, her voice breaking. “You have a choice," Durk replied, "make the right one “Her grip tightened on Firefang, her knuckles white as she raised the blade. The competitors formed a silent circle around her, their faces blank and expectant. “No!" Alyc screamed, closing her eyes as she swung the blade. When her eyes shot open, she was gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. She sat upright, her heart pounding in her chest as she frantically looked around. The warm glow of a lantern greeted her instead of the dim, oppressive hearth. Sammond sat across from her in the rattling carriage, concern etched across his face. “You’re all right," he said softly. "Was it the dream again? "Alyc wiped her face with shaking hands, trying to steady her breathing. The vision still clung to her mind like a shadow "yes" she replied. Sammond leaned forward, his voice gentle. "We’re almost there. You don’t want to miss the Selenian gates. The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels on the frost-covered stone road filled the silence as Alyc stared out the small window. Her breath fogged the glass, but her mismatched eyes remained fixed on the glowing silhouette ahead. The towering gates of Selenia shimmered in the moonlight, their translucent Glass Iron surface refracting the soft glow like prisms. It was a sight unlike anything she had ever seen, a stark contrast to the fiery, rugged architecture of Emberfall.
“They’re magnificent, aren’t they?” Sammond’s voice broke the silence, his tone light, as if trying to pull her away from her thoughts.
Alyc nodded, though her mind was still tangled in the remnants of her dream. “Magnificent,” she murmured, though her voice lacked the awe she wanted to express.
The carriage slowed as they approached the gates, and Alyc leaned closer to the window, taking in the intricate details. Towering spires framed the gates, and faint etchings of constellations and ancient symbols shimmered across their surface, telling stories of Selenian lore. A soft hum emanated from the metal as if it were alive, pulsing with the kingdom’s magic.
“Glass Iron,” Sammond explained, his tone carrying a hint of pride. “Stronger than steel and infused with the light of our twin moons.” It’s said the gates have stood for over a century, unbroken, protecting the heart of the kingdom.”
Alyc pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, as much for comfort as warmth. “It’s beautiful,” she admitted softly, her voice carrying a tinge of reluctance. She didn’t want to seem impressed not here, not now.
As they drew closer, the gates creaked open with a low, resonant groan, revealing the bustling city of Selenia beyond. The streets were illuminated by ethereal lanterns that glowed with a soft, pale light, casting gentle halos over cobblestone paths. Towering structures of Glass Iron and white stone stretched into the sky, their surfaces shimmering under the dual moons' glow.
Alyc stepped out of the carriage, her boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. The cold bit at her skin, but the sights before her drowned out the discomfort. Selenians in elegant cloaks and tunics bustled through the streets, their conversations a melodic hum. Market stalls lined the roads, their wares glittering in the lantern light crystals, fabrics, and weapons unlike anything she’d seen in Emberfall.
Sammond gestured for her to follow as he led her down the main street. “We’ll head to the militia headquarters first,” he said, his tone casual but his pace brisk. “That’s where we’ll meet General Thomiskee.” Alyc nodded, her eyes darting to every corner of the city. The grandeur of Selenia was overwhelming, and for a brief moment, it distracted her from the weight of her dream. But as they walked, snippets of hushed conversations reached her ears.
“Did you hear about what happened at the trials?”
“They say the king executed the swordmaster and his competitors, they're saying a coup was underway, and the king put a stop to it.”
Alyc’s stomach twisted, her breath catching in her throat. The words stung like a blade, cutting through the fragile calm she’d tried to maintain. She forced herself to keep walking, her head down gripping the hilt of her cloak tightly as if it could shield her from the whispers. The murmurs of Emberfall's betrayal trailed after her, wrapping around her like an invisible chain. Sammond glanced back, his sharp green eyes narrowing slightly. “Don’t listen to them,” he said, his voice low but firm. “They don’t know the truth. Just focus on what’s ahead.” Alyc nodded again, but the words lingered. The memory of her dream resurfaced, her father’s resigned gaze haunting her. She clenched her fists, silently vowing to push the thoughts aside at least for now. The militia headquarters was a massive structure near the heart of the city, built from the same shimmering Glass Iron as the gates. The sharp angles of the building gave it an imposing presence, its banners bearing Selenia’s crest fluttering in the cold wind. As they entered, warmth rushed to meet them, and the scent of leather and steel filled the air. Rows of soldiers trained in the expansive hall, the clash of blades echoing off the high ceilings. At the center of the room stood a man who could only be General Thomiskee. He was a mountain of a man, towering over everyone around him. His broad shoulders were draped in a heavy cloak, and his booming laughter carried across the hall. Despite his imposing figure, there was a warmth in his expression that put Alyc slightly at ease. “Ah, and who might you be?” Thomiskee’s voice was like thunder as he approached, his grin wide and welcoming. “New recruits?.” Alyc stepped forward, her chin high despite the nerves twisting in her gut. “Yes, sir,” she said, her voice steady. “I’ve come to join the militia. I want to become stronger, stronger than anyone.” Thomiskee raised a bushy eyebrow, clearly impressed by her resolve. “Stronger, eh? Well, you’ve got the spirit for it, now let's see if you have the ability.” He gestured to a soldier nearby. “Get them uniforms and show them to the barracks. Training starts at dawn.” As they were led away, Alyc stole one last glance at Thomiskee, his presence lingering in her mind. For the first time since leaving Emberfall, she felt safe.
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The barracks were a stark contrast to the grandeur of the city streets. Rows of tightly packed wooden bunks lined the stone walls, each bed neatly made with thin gray blankets. The air smelled faintly of damp wood and old leather, and the quiet murmur of conversation filled the room. Sammond and Alyc followed their guide into the dimly lit space, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor.
“Here we are,” the soldier said, stopping in front of a cluster of bunks near the center of the room. “You’ll be sharing quarters with a few other recruits. Make yourselves comfortable, and don’t be late for training tomorrow.” With a curt nod, he left them.
Alyc glanced around at the bunks, noticing a few figures already lounging or unpacking their belongings. A wiry young man with messy, untamed hair sat cross-legged on the top bunk, fiddling with a knife. His dark eyes darted to Alyc and Sammond, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
“Five strangers gather under one roof,” he said, his voice quick and lilting, almost playful. “Will they rise together, or crumble like sand in the tide?”
Alyc raised an eyebrow, already unsure of what to make of him, but Sammond offered a polite nod. “I’m Sammond, and this is Alyc.”
The man cocked his head, as if weighing their names. “Names are masks; what matters is the fire beneath. Call me Josepe.”
Before Alyc could respond, a tall, broad-shouldered woman approached, her short dark hair and piercing eyes giving her an air of quiet strength. She crossed her arms, observing them for a moment before speaking. “Lef Morzo,” she said simply, her voice calm and steady. “Stick to the rules, and we won’t have any problems.”
Josepe rolled his eyes dramatically. “Rules are chains for the mind. Only the free can truly soar.”
“Some of us take this seriously, Josepe,” Lef shot back, her tone sharp but measured.
Alyc shifted uncomfortably, sensing an underlying tension between them. Before she could say anything, another figure appeared a young woman with long, tied-back hair and a disarming smile. “Don’t mind them,” she said, her tone warm and friendly. “I’m Rebekka Sworn. Welcome to the chaos.”
Rebekka’s charm was instantly disarming, and Alyc found herself relaxing slightly. But the moment didn’t last, as yet another figure approached a tall, lean man with neatly kept hair and a smirk that seemed permanently etched on his face.
“Sol Dresda,” he introduced himself, his voice carrying a faint air of superiority. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but we’ll see if you can keep up first.” He flashed a grin that wasn’t entirely friendly but carried a challenging edge.
“Always so gracious, Sol,” Rebekka quipped, rolling her eyes with a grin of her own. “Don’t scare them off before they’ve even unpacked.”
Josepe, who had been watching the exchange with a glint of amusement, suddenly leaned forward from his top bunk, his grin wide. “The frost bites deep, but fire burns hotter. Which one will consume us all first, I wonder?”
Lef frowned, clearly used to Josepe’s riddles but still annoyed by them. “Must you always speak like that? Just say what you mean.”
Josepe shrugged, his grin unfaltering. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Alyc exchanged a glance with Sammond, unsure of whether to feel intrigued or exasperated by their new quarters. Alyc sat on the edge of her bunk, her fingers idly brushing over the fabric of the blanket as the low hum of conversation filled the barracks. The dim lanterns overhead cast long shadows against the stone walls, giving the space a quiet, intimate glow. Despite the newness of her surroundings, she remained silent, observing the easy camaraderie between the others.
"So," Rebekka began, stretching out on her bunk with an easy grin. "What brought you two here? The call to glory? Or just looking for something to do besides freeze in this miserable cold?"
Sammond shrugged, leaning back against the wooden frame of his bunk. "A bit of both, I suppose," he said smoothly. "Selenia has a reputation, and we figured there was no better place to grow stronger." Lef nodded approvingly. "Strength is earned, not given. You’ll see soon enough." Alyc said nothing. She knew the question would eventually turn to her, and she wasn’t ready to answer. Rebekka noticed her silence and, though her expression was still friendly, there was curiosity in her gaze. Josepe, who had been absentmindedly flipping a small knife between his fingers, suddenly shifted his attention to Alyc. His dark eyes gleamed with mischief as he tilted his head. "And what about you?" His voice was playful, but something in the way he spoke sent a chill through her. "What winds carried you to this place, stranger?" Alyc hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I wanted to get stronger." Josepe grinned, twirling the knife again. "Ah, a simple answer. But simple things often hide the deepest roots. And that blade of yours" His gaze flicked to Firefang, resting in its sheath by her side. "It tells a story, doesn’t it?" She stiffened at his words. Firefang had always been more than just a weapon it was a symbol of everything she had lost. "It was my father’s," she said, her voice quiet but firm.
The air in the barracks shifted slightly, the lighthearted atmosphere dimming as her words hung between them. She could feel their eyes on her, waiting for her to continue, to explain. But she wouldn’t. She couldn't. Rebekka, sensing the tension, cleared her throat and shot Josepe a pointed look. "Maybe we let people share at their own pace, yeah?"
Josepe merely grinned, unbothered. "Ah, but silence is its own kind of answer, isn't it?" He stretched his arms behind his head and leaned back. "No matter. All roads lead somewhere in the end."
Alyc exhaled through her nose, ignoring the way her chest tightened. She stood abruptly. "I'm going to try and sleep."
She turned away from the others before anyone could say anything more, settling onto her bunk and pulling the blanket up to her shoulders. Facing the wall, she let their voices fade into the background. They carried on their conversation without her, their laughter and chatter weaving through the air like distant echoes. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. And then, the nightmare returned. She was back at the table. The fire burned low, the warmth of the room replaced with an eerie, suffocating stillness. The air was thick, and the walls seemed closer than before. The familiar faces of the Emberfall competitors sat around her, their eyes hollow, their smiles gone.
"You’ve got to avenge us, Alyc," Brook said again, his voice slow and heavy, as if weighted by something unseen.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. The words, the looks, the way their shadows stretched unnaturally against the walls it was all the same. Just like before.
Firefang was in her hand. One by one, she moved, as if guided by something outside herself, striking each competitor down. She could hear her own breath, ragged and desperate, but her body did not hesitate. Magra. Sace. Bregund. Brook. They fell without resistance, their voices whispering in her mind even as they collapsed. And then, she turned to Durk. Her father stood before her, calm, watching. His gray eyes, so much like hers, bore into her with something she couldn’t name. She raised Firefang, the tip of the blade pressing lightly against his chest. His expression didn’t change. "It’s your choice, Alyc," he said. A choice. The words sent a chill through her, deeper than the cold of the barracks, deeper than the fear that had gripped her since the first time she’d had this dream. Her grip tightened around the hilt. The dream was pulling her forward, urging her to finish it. But she hesitated. The air grew heavy. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. She couldn’t do it. "Alyc." Her father’s voice soft, patient. Waiting. She sucked in a sharp breath and woke with a start.
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