Chapter 7: Shadows of Dreams
The rift's pull was like the cold grip of a phantom hand, clawing at Kael's chest and yanking him into the void. There was no warning—just an instant of stillness, and then chaos. Colors bled into each other, streaks of violet and gray smearing across his vision like ink in water. He spiraled, weightless and choking, as the world dissolved around him.
No ground. No sky. Only the sickening rush of motion and the crushing pressure of something watching—ancient and vast, its gaze curling around the edges of his mind like smoke.
The shard at his chest blazed, its violet glow intensifying as if rebelling against the descent. Kael gritted his teeth and pressed his hand to it, willing it to hold fast. Anchor me. Please. It was the only clarity in the storm of madness.
And then—impact.
Kael slammed into the ground hard enough to rattle his bones, air exploding from his lungs. He rolled, coughing, then forced himself upright. What lay beneath him wasn't stone or soil. It was… woven. A floor of threads—tightly knotted, pulsing faintly, like veins beneath translucent skin.
The space stretched infinitely in every direction, a vast cavern with no true edges. The walls shimmered like oil on water, colors shifting with each breath he took. The ceiling above churned with roiling violet clouds. Lightning flickered behind them, flashing shadows like broken film across the dreamscape.
Kael rose to his feet, unsteady. His breath came fast and shallow. The shard still pulsed against his chest, a heartbeat of light. The weight of the place settled on him—heavy and suffocating, like walking into a room already thick with grief.
He turned in place, eyes scanning the space.
"This isn't just one mind…" he muttered. "This is all of them."
And there they were.
Suspended above the floor like marionettes were the villagers—Jessa, Korrin, Torm, and a dozen others. Thick black threads wrapped around their limbs and torsos, coiling like serpents. Each strand tightened slowly, steadily. Their faces hung slack, eyes rolled back, mouths half-open as if they had tried to scream but never made it.
Kael's stomach twisted.
"Kael…"
The whisper crept in—cold and wet, like the touch of something crawling across his brain. It wasn't a voice. Not really. It was presence. A thought not his own. An intrusion.
Kael clenched the shard tighter. Its glow brightened, casting slicing beams of violet light against the swirling walls.
"SHOW YOURSELF!" he shouted, his voice ringing like steel through the dream-space.
Silence answered him.
And then the threads shivered.
They rippled like muscles under skin, and from the floor, shadows began to rise.
Shapes born of nightmares. Not his—but theirs.
The first was a monster—a titan of molten steel. Its skin bubbled with heat, claws dripping lava, its face blank with rage. Steam hissed from its joints.
"Toren's nightmares…" Kael whispered. "His worst memories. Warped."
Next came a figure in golden armor, radiant and divine, holding a blazing sword. It hovered above the ground, angelic yet cold. Kael's heart sank. He knew it.
"Jessa's guardian…" he said bitterly. "Now turned into judgment incarnate."
One by one, more horrors emerged—wraiths with whispering mouths and eyeless faces. Their whispers slithered over his skin.
"Failure… Weak…"
Kael barely dodged the steel behemoth's swipe. One molten claw smashed the ground where he stood, sending waves of force that cracked the floor and flung thread shards into the air like shattered glass.
He rolled, came up crouching.
"I don't have time for this," he snarled.
With a swift motion, he thrust the shard like a blade. A gleam of light lanced out, a thread of pure energy striking the beast's leg. It stumbled, groaning.
But the golden guardian descended in an instant, flaming sword sweeping down. Kael leapt aside, the blade scorching the air, cutting a molten gash across the floor.
The wraiths closed in, their whispers growing louder, more venomous.
"You can't save them… You're too late…"
Kael pressed a hand to his head, the voices gnawing at the edge of his mind. He stumbled, shaking, but gritted his teeth.
"SHUT. UP!" he roared, slicing outward with the shard. A glowing strand whipped out and bound the guardian's arm mid-swing. It froze—but only briefly. The steel beast bellowed and surged forward again.
Kael ducked beneath it, sprinting across the chamber toward the suspended villagers. His eyes locked on the epicenter of it all—a massive knot of thread, throbbing with sickly light, covered in pulsing runes.
The anchor.
The shard tugged toward it.
But pain blossomed across his back as a wraith clawed him. He gasped. Then a blast of searing light from the guardian slammed him across the room. He hit the floor hard and didn't move.
Around him, the whispers crescendoed.
"Kael… weak… broken…"
He raised his head, blinking through sweat and blood. The villagers were convulsing. The threads squeezed tighter. Jessa's lips moved. A soft moan escaped her, barely audible.
"No…" Kael croaked. "No, no, no…"
He reached—crawled—toward the shard that had slipped from his grasp.
Above him, the steel beast raised its claw.
He rolled.
The blow missed by inches, splitting the floor. With a raw cry, Kael grasped the shard and drove it toward the knot. A blazing thread shot out—pierced the dark mass.
The knot recoiled.
The nightmares froze.
A scream echoed. Not from a villager. Not from any human throat.
Something ancient. Something furious.
"You… dare…"
The air thickened. Violet lightning split the ceiling as a figure emerged—woven from shadow, draped in thread. Its body was humanoid, regal, terrifying. Its eyes burned with violet fire.
Kael staggered back.
"The Sleeping Tyrant…"
It was not fully awake. But present.
"These threads," it rasped, voice like a blade dragged through stone, "are mine."
Kael's legs shook. The shard's glow flickered under the weight of that presence.
"They're not yours," he spat. "They're people."
He thrust the shard forward again—but the Tyrant swept one hand. A wall of shadow crushed down on him, slamming him to the floor.
Pain bloomed through his ribs. He gasped, pinned.
The villagers jerked violently in their bindings. Korrin's eyes rolled. Jessa's fingers twitched as if clawing at something unseen.
The Tyrant glided closer, every step shaking the dream itself.
"Cut them… and I rise," it intoned. "Leave them… and they fade. Choose, Unshackled."
Kael's grip on the shard faltered. His hands trembled.
There is no right answer.
And then—
"KAEL!"
Lirien's voice—distant but clear, a note of hope piercing the despair.
Then: "We've got you!" Toren's roar echoed, followed by the crash of a hammer.
They were still fighting. Still holding the gate.
Kael's heart surged. He refused to be the end of them.
The shard pulsed, answering that surge of will.
"I'm not choosing," Kael growled, blood running down his chin. "I'm TAKING THEM BACK!"
With a defiant scream, he shoved the shard upward.
A torrent of threads burst from it—wild, chaotic, slicing toward the knot.
They struck.
The knot unraveled.
The Tyrant recoiled, shrieking. The shadows faltered.
The nightmares attacked all at once.
Kael fought through them. Thread by thread, he slashed.
Jessa—cut free. She fell gasping.
Korrin—down next.
Torm—released, eyes fluttering open.
Each soul freed cracked the dream a little more. The chamber trembled. The walls bled light.
A wraith tore across Kael's leg. He screamed—but didn't stop.
The last villager dropped.
The knot burst.
A shockwave of light swallowed everything.
The Tyrant shrieked—splintering into static—
"Not… done…"
And then—
Everything shattered.
Kael gasped awake, sprawled across the floor of the vault chamber. His body screamed in pain, every muscle aflame. He blinked.
The rift—its glow was fading.
The villagers lay around him, stirring, groaning, waking from the dream. Jessa sobbed. Korrin coughed violently. Torm opened his eyes wide and stared at the ceiling in disbelief.
Nearby, Toren stood over the broken body of a rift-beast, his hammer bloodied and heavy. His chest heaved with exertion.
He turned. His eyes found Kael.
"You did it," he breathed. "By the roots—you did it! They're awake. All of 'em!"
He strode over, hauled Kael up with one arm, and clapped him on the back.
Kael winced. "Careful. Still bleeding."
Toren chuckled—then looked concerned. "Seriously though… you alright?"
Kael nodded weakly, holding up the shard. It pulsed faintly.
"Not all," he said. "The Tyrant's still there. I severed the threads, but it wasn't gone. Just its shadow."
Mara limped toward them, one arm wrapped, face drawn. Her eyes held understanding—and fear.
"You weakened it," she said softly. "But that wasn't it, Kael. That was just the surface. Just the dream-form."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "Then we go deeper."
He rose, staggering slightly. But the fire in his eyes burned steady. Behind him, the villagers gathered. Alive. Whole. Lirien clung to Toren's leg. Jessa stared at Kael with something like awe.
"We're with you," Toren said simply, placing a hand on Kael's shoulder. "Whatever comes next."
Kael turned to Mara.
"No more secrets."
She hesitated. Then nodded. "None."
A hush fell.
And then, from beyond the pedestal—the wall shifted.
A passage opened.
A staircase descended into blackness.
The rift pulsed once, like a heartbeat.
Kael… soon…
Kael stepped forward. The shard flared in his hand, casting light on the steps ahead.
The true battle had not yet begun.
But he would be ready.
[End of Chapter 7]