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Chapter 2: Dreams

  Daron led Valara up the

  creaking stairs to his apartment above Minora's bar. The steps, old and

  worn, groaned softly underfoot, and magical lanterns bathed the narrow

  stairwell in a soft, warm light, casting playful shadows in the dim

  corners. Each lantern flickered gently, creating an atmosphere of quiet

  comfort amidst the worn wood and faint smell of aged stone. When they

  reached the top, the heavy door of dark wood greeted them with a low,

  familiar creak as it swung open. Daron gestured for Valara to step

  inside, his movement both inviting and reassuring in the cozy, lived-in

  space above the bustling bar below.

  Valara

  stepped into the room and looked around uncertainly. The apartment was

  small, but it exuded a mixture of calm and a touch of melancholy, making

  it clear that someone lived here who was trapped between old memories

  and an endless search for truth. Plants stood in sturdy pots along the

  walls, bringing a vibrant, fresh scent into the room. They seemed almost

  like silent guardians, filling the space with a hint of life.

  The

  living area was simple but thoughtfully arranged. A worn armchair stood

  near the small cast-iron fireplace, which gave off a soft, comforting

  crackle. Above the fireplace hung an old painting of a rainy alley in

  Old Elaris, a reminder to Daron of why he could never quite let go.

  Floating light orbs, inscribed with magical glyphs, moved quietly

  through the room, casting everything in a warm, golden light. Daron's

  bookshelves were filled with old tomes, magical artifacts, and small

  personal mementos that whispered of his experiences and struggles. A

  small magical compass lay on the table, its needle occasionally spinning

  aimlessly, as lost as the people who owned it.

  "This

  is Mirabella," Daron said as a small, tabby cat with gentle, curious

  eyes peeked out from a corner. The cat padded silently towards Valara

  and purred as it rubbed against her leg. Valara flinched slightly at

  first, then hesitantly raised her hand and gently stroked the soft fur.

  The cat pressed against her, purring, and Valara's lips curled into a

  delicate, uncertain smile—the first hint of joy she had shown in a long

  time. The touch of the cat seemed to calm something within her, a tiny

  spark flickering through the deep shadows of her thoughts.

  Daron

  watched the moment and allowed Valara time to relax. "Make yourself at

  home," he said gently, laying his coat over a chair. His gaze lingered

  on an old photo hanging on the wall. It showed him alongside a woman

  whose smile had once brought him comfort. He traced the image with his

  fingers, feeling the memory of bygone days and the lost closeness that

  now seemed so foreign. For a moment, his expression was heavy, but when

  he looked back at Valara, who was sitting on the floor and softly

  petting Mirabella, his face brightened. "Hmm, progress, right?" he

  murmured quietly, smiling inwardly. He knew that even the slightest

  change in Valara's expression was a glimmer of hope. It was a beginning,

  a step out of the darkness that surrounded them both.

  On

  a small shelf in the corner stood a modern magical radio, crafted in

  the workshops of Industria. It was made of shiny metal and glass,

  combined with fine technomagical components that gave it an elegant yet

  futuristic look. Instead of a conventional dial, a shimmering, rotating

  crystal disk displayed the set magical frequency, changing color with

  the sounds of the music. Magical glyphs glowed softly blue and pulsed to

  the rhythm of the music, as if they could feel the melodies themselves.

  The radio was a perfect blend of technology and magic—a small

  masterpiece from Industria that symbolized the city's progress.

  Soft,

  soothing melodies emanated from the radio, filling the room and

  creating a peaceful atmosphere. The gentle hum of magic blended with the

  music and the occasional crackle of the fireplace, while the floating

  light orbs began to shimmer in tune with the flowing sounds. It was as

  if the radio merged with the room, spreading a familiar, cozy warmth

  that calmed both of them.

  After

  a while, Daron cleared his throat and spoke softly: "Valara, I don't

  think I've properly introduced myself. I'm Daron." His voice was calm

  but hesitant, as if this simple statement carried more meaning than just

  an introduction. "It might be hard, but I want you to know that you're

  safe here. You're not alone." He looked at Valara; her eyes remained

  fixed on the cat, but he felt she was listening. "I hope you know you

  can trust me, yeah? I know words mean little, especially after

  everything that's happened... but I promise you, I'll never do anything

  to hurt you. I'm here to help."

  Valara

  didn't respond immediately, but she twitched slightly, as if absorbing

  the words while her fingers continued to gently glide over Mirabella's

  fur. Her eyes remained closed, as if trying to soak in the quiet,

  soothing moments that had become so rare.

  "You

  can sleep in my bed," Daron said, his voice calm but firm, as if to

  show her that this could truly be her safe place. "I'll take the sofa.

  Don't worry; I just want you to feel comfortable. We have time; nothing

  needs to be rushed. Take the rest you need." Valara glanced at him

  briefly, her eyes appearing a little less empty for a moment. She

  nodded, and her silence seemed less like withdrawal and more like

  cautious acceptance.

  Daron

  saw her reaction, small as it was, as a step in the right direction. It

  wasn't much, but it was something. He leaned back and listened to the

  radio's tunes, which softly filled the room. "Good night, Valara," he

  said quietly as he lay down on the sofa, and a hint of relief crept into

  his voice. "Tomorrow's a new day. Maybe we can try something new, or

  just sit here... whatever helps you." He knew the road was still long,

  but these small moments gave him hope.

  They

  lay in the darkness, each lost in their thoughts. The silence was not

  oppressive but almost comforting—a shared solitude they both experienced

  in that moment. As the last notes of the music faded and the soft hum

  of the magical lanterns filled the room, they found a little peace in a

  city that rarely offered rest.

  Night

  settled heavily over Daron's apartment, as if the darkness itself was

  more than just the absence of light. It seemed to have its own

  substance, laced with the invisible threads of past decisions and lost

  moments. The faint crackling of the fireplace and the muted hum of the

  radio were the only sounds filling the room, but even they couldn't

  break the oppressive silence that hung like an invisible veil over

  everything.

  Valara

  lay on the bed, Mirabella close by her side, but the cat's proximity did

  little to dispel the chill in her dreams. Her brow was furrowed in

  worry, her hands clenched in the blanket, as if she needed to hold on to

  something to keep from being swept away by the flickering images in her

  mind. Her breaths came shallow and ragged as she wandered through the

  mists of a dream woven from foreign memories and unspoken fears.

  A

  faint clink, like shattering glass, echoed through the indeterminate

  expanse. Unknown voices whispered from the corners, unintelligible and

  oppressive, as if murmuring secrets Valara couldn't grasp. The mist felt

  cold and clammy, as if it swallowed any warmth that came near.

  Suddenly,

  she was sitting in a carriage that hovered through the streets of

  Elaris. The velvet-covered seats beneath her were soft and inviting, but

  the chill in the carriage was palpable, almost like an invisible hand

  gently pushing her away. The windows of the carriage were framed by

  delicate, glowing glyphs that constantly shifted as if reflecting the

  pulsing energy of the dome. The light danced on the seats, casting

  distorted shadows on Valara's face, as if it adapted to the darkness of

  the city. A gentle jolt ran through the carriage as it followed the

  invisible paths of the technomagical traffic network that crisscrossed

  the city like a living web. The faint hum of magic flowed like a

  fleeting river through the space, but instead of soothing, it amplified

  the silence between the sounds, as if the carriage itself were

  breathing.

  Beside her

  sat a man—calm, watchful, yet indistinct, his face hidden in

  half-shadow. His presence was warm and stable, like a faint light

  holding its ground against the flickering darkness. "Eat something," he

  said in a gentle but firm voice that pierced the oppressive silence.

  Before Valara appeared a small plate of warm semolina porridge, drizzled

  with honey and garnished with delicate pieces of fruit that shimmered

  in the dim light. A glass of milk stood beside it, surrounded by the

  glowing patterns of the carriage. Valara reached for it, but her hands

  trembled as if every movement bore an invisible weight. She took a small

  bite of the porridge, which melted warm and sweet on her tongue,

  leaving a fleeting sense of comfort that was immediately overshadowed by

  the chill of the carriage.

  As

  she ate, the lights in the carriage seemed to flicker and grow

  restless, and the windows revealed the dome shimmering in the distance.

  She saw the streets of Elaris, the dazzling glow of magical barriers,

  and the unceasing dance of lights. But suddenly, the view was

  interrupted by a dull thud that made the carriage floor shudder—like the

  beating heart of an invisible threat. Outside, a battle raged that

  Valara couldn't see, but the feeling of the tremor made her

  involuntarily flinch. She sensed the tense energy of a confrontation

  beyond her control, as if the demons were just a breath away.

  The

  image tore apart as if the carriage were breaking, and Valara was

  thrown into a series of disturbing impressions. A sharp flash of

  light—the metallic glint of a blade that flares before sinking deep into

  flesh; blood spreading like a foreign pattern on cold stone; a face

  full of horror she couldn't place. The memories whirled around her like

  fragments of shattered glass, alien yet somehow familiar.

  Amidst

  these scenes, the murderer appeared—a strange woman with striking

  features, long, dark hair that fell like a curtain around her, and an

  unsettlingly cold presence. Her eyes were like two black holes, dark and

  empty, absorbing all light. She wore a long, deep red dress that clung

  to her body like liquid silk with every movement, and her every gesture

  was filled with an eerie grace, as though she were gliding through

  water. Her lips were twisted into a thin, disdainful smile that was more

  promise than threat. She moved through the memories as if they were

  hers, and each time she raised the blade, the light flickered, casting

  everything in a ghostly red.

  The

  murderer seemed to be the source of a terror Valara couldn't

  comprehend—a figure that dominated the space without saying a word. Her

  steps echoed quietly through the dream, as if walking on broken glass,

  and every look she gave Valara was a silent accusation that cut deeper

  than any weapon. Valara felt a disturbing connection to this woman, as

  if her presence were part of a mystery she couldn't unravel. She tried

  to turn away from the woman, but her eyes were glued to her, like a

  compulsion she couldn't escape.

  Then

  the dream changed—Valara found herself in a room that felt familiar,

  and another woman entered. This woman was different, with dark, sleek

  hair and eyes so sharp they seemed to pierce through everything. Her

  movements were fluid, almost dance-like, but every gesture carried a

  cold control. The woman lifted her chin slightly as she looked at

  Valara, a barely perceptible expression of superiority on her lips. She

  didn't speak, but her presence was loud enough—a silent dominance that

  filled any room she entered. Valara felt small in her presence, like a

  toy being watched and judged.

  Suddenly,

  other images flickered before Valara's eyes—she saw an old book,

  adorned with golden symbols and ancient writings that seemed unfamiliar

  yet evoked a strange sense of familiarity. Hands flipped through the

  pages, a faint crackling sound that Valara felt deep within. They were

  not her hands but someone else's—elegant, pale, with long, slender

  fingers. The book shimmered in the light of a magical flame, and Valara

  felt that the knowledge hidden within was more powerful than she could

  ever comprehend.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The

  scene blurred, and Valara found herself in an expansive garden

  illuminated by magical flowers whose petals glowed like tiny stars. She

  could hear the faint whisper of the plants as if they were keeping

  secrets known only to the initiated. The air was heavy and sweet, filled

  with an intoxicating scent that went straight to Valara's head. A

  shadow moved through the garden, and Valara felt an intense sense of

  pride and power, as if this place belonged to her. But that feeling was

  foreign—it wasn't hers.

  Amid

  the flickering scenes, Valara suddenly saw another figure—tall,

  indistinct, and hidden in the shadows. It was more a presence than a

  person, an unseen force that filled the space. The ground vibrated

  slightly, as if each step the figure took infused the surroundings with

  its power. Valara couldn't see it clearly, but the pressure it radiated

  was palpable, as if it overlooked everything, as if every thought she

  had was directed by this invisible force. A foreboding feeling draped

  like a cold veil over the scene, and Valara felt inescapably watched by

  the figure.

  The

  murderer stayed close, her smile unchanged, while the blade in her hand

  continually caught the light. Valara saw the woman with light, almost

  elegant movements glide through the memories—through the garden, the

  throne room, the blood on the stones. The murderer paused briefly,

  lifted her head, and turned to the tall figure as if reporting something

  that Valara couldn't hear. A brief nod from the figure was the only

  response before the murderer vanished again, leaving only the faint

  clink behind.

  The man

  in the carriage remained Valara's anchor, but the distance between them

  seemed to grow. His eyes were full of worry but also determination—a

  promise unspoken but felt by Valara. "You're not alone," his look seemed

  to say, but Valara couldn't hear the words. She saw his hand stretch

  out again to reach her, but shadows drew between them, as if the dream

  itself wanted to prevent that connection.

  With

  a final jolt, Valara woke up, her breath shallow and rapid. The images

  of the dream still lingered in her mind—the murderer, the memories of

  another, and the constant, threatening presence she couldn't decipher.

  Daron,

  too, lay restlessly on the sofa, the blanket only half covering him, as

  if something prevented him from fully resting. The warmth of the room

  felt distant, pushed away by the icy chill of his thoughts that

  repeatedly pulled him back to the past. He felt the exhaustion in his

  bones, but the sleep that overtook him was not one of rest. It was a

  dark, heavy sleep where the boundaries between memory and nightmare

  blurred.

  The dream

  began in familiar scenes from the past. Daron saw his girlfriend walking

  towards him in the bustling streets of Elaris, with a smile that had

  always given him strength. Her eyes were warm, and the sun shone

  brighter than ever before. It was a vibrant, pulsating moment, almost

  too perfect to be real. They spoke, their words filled with confidence

  as they strolled through the city together, as if the world were still

  in order.

  But slowly,

  the scenery began to change. The vibrant city around them faded, and

  the colors lost their intensity, turning into a cold, foggy corridor

  reminiscent of the gloomy halls of the palace. The ground beneath their

  feet began to crumble as if reality itself was dissolving. His

  girlfriend began to change—her eyes turned vacant and distant, and she

  no longer spoke. Her movements were stiff, as though something unseen

  controlled her. Daron tried to hold her, to pull her back, but her hand

  slipped out of his like sand, and suddenly he stood alone in an endless,

  cold room.

  Then

  Lyssara appeared, and the atmosphere of the dream tipped into the

  threatening. Lyssara wore his girlfriend's familiar face, but her eyes

  were hard and mocking, and a cold, amused smile played on her lips. She

  looked at him as if he were an insect she could crush at will. "Daron,"

  she said, her voice a blend of his girlfriend's and Lyssara's own icy

  tone. "How pathetic you are, still believing you could change

  something."

  Lyssara

  moved smoothly and confidently, her steps echoing through the endless

  darkness as if the room responded to her commands. The surroundings felt

  alive as if reacting to Lyssara's will—the shadows crept closer, the

  walls seemed to lean in, and the air was heavy with magic and

  oppression. She approached Daron, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

  "You thought you could save her? So naive... so weak." She laughed

  quietly, but the laughter was cutting, piercing the room and making

  Daron shudder. It was not just mockery; it was the unbridled joy of

  watching him suffer, reminding him that he could do nothing.

  With

  a slow, deliberate gesture, Lyssara pulled a massive golden mirror from

  the floor. The mirror was richly decorated, with dark symbols and

  engraved, cryptic signs that seemed almost alive. It was grand and

  imposing, a monument of power and pride that reflected everything—but

  what Daron saw was not his own reflection. Instead, he saw the image of

  himself, but distorted and disfigured, as if he were just a shadow of

  his former self.

  Daron

  couldn't look away from the mirror, even though the image it showed him

  shook him to the core. The figure in the mirror was pale, its eyes

  hollow and empty, and there was nothing heroic or proud about it. It was

  as if Lyssara wanted to show him what he really was—or what she saw in

  him: a broken tool, stripped of any meaning and dignity. Lyssara stepped

  behind him, placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch cool and mocking.

  "Do

  you see it?" she asked, her fingers digging slightly into his shoulder.

  "This is all that's left of you. A shadow, an empty shell that can do

  nothing but bow to me." Daron tried to look away, but the mirror held

  him captive. He watched as his reflection changed, the face becoming

  more and more distorted, more and more alien, until it hardly looked

  human. The eyes of the figure in the mirror were empty and submissive,

  and the expression was a silent scream for deliverance that would never

  come.

  Lyssara stepped

  before the mirror, raising her hand to touch the glass, and Daron's

  reflection began to change. The distorted Daron in the mirror knelt, his

  eyes closed as if he had lost all will. Lyssara watched, her face a mix

  of amusement and contempt. She spoke quietly, almost whispering, but

  her words carried the weight of commands: "You will do as I say. You

  will bow whenever I demand it because you are nothing but a tool."

  Daron

  felt his knees give way, even though he didn't want them to, and his

  reflection did the same—it knelt before Lyssara, just as he did. The

  movement felt forced, as if the mirror controlled him, and Daron felt

  his own identity breaking more and more. He was no hero, no warrior,

  just a figure serving Lyssara's whims. He sank to the cold floor, his

  gaze trapped in the mirror, where he saw nothing but his own defeat.

  Lyssara

  turned away from him, and the mirror dissolved into thin air, but the

  cold remained. "Do you see it now, Daron?" she asked over her shoulder.

  "You are just a tool, my tool, and you will always do what I say. You

  belong to me." Her words echoed, a reverberation that lingered in

  Daron's mind even as she left him.

  The

  dream ended as Lyssara disappeared, leaving Daron in the darkness, lost

  in the distorted vision of himself the mirror had shown. He awoke,

  drenched in sweat, with the nagging feeling that everything he had seen

  was not just a dream but the bitter truth he could no longer ignore.

  The

  early morning draped a gray veil over the city, and the first light of

  day tentatively seeped through Daron's apartment windows. A fine mist

  hung over the rooftops, as if even the new day was reluctant to leave

  the shadows of the night behind. Valara and Daron woke almost

  simultaneously, ripped from their dreams that felt all too real. Both

  sat up abruptly, the air still filled with the dark images of their

  nightmares.

  Daron

  looked over at Valara, who sat with a frightened face, her eyes wide

  open. Her breathing was ragged, and she clung to the blanket as if

  seeking anchor in it. Her expression bore a silent despair that Daron

  knew all too well.

  "Hmm...

  you look like you fought a few ghosts too," Daron said softly, trying

  to keep his tone light, though concern laced his words. He saw how

  Valara clung to the blanket, as if holding on to the last shreds of

  safety. She said nothing, but her eyes spoke volumes—a jumbled mess of

  fear and exhaustion.

  Daron

  sat next to her, his gaze soft but attentive. "Was it bad?" He waited,

  saw Valara nod hesitantly, and then gently wrapped an arm around her

  shoulders. "I know that feeling... Like sinking into a dark lake,

  reaching upward, but there's only emptiness." He paused, feeling Valara

  tremble slightly, and held her a little tighter. "But you're not alone

  here. It was just a dream. It can't hurt you here."

  Valara

  leaned her head briefly against his shoulder, as if clinging to the

  warmth radiating from him. Daron slowly released her and pointed to the

  bathroom. "Go and wash the fright off, yeah? Sometimes it helps to shake

  off the dirt of the night."

  Valara

  nodded silently and disappeared into the bathroom. The bathroom was

  small but thoughtfully designed. A dark stone sink set in an antique,

  brass-colored frame seemed like a relic from another time. An oval

  mirror hung on the wall, its surface slightly foggy—not from steam, but

  from the tiny glyphs moving across it, catching the light to form

  gentle, soothing patterns. A small magical light hovered above the

  mirror, bathing the room in warm, golden light that brightened the

  corners and made the cold stone seem gentle.

  A

  narrow bathtub area was enclosed by a semi-transparent, glowing barrier

  that conserved water and heat. Symbols were engraved underneath, not

  just for decoration but to direct the energy flows in the room, keeping

  the water at a comfortable temperature. Small, glowing plants lined the

  walls, keeping the air fresh and emitting a gentle, herbal scent

  reminiscent of rain and fresh moss.

  Valara

  stood before the sink, let the cool water run over her hands, and

  looked into the mirror. The glyphs on it were calming, as if trying to

  organize the chaotic thoughts in her head. She splashed water on her

  face, and for a moment, she felt lighter, as though the remnants of the

  dream were washed away with the droplets.

  While

  Valara freshened up, there was a knock at the apartment door, and Daron

  opened it. Minora stood there, the barmaid who always seemed to appear

  at the right time, with a smile that carried warmth and a hint of

  mischief. "Morning, Daron," she said, as if her words alone could dispel

  the night's darkness. "Thought the little one could use something

  fresh." She held up a small selection of clothes—a soft tunic with

  delicate, star-like embroidery, a light cloak in warm earth tones, and

  comfortable pants that offered both freedom of movement and protection.

  "Minora,

  you always read my mind, huh?" Daron took the clothes, a grateful smile

  on his lips. "You're a real gem, you know that?"

  Minora

  grinned wryly. "Oh, come on, spare me the flattery. I know you better

  than to let your charm fool me." She gave him a piercing look that

  allowed no argument. "But take care of the little one, yeah? She's got

  eyes that have seen more than they should."

  Daron

  nodded, becoming serious again. "That's my plan." His voice sounded

  firm, and for a moment, an unspoken understanding seemed to exist

  between them. "Thanks, really."

  Minora

  placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it briefly, and then took her

  leave with a slight nod. Daron closed the door, knocked gently on the

  bathroom door, and set the clothes down. "Valara, Minora brought you

  something nice. I'll leave it here. Take your time."

  He

  walked to the window and looked out at the waking city. The dome

  stretched protectively over the rooftops, the light of the rising sun

  dancing on the magical lines that crisscrossed the entire structure. A

  masterpiece of technology and magic that kept the city alive, like a

  giant heart that beat steadily. In the distance, the palace of the Lord

  Elder loomed, imposing and threatening at once, a silent witness to the

  power that ruled over Elaris.

  Valara

  emerged from the bathroom, took the clothes, and dressed behind it.

  After a while, she stepped out in her new outfit, the tunic gently

  hugging her body, and the cloak gave her an almost ethereal grace. She

  looked like someone different, someone carefully unraveling the chains

  of the previous night.

  "Looks

  good on you," Daron said, his eyes taking in her appearance with an

  appreciative smile. "Minora's got a great eye." Valara nodded and smiled

  shyly, a silent thank you that barely left her lips. She sat with

  Mirabella, who immediately approached her and snuggled against her.

  Valara began to stroke the cat, her movements calm and deliberate, as if

  the touch restored the strength the night had taken from her.

  Daron

  retreated to the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and let it run

  over his face. He looked at his reflection—tired eyes, shadows from too

  long a struggle against inner demons. The glyphs on the mirror began to

  form soothing patterns as if trying to calm the restless thoughts that

  wouldn't let him rest.

  While

  Daron freshened up, Valara stepped to the window and gazed at the dome.

  The city seemed quiet and peaceful, but as her gaze fell on a nearby

  rooftop, she spotted a slender figure, draped in a long, hooded cloak.

  The person stood motionless, almost like a statue, but Valara could feel

  she was being watched. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she sensed

  the piercing, invisible gaze of the figure.

  The

  figure didn't move, remaining a dark speck on the rooftop, a silent

  witness in a city that held more secrets than could be seen. Valara

  stepped back, her eyes lowered as if to shut out the looming presence.

  But she knew the night didn't simply pass—its shadows remained.

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