They left the cave behind, but something inside Kael stayed behind with it.For days, he walked as if caught between two worlds — one of air and light, and one made of whispers and dreams.
The forest ahead was strange.The trees were tall and silver, their leaves like pieces of glass. Each one reflected faces, laughter, tears — things that didn't belong there. Sometimes Kael thought he saw his own reflection walking beside him, smiling when he wasn't.
Lira noticed his silence. "Kael," she said softly, "you haven't spoken since the cave. What's wrong?"
He stopped. "I don't know if I'm awake anymore."
Seren glanced at him warily. "You mean you're dreaming now?"
Kael looked at his hands. "If the Eye feeds on memory, and the river carried dreams… maybe we crossed into a place where they've mixed. Maybe we're walking through the world's sleep."
That night, they camped under a moon that felt too close — large, pale, and trembling like a watchful eye.The air shimmered faintly, and every sound echoed longer than it should have.
Kael couldn't rest. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw shapes — people made of smoke, reaching toward him. Some begged, some smiled, some whispered things he couldn't understand.
One voice repeated again and again:
"Wake us. Wake us. Wake us."
He sat up suddenly, gasping. The fire was still burning — but the others were gone.
"Lira?" he called. "Seren?"
No answer. Only wind.
The forest shimmered, and the stars above began to drip — tiny drops of light falling to the ground like tears. Wherever they touched, flowers grew, glowing softly.
Kael reached out to one. It pulsed under his fingers — warm, alive, and whispering faintly.
"Do you remember me?"
He froze. The voice was familiar — the woman from the river. The one he had loved and forgotten.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
"A piece of what you lost. You left me in the fire."
The flower wilted suddenly, and the ground beneath it darkened. Shadows spread like ink, rising and curling into human forms — people made of half-light, half-memory. Their eyes glowed faintly, filled with sorrow.
Kael stepped back. "Are you real?"
"As real as your regrets," they said together.
A sound broke the silence — metal scraping stone.Seren appeared from the mist, blade drawn, eyes wide. "Kael! What are you doing? We thought you vanished!"
"I—" Kael looked around. The shadows were gone. The flowers, too. Only the empty forest remained.
Lira ran to him, gripping his shoulders. "You were standing here for hours. Your eyes were open, but you weren't here."
Kael looked down at his hands — still trembling. "Maybe I wasn't."
Seren frowned. "Whatever this place is, it's not normal. The trees, the sky, the air — it's all part of something else."
Kael nodded slowly. "It's the Dreamfield."
"The what?"
"The Dream That Bleeds," he murmured. "When memory and reality become one. The monks used to warn about it — a place where the world's forgotten thoughts take shape. Where dreams don't wait for sleepers."
Lira shivered. "Then we need to leave before it changes us."
But Kael wasn't sure they could.
They walked for what felt like days, though the sun never rose. The light shifted between dawn and dusk, but never became full day.Sometimes they heard voices — soft, distant, calling their names. Sometimes the ground rippled like water beneath their feet.
At one point, Seren pointed ahead. "Do you see that?"
Through the fog stood a stone arch covered in symbols. Beyond it shimmered a faint light — like morning breaking underwater.
Kael approached it slowly. "It feels like an exit."
Lira frowned. "Or a trap."
Kael placed his palm on the arch. The symbols glowed faintly. A low hum filled the air — deep, rhythmic, like breathing.
"Do you seek to leave the Dream?" a voice asked.
Kael looked around. "Who's there?"
"The dream itself," it replied. "You walk through our blood. You drink our memory. You carry our pain. Why should we let you go?"
Lira stepped forward, her voice steady. "Because we mean no harm. We only want to heal what's broken."
Silence. Then — a whisper, almost kind.
"To heal the dream, you must remember how it was wounded."
The archway flickered. Images flooded the air — battles, fire, crying children, cities drowning in light. Kael fell to his knees, clutching his head.
He saw himself again — standing in the middle of a burning field, his sword raised, shouting words he didn't remember saying.
The ground shook. The trees bent inward. The air filled with golden mist.
"You made this dream bleed," the voice said. "Now you must make it whole."
Lira grabbed his hand. "Kael! You're not alone in this!"
Her voice broke through the haze. Kael gasped, his body trembling. "I didn't mean to—"
"I know," she said. "That's why we're here. To end what was never meant to begin."
The mist softened. The archway glowed brighter — not gold, but gentle blue, like the river's light.
The voice spoke again, quieter now.
"Then walk through, and remember this: a dream can heal only when it's willing to wake."
Kael nodded. "Then let it wake."
He stepped through the arch.
The world on the other side shifted — the sky unfolded into color, the wind smelled of dawn, and the trees sang softly like rain. The dream didn't vanish. It transformed.
Seren whispered, "Did we leave the dream?"
Kael looked back. The arch was gone. "No," he said softly. "We're still inside it. But now… it trusts us."
Lira smiled faintly. "Then maybe that's what healing looks like."
Kael stared into the horizon — a land that shimmered like half-light, half-memory.
"If dreams can bleed," he said, "then maybe hope can too — and still live."