The night was thick and restless. Wind pressed against the windowpanes, sighing through the cracks like someone trying to whisper a warning. The boy—no, the vessel—lay on his side, breath unsteady, hands twitching against the blanket as if reaching for something that was no longer there. Inside, three souls stirred beneath the surface of one shared dream.
It began with a flash of light, sharp and metallic. A hospital corridor. White walls, too clean, too silent. Cain stood over a blood-soaked uniform—his father's. The memory always started the same way: a medic shouting for gauze, the smell of iron and smoke, the slow realization that he was too late."Not again," Cain murmured, even in the dream. "Not this time…"He pressed down on the wound with his small trembling hands, but blood still soaked through. The man's eyes—calm even in death—were looking past him. Always past him.
Henry's voice bled into the scene, sharp like a broken laugh. "You really think pressing harder's gonna help this time, doc?"
The white walls shuddered. The floor cracked. The hospital corridor blurred into a dim living room—Henry's world—where beer cans cluttered the carpet and a TV flickered with the colors of a half-finished anime episode. A man slumped on the couch, snoring through the fumes of cheap liquor. On the wall, a framed photo hung crooked—his mother's smile trapped behind dusty glass.Henry stood there, smaller, younger, clutching the edge of his shirt while his sister mocked him from across the room. "You always hide when Dad's mad. Useless little coward."He didn't answer then. He never did. He just went to his room, headphones on, trying to drown out the sound of everything breaking.
Aldric's voice, faint but firm, rumbled from the back of the dream: "You could have spoken, boy. Sometimes words are spells too."
"Oh yeah?" Henry muttered, bitterly. "You wanna trade places next time? Maybe you can cast Fireball at my dad."
Cain's sigh drifted through, soft but pained. "Henry, please… not now."
The world cracked again. This time, the fragments rearranged into the image of a massive library—shelves upon shelves of runes, scrolls, and ancient artifacts glowing faintly under candlelight. Aldric's memory. The air smelled of dust and regret. Books floated above his head as he scribbled notes, surrounded by explosions frozen midair like suspended fireworks. A crater split the stone floor near his feet—evidence of a spell gone wrong."You could've stopped, old man," Henry said, voice echoing in the empty hall."I was trying to fix it," Aldric murmured, touching the burnt sigils. "They trusted me to understand magic… and I destroyed everything instead."Cain's voice, quiet as prayer, replied, "We all tried to save something. Maybe that's why we ended up here together."
The dream trembled. Three memories bled together—Henry's father's drunken shouts, Cain's desperate hands pressing wounds, Aldric's explosions of light and ruin. The sounds twisted into one cry: Please, just stop.
Cain reached out instinctively, pulling them both closer—at least, as close as three souls in one mind could be. His voice was warm but shaky. "Hey. It's over. We're not there anymore."
Henry rubbed his face, half laughing, half breaking. "Sure doesn't feel like it.""Pain doesn't vanish," Aldric muttered, eyes shadowed. "It lingers until you decide to learn from it.""Oh great, the Sage speaks," Henry snapped. "Lesson of the night: trauma builds character.""Henry," Cain whispered, almost pleading. "Please… she doesn't need more reasons to doubt."
That single word—she—shifted the dream again. They could feel Mirella's presence outside their tangled thoughts, faint and warm. Her heartbeat. Her worry. She'd heard him cry out in his sleep again.
The boy's lips moved, whispering nonsense between their overlapping breaths. Cain's tone was calm as he tried to quiet the others. "Let me… let me handle this."
In the waking world, Mirella hesitated by the doorway. The candle in her hand flickered as she leaned closer, watching her son toss under the sheets. He murmured something—half sob, half plea. "Don't go… Dad… please don't…" Then, softer, "Not again."
Her heart clenched. She wanted to wake him, but something in his face—older, weary, unlike a child's—stopped her. She brushed a strand of hair from his forehead instead. "You're safe," she whispered, though she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.
Inside, Cain's voice steadied. "She's still here. That's what matters."Henry muttered, "Yeah. Lucky her. She gets three for the price of one."Aldric chuckled softly. "At least one of us has learned gratitude.""Hey, I'm grateful," Henry shot back. "I just express it differently.""By being insufferable," Aldric noted dryly.Cain sighed, but there was warmth in it this time. "You two are impossible."
The dream softened—fading from tragedy into something quieter. Morning light began to bleed into the horizon beyond the window, brushing the room in gold.
For the first time in a long while, the three of them weren't fighting for control. Just breathing together. Three souls, one heartbeat.
And though Mirella couldn't hear their voices, she could sense something in that stillness—something she hadn't felt in months.Hope.