Mordret slowly walked out of the room. His entire life of working to impress his father. What was it all for?
When he finally won he understood it all. It had never been about him, only the swords.
He had never once been looking at Mordret, only his own work with those weapons mattered to him.
Mordret could feel every blood vessel pulsating from the intense combat slowing down. His heart was still pounding through his chest, every beat feeling like it came from within his head.
His ragged breath was visible to him due to the cold night air around him. He knew he wasn't recovering fast enough.
He didn't care. He took three quick breaths in for every heavy exhale, why did it matter? The person who he spent all those years preparing him for the Nightmare Spell from such a young age didn't care for it.
All his training on how to quickly recover after a fight. How to push through the pain. To ignore the unimportant and focus on what mattered.
He just didn't care about it anymore. By the time he managed to walk along the corridors that seemed to stretch to infinity it was late at night.
He was supposed to meet a saint who would take him back to the waking world where he would go to bed, sleep and repeat the cycle again.
All for a Nightmare he might not even experience. At least for a while. He wasn't even thirteen, yet he spent his whole life training for it.
He saw a figure standing in the dark, the moonlight illumantintng his figure just enough to tell his outline apart from the wall behind him.
Mordret walked up to him and placed his hand on his arm. The saint tried to speak to him but he didn't respond. Hundreds of thoughts rushing through his head felt like a whirlpool in his mind.
Was it pointless? Did he ever care about me? What is good enough for him? What can I do? Who am I?
His body moved out of habit, while his mind was scrabbled. He didn't have the energy to keep up with it, but he had to.
He couldn't sleep like this but he couldn't stay up thinking about it either. By the time he got back to the waking world and walked back to his dorm he was consumed with nothing but questions.
Lying down on his bed he felt completely exhausted, riddled with fatigue but his mind just wouldn't let him sleep. He sat there all night, time felt like it stood still yet morning seemed to come too quickly.
At the very least he had a day to rest. He always did after his birthday gift. Was it even a gift if all it caused was misery? Every year he was forced through this and it was never enough.
He was twelve years old and all he remembered was training. Studying history, botany and anatomy in the morning. Practicing with a blade, a bow, every conceivable weapon until night.
A couple hours a day of free time, but he had nothing to do. He had no friends and all he knew was grueling training.
He spent the day in the library, he wanted to look at history. Not the history he was forced to learn, but what he wanted to learn.
He didn't know what he liked or didn't like. All he knew was that he was going to do it because that's what he wanted to do.
From books about the design of the ruins in the dream realm, to the history of the realms themselves. He read all day only taking a break to stretch his legs on a stroll.
With the new found peace he had found he had decided that he would do what he wanted to do. By the time the sky started to darken and the sun began to set he decided something new.
He wanted to go to bed. He was feeling sleepy, so he was going to sleep. Not because he had to, or because someone told him to but simply because he wanted to.
So for the next few days he attended class, if the other students looked at him wrong, he would glare back at them.
During archery practice he decided he wanted to use a long bow so he did. For sword practice a short sword was more his feeling today.
He spoke to the chefs to get food he wanted to eat. Not what was chosen for him to eat years ago.
The food that hadn't changed in years only growing in size was finished. For now on he wanted to eat a different meal for every day of the week.
This change of pace was new, it felt fresh. He felt so relaxed that he kept going to bed early.
He didn't know whether it was the new routine, or the extra thoughts he was having every day about what he liked but it was exhausting him.
It didn't even cross his mind until the fifth day after his birthday. The Spell. The First Nightmare.
As soon as he realised he went straight to his professor.
"Sir, I have something to report"
Mordret announced, in between quick exhales. He ran the whole trip over.
He knew his training and he knew what he had. The Spell had infected him.
"What is it now Mordret? Are my lesson plans too boring for you now?"
The monatone professors voice droned on. His eyes not moving from the computer he was typing on.
"I think I've been infected by the Spell"
The young boys voice managed to squeeze out, unsure of how his professor would react.
"Really? This is your excuse for your new behaviour? You are twelve Mordret, even if your father is Anvil of Valor you shouldn't be pulling pranks"
Mordrets eyes dropped. His entire body froze. He didn't know how to speak. Of course he would think it was untrue.
Every word out of Mordrets mouth always came in that same tone. A soft pleasant voice that always sounded calm.
"I am being serious professor, I promise it on your life"
His voice dropped the usual tone, copying his father's voice. If being genuine didn't work he would simply try being fake.
The commanding voice and the confidence it was said with shocked the professor. They looked at Mordret with a shocked expression before announcing
"Alright. I'll take you to the sleeping pods and inform everyone immediately"
Mordret was shocked. It worked. He had never been able to speak to people with emotion before.
He was always trained that they were unimportant, and so he didn't feel them.
Were others felt happy about their plans working, Mordret felt the same as always. He felt empty.
As they walked down to the vault several doctors and specialist came down to check on him. He was strapped to the bed, lying down with the lose restraints.
His body barely took up two thirds of the bed. But the equipment still fit in the end. They tested his vitals and discovered that he was indeed infected and would be going into his first nightmare soon.
As Mordret may on the cold bed with nothing but the whirring of machines and discussions amongst the staff he only had a single thought.
Would his dad be proud?
As he began to feel his mind slowing down and his eye lids become heavier he lay there.
He thought about how happy everyone would be to see him after.
The look on his dad's face, Uncle Madoc, surely he would get to see his little sister once he had beat it.
He would finally be a true warrior of Valor, he could go on trips with his Uncle, and make his dad proud.
All his years of training would pay of and he could become strong.
Strong enough to protect others. Strong enough to protect his clan. Strong enough to make his dad proud.
Every machine began to slow down. The beats began to slow down, to sound more purposeful.
As the workers slowly left the room he received one final peice of warning.
"Remember no matter what happens, none of it is real. The people the places, the monsters they are just copies"
These same words had been told to him many times before. The Spell merely conjured the past.
He knew all about The Spell. It was a fair judge who gave everyone a fair chance. It didn't set up executions, only trials.
Mordret knew he could beat it. All he had to do was prove it. To everyone.
His thoughts interrupted by a large yawn, he closed his eyes.
He thought about all his training, about his life, and he relaxed. If anyone could do this, it would be him.
He was excited to finally have the opportunity to prove himself.
After a short moment he heard a kind and caring voice speak out to him softly. Yet with such a commanding presence he couldn't help compare it to his father.
Mordret tried to open his eyes but realised this was it. The darkness had sealed him to his fate.
The most important moment of his life was here. His First Nightmare, so he listened to the voice as it called out to him.
It's bewitching voice announced to him.
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial]