“Nexoria is the historical place where, after the Great World Massacre, a handful of surviving rebel troops barricaded themselves. When the beast Drakthor managed to break through the walls, the twelve remaining leaders and the sole surviving cohort vanished without a trace. They disappeared entirely, and no one could account for the event—not even how it happened. Along with them, the entire city's population was lost."

  Aisling placed the ancient book on the dark brown table made of pear wood. She had brought it from the tablinum of their family villa, specifically from the blue room, so she could study it in peace. She was poring over this tale for a reason, shut away in the quiet of her room. And she had deliberately chosen the history of the Twelve as the focus of her final project.

  Her thoughts drifted to the Third Executory Legion and its infamous commander, notorious for his cruelty. Drakthor’s personality had fascinated the young woman for years. She often dreamed about the enigmatic leader.

  The Black Priests, if they had known, would have dismissed her dreams as nothing more than the fleeting fantasies of a young mind. But Aisling experienced these dreams with an intensity that went beyond the ordinary and could not escape the pull of Drakthor, even though it was absurd. This mix of fear, fascination, and curiosity bound her to the long-dead commander for extended periods.

  She already knew the story of the Twelve well, yet she constantly sought to expand her collection of knowledge with new details. Her obsession might have alarmed those around her, but she hid the depth of her emotions as best as she could. The distant and obscure events stirred feelings in her that she dared not reveal.

  Only one person knew, besides Aisling, that she visited Drakthor almost every night in her dreams. Upon waking, she lived in what she called her "other reality." And in this peculiar conviction, she was not alone. Rhys, with whom she had grown close during their school years through her cousin Sophia, shared the same experiences. The two confided only in each other about their surreal dream-like encounters.

  During their school years, Rhys had been one of Sophia's mentors. Even in their adolescence, their bond transcended mere friendship. Now, Rhys was about to complete his year of subjugation at Sophia’s family’s Roman-style villa, where the entire family lived together. Rhys had been living with them for a year.

  Aisling and Sophia were soon to begin their own year of subjugation—Sophia at Rhys’ family home, and Aisling at Fionn’s. But before that, they still had exams to complete and school to finish.

  “It didn’t happen exactly like that,” Aisling murmured to herself, refocusing on her exam topic. She rested both elbows on the table and propped her forehead with her hands. This posture helped her concentrate best. Recently, she had developed the habit of diving into a frozen dream-image while awake, painstakingly extracting details piece by piece from Mirael—her dream self. She felt an urgent need to uncover something, as if failing to do so would lead to something terrible—not just for her but for the entire world she lived in.

  Before long, reality dissolved for Aisling.

  She stood atop the hill, her gaze sweeping over the valley draped in the blood-gold silk of twilight. Along the narrow, winding river, only the dark green outlines of willow trees hinted to the observer that life-giving water nourished the land nearby. These dark silhouettes seemed like a row of hulking giants forming a protective wall around the water—around life itself.

  "The willow is the sacred guardian of life," she thought, imagining the drooping branches, some caressing the water, as if clinging to life itself—a reminder of birth and death. Forming a cross between Air and Water, the branches evoked the cross of humankind for the contemplative onlooker: struggle and balance.

  "The water is Mother Earth's blood," the still figure continued her thread of thought, a faint smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

  There was something threatening about that smile. Perhaps it was the blood-red clouds and the somber mood of the scene that made her expression seem chilling. The smile accompanying her brief reflection spoke of spilled blood, of death—not the nurturing, cleansing lifeforce.

  There was something unsettling about this quiet late afternoon. A tension and anticipation vibrated in the air. Only the solitary, reflective woman seemed free from restlessness. Yet it was as if the threads of the future extended from her, reflecting back on the present, their echoes growing fainter and slower as they stretched further into time. The moment froze where the thread ended, crystallizing into reality. Until that point, it was pliable, malleable, a possibility that could still be denied. But once it solidified, it became an irrevocable occurrence. Perhaps such a fleeting thought—one focused on the future and frozen at its birth—caused the disturbance. Perhaps the faint echo of an unborn thought was the source of that unsettling smile.

  The ominous sensation subsided, but the tension lingered a few moments longer. That smile did not belong in the tranquil stillness of the landscape.

  The woman no longer followed the river with her gaze; she had forgotten the willows as well. Her eyes were fixed on the road, which ran straight and unwavering—unlike the serpentine river—on both sides, framing the valley’s sinuous flow. A narrow bridge spanned the river, connecting the two roads with precise symmetry. Her gaze lingered on this bridge, as if awaiting someone’s arrival.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Beyond the roads, no trace of humanity marked the valley. The sun passing over the land illuminated no houses, tents, or huts. This was a place of transition.

  "The perfect place Kaelen could have found," she thought, setting off with measured steps toward the narrow bridge. There was still time to get there.

  As she walked, alone and deliberate, yet purposeful, toward the small bridge in the desolate valley, she cut a surreal figure. It was as if she had transcended time once again, but this time her thoughts did not disturb the landscape’s peace. Her mind was entirely attuned to the present. The unreality lay in her presence itself.

  It was present in every breath she took, in the solemn way she accepted the caress of the breeze on her skin, the contact of her lavender silk slippers with the hard ground. She remained unbothered as her long, dark purple dress snagged on the occasional thorn. With a graceful movement, she freed the fabric but spared no thought for removing the stubborn plant clinging to her garment.

  She turned her face toward the sun and, without altering the rhythm of her steps, closed her light green eyes for a fleeting moment, as if to etch the sun's golden warmth into her memory for eternity. The sunlight played with the deep brown tones of her long hair, and the solitary woman seemed like an actor rehearsing on an unusual stage, perfecting her performance for the final show.

  Her appearance itself was surreal. Who would choose delicate silk slippers for what was evidently a long walk?

  She knew no one was following her, so she did not look back even once. Perhaps there was no one to run after her, to call her back, to wait for her return. Perhaps looking back, even in thought, would have been too painful. She had resolved to see it through.

  She had to.

  Aisling was awakened by the door's calling chime. She flinched at the unexpected sound. Her senses were still lingering in that other world, where she had been approaching what she felt to be a fateful event in her purple gown, but her awareness was cruelly dragged back into this reality.

  "If I don’t write it down quickly, I’ll forget," she thought gloomily. Lifting her purple bracelet to her lips, she gave a firm command:“Activate!”

  Before the closed door, a hologram of a young, brown-skinned man in a simple white toga appeared.

  “Rhys! I’m so glad to see you!” the girl exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with genuine excitement.

  “Sorry to bother you—I know you’re also gathering material for your exam, but this is really important. I managed it again using your method, and I wrote it down,” the boy blurted out in one breath.

  “Will you come over?” Aisling asked, her tone now calm and composed again.

  “I can’t, not right now. I have to join the others, but Sophia also wants to talk to you separately about the Mentor Farewell and, of course, the Martyrs’ Celebration. They were just about to come to see you earlier with Ulf and Thana, but they headed to the peristylium a few minutes ago because my entire family will be arriving soon to discuss the Martyrs’ Celebration. You know how it is,” he explained hurriedly, with little elegance.

  Since Aisling didn’t share her thoughts on either the Mentor Farewell or the Martyrs’ Celebration, the boy continued after a brief pause.

  “I wrote down the experience. I’ll send it to you through the holoway now.”

  He needed to join the others.

  “Shall we discuss it when your family gathering is over?” Aisling asked. She was more interested in Rhys’s experiences than in her mentor peers’ visit and the Martyrs’ Celebration combined. “I’ve also come up with more experiences to share today.”

  “I have a meeting arranged with Sophia late tonight, I can’t cancel that. But tomorrow, we could go to the Millennium Oak,” he suggested quickly, unable to hide his own impatience for the discussion.

  “Alright, then please send the writing now,” she replied, smiling warmly at him.

  “Kaelen isn’t exactly a model figure,” Rhys said, grimacing, “but I didn’t sugarcoat it.”

  “You know Mirael isn’t either,” Aisling added in a hushed tone.

  “I really have to go,” Rhys said, waving goodbye regretfully.

  Aisling didn’t even have time to respond before Rhys disconnected the holo on his end. The moment his image disappeared, a green rectangle began flashing on the door.

  “Receive,” Aisling commanded the purple bracelet in the same familiar manner. Following her command, the green rectangle displayed a sheet of paper. The girl stepped toward the door, placing her palm in the center of the rectangle. The holoway accepted her identification.

  Aisling’s hands trembled as she picked up the paper. Without moving away from the door, she began reading it immediately.