The stars did not blink that night.
They watched.
And beneath their gaze, in a hidden chamber beneath the ruined Spire of Olyrias, the Last Sleeper was waking.
The Awakening
Teyrion stood over a cradle not made of wood or cloth—but bone, moonstone, and forgotten lullabies. His voice was a chant in a dead tongue. The Architects around him formed a circle, their lips sealed, their thoughts conjoined in one purpose:
To awaken the Dream-Eater.
From the cradle rose a form shrouded in shadow-stitch—a child with closed eyes, hollow cheeks, and a third eyelid that flickered even in sleep.
Its name was Ashrael—the godborn child of nightmares and memory.
In the Forest of Echoes
Elsewhere, Amira stood in a clearing where sound was trapped like mist. The Ninth Chord pulsed within her chest now—not as a song, but as a beacon. It led her toward a broken altar carved with the symbol of Serai's earliest rebellion: a winged harp wrapped in silence.
Kelu crouched nearby, ears tense. "We're being watched."
Morya nodded. "Not watched. Hunted."
That's when the sky split open like old cloth.
And from the tear descended a nightmare—a wraith with the face of a child and the howl of a thousand forgotten dreams.
Ashrael had found them.
Battle Without Sound
The Dream-Eater's power was unlike anything they'd faced. It did not attack with force—it devoured intent. Every spell Morya cast unraveled before it touched. Kelu's blades turned to mist in his grip.
Amira, trembling, reached for her harp—now glowing with all nine strings, each tuned to a different kind of pain.
🎶 She played one note: Grief.
🎶 Another: Hope lost.
🎶 Then: The scream no one heard.
The Dream-Eater paused.
Not stopped.
Just...listening.
And in that pause, Amira whispered, "You were made from broken lullabies. Let me finish your song."
What the Dream-Eater Truly Was
Ashrael wasn't born evil.
He was the collective grief of the innocent who died when the Architects burned the City of Bells. His soul was stitched from the dreams of children who never woke.
And now, as Amira's chords reached the ancient part of his mind, he remembered his name—not Ashrael...
But Lior.
A boy.
Once loved.
Once sung to.
He looked at Amira, eyes wide. And in the softest voice, he whispered:
"Finish the lullaby."
Amira gathered her breath and played one final chord—a combination of remembrance and release.
Lior—The Dream-Eater—smiled as he dissolved into feathers of starlight.
But from the remnants rose a warning:
"Teyrion is no longer the enemy.
The true threat... sleeps beneath the roots of the Loom."