The silence of night blanketed the city, but Leo's dreams burned loud.
He stood again on the blood-soaked battlefield—the same one from the very first day, but now... it pulsed. The air was charged. Broken swords glowed faintly, armor floated like ghosts, and the scent of old ash clung to his breath.
Suddenly, war horns screamed. He wasn't watching anymore—he was in it. Armor on. Weapon in hand. Ancient chants thundered across the sky like forgotten thunder.
He turned, confused, panicked. A monstrous knight made of obsidian flame rushed him, screaming in an inhuman tongue. Leo reacted instinctively, shouting words he didn't remember knowing—
> "Огън! Завеса!"
A veil of fire surged forward. But the beast batted it away like smoke.
Leo fought—stumbling, desperate, casting spells he barely understood. The dream battlefield was unforgiving. Every spell half-formed. Every dodge a second too slow. He was losing—again and again. His blade shattered. His voice cracked.
He fell to his knees.
And that's when he appeared.
From behind the smoke, another Leo stepped forward—older, taller, with silver streaks in his hair and glowing ancient runes tattooed across his arms. His eyes were calm. Focused. He looked like Leo if he'd trained for years… and lived through fire.
The elder Leo raised his hand, spoke fluently in the ancient tongue, and an explosion of runes scattered the enemy like crows.
Young Leo's eyes widened. "Who… are you?"
The elder smiled. "A fragment. A flame. A promise."
He knelt, placed his glowing hand on Leo's shoulder.
> "I'm always with you. In every word you learn. In every step you take toward truth. This power… our power… is not just magic. It's memory."
Leo blinked. The battlefield crumbled into ink. The flames folded into silence. And the last thing he saw was the older Leo walking into a scroll, fading into ancient text.
---
Leo gasped.
He shot up in his bed, drenched in sweat. The room was dark. Ari snored softly from the next room. Outside, the city of scrolls rested.
But inside Leo's mind, the battlefield still echoed.
He sat up slowly, eyes wide. "That was… me."
His fingers unconsciously traced the mark on his wrist—one that now glowed faintly in the dark.
---