A sharp, ragged gasp escaped Aysel's lips as her eyes snapped open. Cold air rushed into her lungs as if she had been drowning, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her hands clawed at the fabric beneath her before she realized she was lying on a couch—its cushions too soft, too foreign.
Her skin was damp with sweat. The white blouse of her school uniform clung to her, heavy and suffocating. Her hair stuck to her temples, the faint smell of her own fear clinging stubbornly to her.
"Aysel! You okay?"
The voice was urgent—too urgent. She turned her head to see Zephyr kneeling beside the couch, one knee pressed to the floor, his expression tight with concern. The usual spark of teasing mischief in his green eyes was gone, replaced with something sharper. He looked as though he'd been frozen in that spot for hours, waiting for her to return from wherever she had been.
She pushed herself upright, her muscles trembling as if she had run a great distance. "I… I don't know," she murmured, shaking her head. Her eyes swept the room, searching for an answer that wasn't there.
"Where… is Riven?"
The moment his name left her lips, Zephyr's face shifted. Something shadowed his expression, his gaze dropping to the floor. He tilted his head slightly, and she followed his line of sight.
There, in the far corner of the room, Riven sat in an armchair that seemed to swallow him whole. But it was not his stillness that caught her breath—it was the faint, unearthly light radiating from him, the pale blue glow pulsing like a heartbeat across his skin.
His eyes were closed, his brow faintly furrowed. Sweat streamed down his temples, catching in the glow like tiny shards of glass. Each breath he took was ragged, as if every inhale cost him more than he could spare.
When his eyes finally opened, they were hazy and unfocused, the steady calm she knew replaced with a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion.
"Riven… what happened to you?" she asked, her voice breaking on his name.
Before he could speak, Zephyr's voice cut in—flat, unyielding.
"After he drugged your drink with a sleeping pill," he said, not bothering to soften the accusation, "he started using his powers."
Her body went rigid. "…He used his powers?"
Zephyr nodded. "You asked him about dreams, remember? His magic isn't just healing. He has a… rare ability. He can walk inside someone's dreams."
The words lodged deep in her chest. She stood—too fast—and the floor tilted beneath her. Zephyr caught her before she could fall, his grip steady but his eyes still fixed on Riven.
"Riven… is that true?"
Riven lifted his gaze to meet hers. His hand was pressed hard to his temple, and his voice was slow, deliberate, as if each word had to be pulled from somewhere deep.
"Yes… but it's not as simple as it sounds. It's… dangerous to use. And harder to control."
He gave a faint smile, but it was a tired thing, fragile and fleeting.
Her heartbeat quickened. "If you can walk into dreams… then you saw what I saw?"
His answer came in a single, quiet nod. "Yes."
The air seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on them. Zephyr's voice broke the silence. "And what exactly did you both see?"
Aysel bit her lip, unsure how to speak the images that still clung to her like smoke. She looked to Riven, silently begging him to explain.
Riven's tone shifted, growing more serious. "Aysel… how long have you been having visions like that?"
She blinked. "Visions? I thought they were just....dreams."
He shook his head. "No. I've been inside countless dreams. But that wasn't one of them. Dreams aren't that vivid… or that real." His voice lowered. "What you saw—it might be the memory of someone else."
She stared at him, the weight of his words pressing down. "But why me? Why do I have to see her life? I don't even know her!" Her frustration bled through, raw and unguarded.
Riven's gaze softened. "I can't tell you why. Only that it's tied to you."
Zephyr leaned back on his heels. "If it's connected to you, maybe you should start digging for answers."
"I tried," she said bitterly. "Remember the library? I combed through every record I could find. Nothing."
He crossed his arms, thinking. "Then maybe your family history. If it's about you, your relatives might know something."
Her expression shifted, and for the first time since waking, she looked away. "That's… not an option."
Riven frowned. "You don't have family?"
"Not by blood," she said softly. "I was raised by an elderly man… in a village near the Evershade Glade."
At that name, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Zephyr and Riven exchanged a sharp glance, silent but heavy with meaning.
"…You lived near that forest?" Zephyr asked.
"Yes. Why?"
Riven's voice was careful. "It's not just dangerous, Aysel. The Glade has… stories. Old ones. People vanish there. Others come back… wrong."
She shrugged, as if dismissing an old superstition. "My village was small. Quiet. I lived with my foster grandfather, just the two of us."
Zephyr tilted his head. "Then ask him. Maybe he knows."
Her lips twisted in a reluctant smile. "It's not that simple. My grandpa is… unique."
"Unique?" they echoed.
"Hard to explain. You'd have to meet him to understand."
Riven's eyes narrowed in thought. "Then let's meet him."
Her surprise flickered across her face. "We can?"
"Not now," he said. "Exams are coming. When the holidays arrive… we'll go."
Her shoulders slumped. "Right."
Zephyr's hand found her shoulder, warm and steady. "Don't worry. We'll figure this out."
Riven nodded once. "Together."
And for the first time since waking, Aysel felt a fragile warmth take root in her chest—something stubborn and small, but enough to hold onto.