On the Day of the winter solstice, Bari woke up feeling tired and drowsy. No matter how much he tried to shake off this listlessness feeling, it would not go away. In the end, he forced himself out of bed and straight into the showers, he did not dread its embrace, after countless hours of experience, his mind had finally caught with his eyes.
He no longer felt any pain nor discomfort as hundreds of droplets reflected billions of reflections of worlds in which he foresaw every angle of himself and his surroundings, every strand of hair, every muscle fiber within his body. Where once his mind had splintered under the weight of how different and unexplainable what was happening was compared to the normal sight, now, he adapted, he learned to endure.
He came to the conclusion that his mind was not ready for that kind of exposure early on, and needed to adapt to his enhanced perception. But now, he could see out of each individual reflection with ease, no longer feeling the strain of having his mind split into a million different perspectives.
It was like inhabiting a single new viewpoint for every reflection, then split that into an infinitely reflecting sight that never ended as each new droplet reflected a new world on an already existing droplet, causing an infinitely cascading wave of information that barraged his brain.
But it was not without faults. Even with his adapted mind, it hurt.. It hurt so bad.
With every existing second he spent gazing into the endless abyss of reflections, the bigger the strain became on his newly adapted mind.
Bari got off his battle with his enemy that all called a shower, water sliding from his skin like fading illusions, and dressed without hesitation. Bari reflected how this was the last day on Earth, for now at least. By nightfall, the Spell would take him, this time to challenge the vast expanse of the dream realm. He did not know how to feel, or if he felt anything at all.
He banished the thoughts as soon as they were introduced, he did not have time to think about how he felt during the process of survival. He had no intention of dwelling on fear, he would go in and he would come back. Simple.
Bari exited his room and made way towards the cafeteria, where all sleepers would be gathered to have their last meal before departure into the dream realm.
The cafeteria was full of sleepers, Bari being exhausted and feeling drowsy due to the spell's influence got up late, this resulted in him arriving while most sleepers were still eating.
Bari dreaded of entering the cafeteria, with the endless twitching of human nausea. However, he was surprised at the sight that greeted him.
The cafeteria smelled faintly of broth and stale bread when he entered. Rows of sleepers hunched over their trays, eating in silence. No laughter. No clatter of conversation. Everybody was in low spirits and seemed to be uncharacteristically introspective, of what he assumed to be the norm.
Bari deduced this was due to the metaphorical guillotine above their heads due to the nightmare spell. Everyone in here knew their chances were grim.
Usually, out of the thousand sleepers that entered the academy each year, only half of them made it back, and that was on special occasions. Everybody knew that the person besides them might not make it back… they knew they might not make it back.
Bari scoffed at the sight, he was understanding to those who were born in the slums, the so-called street rates. Having to climb a mountain filled with snow with no training or knowledge on how to survive was suicidal. What he could not relate to however, were the legacies.
Legacies, people who trained since birth to overcome the nightmare spell, for years they trained, and now, when the time came, they wavered. In his eyes, they were already dead. He stared a a shaking legacy, nervously and repeatedly twitching his foot up and down.
Who would ever doubt themselves when faced with a challenge they prepared their whole lives for? Bari thought to himself. Taking a seat with a tray of food in an empty space.
But he could somewhat understand. The legacies trained their whole lives for this, and yet, a kid who was half their age, who had what they presumed as barely any time to train, outperformed them in every way. If he was in their positions, he would be doubting his abilities too. But he wasn't, he didn't need affirmation that he could make it back, because he knew he would.
Whether the world wanted it or not, he would make it back, because he willed too.
***
When the sun dipped low, painting the sky in bruised orange, the instructors gathered every sleeper into the main hall and led them outside.
Through the parkland that ringed the academy, groups of instructors marched with their batches of students, all converging on a single destination — the medical center.
It looked less like a hospital and more like a shrine. Its vaulted arches shimmered faintly with protective wards, its walls a blend of steel and stone veined with glowing runes. Inside, it held both the pinnacle of modern craft and the finest healers among the Awakened. For as long as the sleepers' spirits walked in the Dream Realm, their bodies would rest here, preserved in stasis pods, sustained by enchantments and hands that could knit flesh and bone back together.
And yet, no amount of protection could guarantee their return. Whether they would open their eyes again depended on only one thing: themselves.
It took nearly half an hour for the instructors to funnel each sleeper into their private rooms.
Bari stood before his pod. Its curved surface gleamed under sterile light, the faint hiss of machinery promising both safety and entrapment. It looked too much like a coffin for comfort.
The door slid open behind him. Bari let a genuine smile grip his face as he turned.
Three figures had entered.
His sister, grandmother and mentor.
His sister's eyes were wet, red-rimmed, her lips pressed tight as though she dared not speak, for fear of her voice breaking. She tried to smile, but it quivered and fell apart. Her black hair resembled a flame with its tardiness, reminding him of just how much he meant to his sister.
His grandmother's expression was steadier, though no less heavy. She had seen this before. She had watched her own daughter walk into the unknown, and now she stood again, forced to send another generation into danger she could not follow. Worry etched lines deep into her face, but beneath it, there was acceptance. Strength, she possessed it in more ways than just physical, it was one of her qualities Bari admired to no end, and one that seemed to have passed down onto himself and his sister.
Then there was Dax. His mentor's back was straight, his posture unshakable, a wry grin playing on his lips. He looked as if he stood at the edge of a training match, not a farewell. Bari knew better. He saw the tension hidden beneath that easy smile, the weight of everything his teacher had not said.
They had come to send him off — one last look at the son of Broken Sword and the Smile of Heaven.
Bari said little. He didn't need to. A pat on his sister's head, a single glance at his grandmother, a nod to Dax. Quiet promises in the space between words. He told them what mattered: he would return. Without a shred of doubt, he would.
Climbing into the pod, Bari lay back as the glass canopy hissed shut, sealing him inside. He smiled faintly at the sight of them through the curved glass, fixing their faces into his memory, engraving them into his very soul.
For they were the reason he was fighting in the first place.
The pod's interior filled with a low hum, runes glowing faintly as cold energy seeped through his veins. The world dimmed, sound stretching, unravelling into silence.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
And then, in the void, a voice echoed, vast, ancient, and inescapable:
[Welcome to the Dream Realm, Will-Born.]