Kael's hand kept itching.
It wasn't an annoying itch, but a subtle sensation, a lingering vibration that came from deep within his bones.
He returned to the hardware shop with the deliveries, his face twisted into a grimace that Uncle Borin took for fatigue. "Long day, boy?" the man asked, his voice gravelly yet kind.
Kael nodded, avoiding his gaze.
He didn't know how to explain what he'd experienced at the fountain. How could he describe an invisible spark, a flash of vision, and the scent of flowers that didn't exist, to a man who thought of dreams only as the tangled patterns of the night, not as real gardens that could be nurtured or destroyed?
For the next few days, Kael tried to ignore the incident. His practicality was a thick armor, forged by years of disappointment and the harsh reality of his neighborhood.
'It's just a coincidence... An illusion born from that girl's despair, and my own weary mind,' he kept telling himself.
But the spark wouldn't leave him. Every time he saw someone burdened with sorrow, or sensed the shadow of a sick dream, his palm tingled.
He began touching random objects- a splintered piece of wood, a rusted old key- hoping to recreate the feeling, but nothing happened.
A few days passed. More failures. Kael was running out of patience. He decided to go back to the fountain, not to sit, but to search.
'Why is that glow in my dream garden now? Ever since I touched that girl's dream fragments... that spark has come back.'
That mystery kept his mind restless.
It wasn't a place he visited often, too far from his usual route, but curiosity, that spark he'd believed long dead, was pushing him there.
He didn't find the little girl.
But as he sat on the stone ledge, an elderly woman with a dark scarf covering part of her silvery hair and wise eyes approached, clutching in her hands an amber pendant that seemed to contain a murky mist. Her face was furrowed with worry lines.
"Ah, a lonely young man," the elderly woman murmured, sitting beside him. "What troubles you? I sense a certain... emptiness in you."
Kael looked at her, startled by her insight. "Just thoughts," he said, his voice measured.
"Heavy thoughts make dreams fragile," she said, stroking her pendant. The wrinkles beside the woman's eyes deepened as she lifted it onto her palm and stared at it, trying to bring it into focus.
She raised her head, a lock of gray hair falling across the left side of her face, her gaze lost in the void for a few seconds.
"I saw you the other day, with that little girl... I sensed something, but I didn't quite understand what."
Kael felt a sudden emptiness in his stomach. He held his breath. Then he recognized the dark scarf.
She turned toward him: "This, for example. It was my dream of seeing an old friend again, of traveling to the south. Now it is... like this. Clouded by too many disappointed expectations, too many years." It was a damaged dream, not broken, but clearly on the verge of giving way.
Without thinking twice, Kael, feeling the tingling in his palm, reached out and, with an almost imperceptible touch, brushed the pendant. A surge, stronger than the previous one, shot up his arm.
This time, the vision was clearer, more vivid.
It wasn't a single image, but a rapid sequence: a dusty road under a scorching sun, the outline of an ancient city on the horizon, and a smiling man reaching out his hand. The scent of myrtle and jasmine filled his senses. It was the old woman's dream of travel and reunion.
It lasted only a heartbeat, then vanished.
But this time, Kael felt a warmth spreading through the pendant, and the amber mist within it cleared slightly, revealing a faint glimmer.
The old woman gasped. Her eyes widened. "By the Flames of Dreams!" she exclaimed. "What have you done, boy? For a moment... I felt the southern air, I almost saw Marek's face!" Her fingers trembled as she touched the pendant, and a tear rolled down her cheek. It was not a tear of sorrow, but of wonder.
Kael withdrew his hand, his heart pounding in his chest. This time, there was no doubt. It hadn't been an illusion. He had felt her dream, and he had done something. Something small, almost insignificant, but it had moved an energy.
"I... I don't know," Kael stammered, feeling trapped.
The old woman observed him intently.
"Are you a Keeper of the Dormant Fire?" she asked, her voice now low and reverent.
"It is a rare gift, a blessing. But also a burden."
Kael had never heard those words before: 'Keeper of the Dormant Fire.'
"I'm nothing like that," he said. "It was just a touch."
The old woman smiled sadly. "The touch of a few can reignite the flame of many, young man. But you must be careful. Not everyone wishes for dreams to be mended, especially those who profit from their ruin."
Before Kael could ask what that meant, the old woman stood up. "Thank you for awakening the pendant and making me remember so clearly, and feel those emotions again," she said, and walked away.
A few days passed, and his attempts failed again.
Increasingly frustrated, he decided to return to the fountain and find the woman. 'She was there once, and she was watching me when I spoke to the little girl; that makes twice... maybe she lives near the fountain,' he thought.
As he approached the square, determined to learn more and lost in his own reasoning, he saw her sitting on the same stone ledge, her gaze fixed on the fountain. She was alone. He approached before he could talk himself out of it. "Third time's the charm, it seems..."
The woman looked up and, after a moment of surprise, answered: "Good day, young man..."
"I was looking for you!" said Kael.
"Me?"
"Yes, last time you left in a hurry... I wanted to ask you... Why does nothing happen when I touch objects? I've been trying for days, but nothing, yet with the little girl and with you, there was the spark."
She looked at him with a slight smile and her head tilted, then replied:
"Seek the Academy of Shattered Dreams. They will know what to do with your gift."
"Gift? What gift?" Kael asked.
"What happened with me is also what happened with the little girl the other day, isn't it? Well... if you can sense what dreams were like before they faded, if you can make us sense them, then perhaps you might also be able to repair them... that is the gift."
"But... I don't know... I have no idea how it works exactly... And why me? Why should I repair other people's dreams?" he asked. 'Why should I, when my dream of having Elara back the way she was before the illness doesn't matter to anyone? I'm no benefactor...' Kael thought.
"Perhaps one day the good you do will come back to you... perhaps because it's right to help when you can..."
Kael sighed. "Where do I find this academy?"
"Perhaps it will find you..."
Kael frowned. "Huh? What are you talking about?"
"But be cautious: the Dark Guardians are everywhere. And sometimes, even someone who seems like an ally can hide their own motives," the woman added.
"Dark Guardians? What are they? And who would pretend to be an ally?" The woman shook her head. "Not here. Not now. Just be careful."
'Dark Guardians, Academies of Dreams, gifts... what is she going on about? But... but it's the second time the visions have manifested with her, and hers lasted longer...'
The woman had already vanished into the crowd, once again leaving Kael alone with the weight of new, staggering questions.
But the woman's words, however cryptic, had given him something the little girl's fragments had not: a name.
Kael had heard legends of hidden places where dream magic was studied and protected. It was said such a place existed, the Academy of Shattered Dreams, almost mythical, a sanctuary for those who had lost their dreams, or sought to guard them. It had always sounded like a children's tale, but the old woman's words carried a truth he could no longer deny.
He was a practical man.
He knew he couldn't just knock on a door and expect answers. It would take money, influence, or a calculated risk.
Kael decided it was worth it. He took his meager savings, the ones he had painstakingly gathered for years, money once meant for a future that now felt meaningless without his memories.
He asked around. Most people laughed. But one name kept coming up: Lysander.
He tracked him down: a gaunt-faced man whose eyes seemed to have seen too many shadows. He ran a small stall in a side market, selling forgotten trinkets and "emotional relics"; little objects that had absorbed their owners' dreams, now dull and lifeless. Kael approached the counter.
"I'm looking for information," he said quietly.
Lysander looked him over, a bitter smile creasing his lips. "Everyone is. The valuable kind always comes with a price."
"The Academy of Shattered Dreams," Kael said the words, feeling a flicker of nervousness.
Lysander's smile vanished. His eyes sharpened. "That name isn't spoken lightly, boy. It could draw unwanted attention." His gaze fell on Kael's palm, as if he could see the itch beneath the skin. "You have the spark, don't you?"
Kael hesitated. "Maybe."
Lysander laughed, a dry, joyless sound. "Then yes, you deserve the information. Or perhaps you're just signing up for a one-way trip."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The Citadel, the Academy of Shattered Dreams, isn't a place you can walk to. It lies between dreams, woven in the veil between waking and sleeping. The only way to reach it is through someone who can guide you across the Portals of Sleep. And for that..." he added, gesturing toward a crystal vial filled with iridescent liquid on a shelf behind him, "...you'll need an Extract of Deep Lucidity. It'll keep your consciousness intact as you travel through dreams. But it's expensive."
Kael eyed the vial. He knew Lysander was overcharging, but he felt he had no choice. "How much?"
Lysander paused.
He looked Kael in the eye, narrowing his own, as if studying the unconscious signals on his face. Then he tilted his head to the left, the left corner of his mouth lifting slightly, drawing a half-smile that creased the skin near the Informer's left eye.
"All your savings, boy. And a small favor, once you've reached your goal," Lysander replied, his voice laced with implicit threat. "If you ever do, of course."
Kael hesitated only a moment, then pulled out his small leather pouch and spilled his coins onto the counter.
The coins slipped through his fingers with a weight that wasn't only metal; it was the money he'd promised Miriam. 'It's for her, in the end,' he told himself. 'If I find the Academy, I might actually be able to save her.'
It was nearly everything he owned. Lysander swept the coins up greedily, then handed over the vial.
"Drink this, and you'll fall into the deepest sleep. It will grant you clarity. But remember: the Portals of Sleep are not for the faint of heart. They can show you your worst fears, your deepest regrets. And once you enter... you'll never be the same."
He narrowed his eyes and went on: "It isn't the extract that opens the way, boy. The way is already inside you, in your garden. The extract only keeps you from losing yourself once you find it."
Kael took the vial, wrapped it in cloth, and tucked it into his bag. He looked up. Lysander turned his head slightly to the right, still watching him, as if silently asking what else he was waiting for.
"What favor are you talking about?" Kael asked.
"I'll tell you when the time is right," Lysander replied, a glint in his eye. "When you have something worth stealing from the Ash itself."
The boy lowered his head slightly, meeting Lysander's eyes in a parting nod, then turned and walked away, heading home. Every now and then he checked to make sure the bag didn't bump against the stalls or passersby, afraid of breaking the vial inside.
That night, after Uncle Borin had gone to bed, Kael sat on his own bed. The extract was cold and slightly viscous, tasting of metal and wilted flowers. He drank it. Then he lay down, staring at the ceiling. Drowsiness overtook him quickly, but it wasn't ordinary sleep. It was dense, heavy, pulling him down into an abyss.
His dream garden unfolded. Still barren, beneath a gray sky. But this time, something was different. At the center of the faint glow, now slightly larger, a single dark fissure had opened in the ground, like a scar. It pulsed faintly with violet light.
It was a Portal of Sleep.
A primal fear gripped him: this was the point of no return.
He could ignore it, wake up, and return to his empty life. Or he could face the unknown. The memory of Elara, faint and colorless though it was, urged him on. And hope, that small, reckless spark, pushed him forward.
He gathered his courage and stepped closer to the fissure. The violet glow brightened, drawing him in like a moth to flame.
'I'm doing this!'
With a deep breath, Kael threw himself into the abyss.
It wasn't falling. It was being pulled through a vortex of distorted colors and sounds, a tunnel of sensation where time and space lost all meaning. He felt his consciousness strain, almost threatened, but the Extract of Deep Lucidity kept his mind tethered.
He saw flashes: his childhood, Elara's laughing face, her final moments, the old woman's trembling hand, Lysander's eyes. Each image was a test, a distraction.
His stomach turned, nausea rising, his head spinning. He gritted his teeth, trying to resist.
Then the vortex subsided.
The feeling of nausea lasted a few more seconds. He breathed deeply, trying to bring his surroundings into focus as the dizziness passed.
Kael found himself in a place that defied all logic. It wasn't a garden; it wasn't a city.
It was a crossroads of dreams.
Around him, dozens, perhaps hundreds, of "dream corridors" stretched in every direction, each glowing with a different light, each resonating with its own atmosphere: the scent of a forest, the crash of ocean waves, the hum of a crowded metropolis. They were the dreams of others, an infinite labyrinth of minds.
Kael was disoriented. How could he find the Citadel in this chaos? It felt hopeless.
'I have to go somewhere... I can't stay here. One direction is as good as any other.'
He headed toward a verdant corridor. The scent of grass began to fill his nostrils; the tunnel around him remade itself, showing trees, grass, low vegetation. Birdsong and the buzzing of insects surrounded him, along with the croaking of frogs.
He stared open-mouthed at the shimmering walls of the tunnel, as if he had stepped inside a tube of water. He stopped and touched the wall; concentric ripples spread out from his finger, like the surface of a calm lake disturbed by a touch.
He followed the wall upward as it curved to become the ceiling, its arched shape leading to the opposite wall, then curving down toward the floor. He was in a sort of circular tunnel that ran forward for a few meters before curving to the right.
The beauty of the corridor, the colors, the sounds, the scents, was almost too perfect. And then he heard the voice: 'You are weak, Keeper of the Dormant Fire. Your fire is only an ember. You are here only for your own pain.'
Kael looked around. He saw no one. "Who are you?" he asked aloud, his voice seeming to vanish into the vast space.
'I am your truth,' the voice replied, and a dark shadow, vaguely human in shape but with eyes burning bright red, emerged from one of the dream corridors.
'What is that?' Kael thought. Eyes wide, a hollow in his stomach. Terror crept through him like poison. 'Why did I even come here? Who talked me into this?!'
It was tall, imposing, carrying with it an aura of bitter cold that chilled Kael to the marrow. Its red eyes locked onto him, and Kael felt an icy claw close around his heart.
'You will never be worthy of the Academy. Your dream is broken beyond repair. And I have come to make sure of it.'
The shadow advanced, and Kael understood.
These had to be the Dark Guardians the old woman had spoken of.
And they weren't there to help him. Their very presence drained the light from the surrounding corridors, leaving trails of darkness in their wake. Kael was alone, in an unknown place.
And a terrifying entity had found him.