The dream was not a dream. It was a memory happening right now.
Alden was no longer Alden. He was someone else.
He was standing in a forest. But the trees were not green; they were burnt black. The ground was covered in ash. The moon above was red, bleeding light onto the dead world. The air tasted of sulfur and blood.
He looked down at his body. He was wearing white royal robes embroidered with gold thread. His hair was long and white. He felt powerful. He felt ancient.
He was Valdore.
Valdore walked through the burnt forest. He was calm, even though he was being hunted. He could hear them behind him—the heavy footsteps of soldiers and the clanking of iron armor.
"There he is!" a voice shouted.
Valdore turned slowly. Emerging from the smoke were ten soldiers of the Zenoa Empire. But they were not alone. Behind them stood a man in red armor. He had a face like a hawk and held a long spear. This was the Empire's finest warrior.
"General Kyle," Valdore said. His voice was deep and echoed with magic. "You are persistent."
General Kyle stepped forward. He did not look afraid, which annoyed Valdore. "Surrender, False God. The Emperor demands your return to the tomb."
"The Emperor?" Valdore laughed. It was a cold, terrifying sound. "My own blood betrays me. How typical of humans. You build your cities on my bones, and now you hunt me like a dog."
General Kyle pointed his spear at Valdore's heart. "Your time is over, Valdore. The world belongs to men now. Attack! Capture him!"
The soldiers charged. They yelled battle cries, raising their swords.
Valdore did not move. He did not draw a weapon. He simply raised one finger.
"Burn," he commanded.
A wall of blue fire erupted from the ground. It was not normal fire; it was magical flame, hot enough to melt steel. The soldiers screamed as the fire consumed them instantly. Their armor turned to liquid. In seconds, they were gone. Only ash remained.
General Kyle jumped back, his face pale with fear. He looked at the pile of ash that used to be his squad. "Monster!"
"I am no monster," Valdore said, walking through the fire unharmed. The flames licked his robes like loyal pets. "I am your King."
He raised his hand again. A ball of energy formed in his palm. It crackled with the power of a thousand storms.
"Now, General Kyle. Run. Tell your Emperor that I am coming for him."
Valdore unleashed the energy. The forest exploded in white light.
"No!"
Alden woke up screaming.
He sat up straight, his chest heaving. Sweat poured down his face. The shed was dark and quiet. Saira was sleeping soundly nearby, undisturbed by his nightmare.
Alden looked at his hands. They were trembling. They were normal, human hands. Not the hands of the destroyer in the dream.
But the feeling was still there. The anger. The power. The cold, arrogant voice in his head.
I am Valdore, the voice in his memory had said.
Alden hugged himself, shivering. He did not know who Valdore was. But he knew one thing for sure.
The man in the dream was angry. And he was coming.
"Who am I?" Alden whispered to the darkness.
Outside, the first light of dawn began to paint the sky grey. The wind howled, sounding like a distant dragon crying for its mate.
Alden stood up. He picked up the gear. He shook Saira's shoulder gently.
"Saira," he said, his voice steady now. "Wake up. We have to move."
Saira rubbed her eyes, yawning. "Is it morning already? Did you sleep well?"
Alden looked at the door. He remembered the blue fire. He remembered the screams of the soldiers and the face of General Kyle.
"No," Alden lied. "I did not dream at all."
They opened the door and stepped out into the morning mist, ready to return to the desert. But Alden felt different now. The connection had been made. Somewhere, far away, the other half of his soul was awake.
The sun began to rise over the Aethim Federation, turning the purple night sky into a bruised orange. The desert was no longer sleeping. It was waking up, and it was hungry.
Saira and Alden walked out of the heavy iron gates of Solis. The guards watched them suspiciously, their eyes lingering on the heavy gear Alden carried on his shoulder. It was a massive piece of metal, weighing at least fifty kilograms, but Alden carried it as if it were a bag of feathers.
"Are you sure you do not want to rest?" Saira asked, looking up at him. She pulled her hood tight against the morning wind, which carried grains of sand that stung like tiny needles. "It is a long walk back to the crash site."
Alden shook his head. "Toran waits. Liana waits."
Saira smiled sadly. "You learn names fast, Alden. Yesterday you did not know what a spoon was. Today you know our mission."
"Mission," Alden repeated the word, tasting it. "Find Liana."
They walked in silence for a while. The desert landscape was monotonous but beautiful. Great dunes of sand rolled out like frozen waves in an ocean of gold. Occasionally, the bleached ribs of a giant beast would stick out of the ground, a reminder that this place had no mercy.
"Alden," Saira broke the silence. She needed to keep him talking, to understand him. "In your dream... the man. Valdore. Was he... scary?"
Alden stopped. He looked at the horizon. His golden eyes seemed to see something Saira could not.
"He was... angry," Alden said slowly, struggling to find the words. "He felt... cheated. Like someone stole his house."
"His throne," Saira corrected gently. "Kings have thrones, not houses."
"Throne," Alden nodded. "He wants to burn the world because he is sad."
Saira shivered. "That is a terrifying thought. A sad king is dangerous. An angry god is worse."
As they crossed a rocky ridge, the ground beneath them began to vibrate. It was a subtle feeling, like a heartbeat deep underground.
Saira stopped. Her ears, slightly pointed under her hair, twitched. "Did you hear that?"
Alden dropped the gear into the soft sand. He crouched down, placing his palm flat against the earth. "Moving. Below."
"Scorpions!" Saira shouted, drawing a short dagger from her belt. "Get back, Alden!"