That night, I dreamed again.
Not the same old nightmares. No… this one was different. Abstract. Silent. Drenched in meaning I couldn't quite grasp.
I stood in the middle of an ocean with no water—only shards of shattered mirrors suspended in the air. Each fragment reflected countless eyeless faces. They spun slowly, gazing toward me with expressions that begged, accused, waited.
Above, the sun split in half. From the wound bled droplets of crimson, soaking into the earth and giving birth to flowers as black as void. Each petal carried a memory—not mine, yet each one struck me with terrifying familiarity.
I heard crying—children, elders, soldiers—all blending into the high-pitched laughter of something hiding just beyond form. The laughter had no source. It was everywhere.
Before me, a door made of human bones creaked open. Behind it stood a throne… empty. But the shadow cast behind it had a shape—tall, lean, crowned with a twisted diadem of fangs and thorns.
The sky began to crack.
From the fractures, fire and blood poured down. Drums pounded—each beat heavy, like the pulse of a sleeping beast about to awaken.
And then—I fell.
There was no pain. No fear. Just an all-consuming hollowness, as if I, too, were being erased from the dream.
I woke up.Silence.Only the wind whispering through the stone cracks of my window.
I didn't understand.
But something inside me knew: something is coming. And it is not small.
I jolted awake, cold sweat clinging to my back.
The night hadn't ended. Moonlight crept through a crack in the stone above, casting a pale sliver of silver across the cave wall. Outside, the wind howled again—sharp and bitter—curling through the skeletal branches of Eternal Peak.
I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to shake off the remnants of that dream. But the images clung to me like scars burned into thought—an empty throne, a formless shadow, a sun torn in half...
I've seen war. I've witnessed death, despair, the eyes of those who had nothing left.
But that dream… it felt beyond anything I've ever known.
"Just a dream," I muttered.
But I was lying to myself—and I knew it.
I stood up, stepped toward the mouth of the cave—the place where I could overlook the entirety of Dawn Island. Villages lay asleep in peaceful darkness, untouched. Safe. For now.
But how long would that last?
I once believed I could withdraw from everything—live a quiet life and let the world burn without me. But then… why now, after two hundred years, did that dream return?
And why… was my heart racing?
Before dawn could even kiss the horizon, Karl cloaked himself in a dark robe, its fabric flowing from crown to heel. His silver hair was tucked neatly beneath the hood, and an old conical hat shielded most of his face. The only thing that couldn't be hidden—was that faint smile. Half amused, half weary.
"Just a visit," he told himself. "Some herbs, cloth, maybe a few iron bars. If nothing feels off, I'll come back."
Still, a part of him knew—the true reason went deeper than supplies.
He walked along a winding path that spiraled down the southern slope of Dawn Island. The sun had yet to rise, leaving behind only a grayish light and the sting of cold air biting through the seams of his cloak.
The nearest village—Valon—rested quietly between two steep ridges. A modest town where people survived by hunting, growing medicinal plants, and occasionally trading with the eastern ports.
Karl had come here many times before, but never with his true face.
Today would be no different.
He didn't expect clear answers. But sometimes, it was the idle chatter beside a hearth fire—or a flicker of unease in a passerby's gaze—that spoke louder than official reports.
And Karl, with centuries of quiet wisdom, had long mastered the art of reading truth between lines.
Valon village wore the mask of peace. Stone houses mottled with moss lined the paths, thin smoke curling up from early morning fires. A few roosters cried out, their calls echoing softly through the narrow, wagon-worn streets.
Karl walked slowly, his eyes narrowing beneath the brim of his hat. He stopped by a roadside stall where an old woman was arranging bundles of herbs into a straw basket.
"Strange weather lately," Karl muttered, his voice rougher than usual. "The mountain winds have shifted. Even the birds no longer fly the same routes."
The woman eyed him cautiously, then softened. "You from the mountain, then? Some others have said the skies are acting strange… Down here, we've got our own share of odd tales."
Karl tilted his head. "Such as?"
She leaned closer, her voice dropping. "A few wrecked ships washed ashore on the eastern coast. No sailors. Just blood trails and claw marks. They say it's sea beasts… but I've lived long enough to know—no sea beast burns its victims."
Karl's brow furrowed.
He thanked her and moved on. Along the main path, he caught scraps of other tales: cattle vanishing, dry wells, children screaming at night though no one approached their homes. Harmless in isolation. But when stitched together… they painted the edges of a gathering storm.
The murmur of Valon's marketplace mixed with the scent of baked bread and burning firewood—an odd blend Karl never quite liked. He adjusted the conical hat that shaded his face, strolling through the crowd unnoticed.
Suddenly—THUD!
Something crashed straight into Karl's chest. A blur of motion. Fruit flew in every direction. A voice yelped:
— "Oh no! My apples!"
Karl looked down. A girl with a tangled mess of hair and a toppled basket lay flat on the ground, staring up at him as if she had just slammed into a moving wall.
— "Didn't you watch where you were going?" Karl asked, voice calm but clearly unimpressed.
— "I did! But your ridiculous hat blocked my entire view!"
She sat up, muttering as she scrambled to gather her scattered apples.
With a sigh, Karl knelt down to help. A few villagers chuckled nearby at the comical scene.
— "What's your name?" he asked, still expressionless.
— "Aris," she replied, squinting at him. "And you? Let me guess... a lost traveler? An herb collector? Or maybe a mysterious sorcerer spying on people from the shadows?"
Karl couldn't help but chuckle softly. It had been a long time since he last laughed like that.
— "I like the last one. 'Mysterious sorcerer' suits me."
Aris put her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she looked him up and down.
— "Hmm… some mysterious sorcerer you are—wearing sandals that look like they've fought three wars."
— "I'm making a statement," Karl replied flatly.
They both burst into laughter. The market seemed a little brighter, if only for a moment—despite the shadowy future creeping ever closer.
As evening settled in, the last rays of the sun bathed the moss-covered rooftops of Valon village in a warm golden hue. Karl and Aris walked along a narrow path that wound its way up the hillside, offering a view of the valley below.
"You still haven't told the truth, have you?" Aris asked, casually swinging her fabric bag at her side.
Karl shrugged. "I'm just someone who prefers peace up in the mountains."
"Peace, yet you carry three knives and look like you could kill a man with silence alone?" Aris glanced over, half-joking, half-serious.
Karl chuckled. "You're observant."
A moment of silence passed. The wind rustled the leaves, carrying the scent of wild grass and distant smoke.
"Honestly," Aris said slowly, "I think something's coming. People in the village are starting to avoid going out at night. Livestock are disappearing. Children cry for no reason. They try to ignore it… but I can't."
Karl looked toward the horizon. The sun was setting, and in the pale sky, dark clouds were gathering, as if signaling something ominous was lurking.
"Sometimes," Karl replied softly, "peace is just the calm before the storm."
Aris glanced at him. "Do you always speak in riddles like that?"
"Only when I meet curious people."
She laughed, but then suddenly grew serious. "If something happens… will you help?"
Karl didn't answer immediately. He slowed his steps, his eyes fixed on the darkening sky.
Then, very quietly, he said, "I don't want to get involved. But if it comes to me…"
He stopped walking, his eyes flashing with the coldness of someone who had walked through countless battles.
"…then I won't run."