Dawn cracked open across the edge of Haven like a slow breath. The sun, no longer veiled by the lingering haze of the Reverie, spilled golden light over the new encampment. It wasn't a city yet—not even close. But the bones of something more were beginning to take shape. Where once there was only despair, now there were wooden beams staked into the ground, stone markers arranged in crude circles, and people waking to work instead of to run.
Sera rose before most. Her body still ached from weeks of strain, but she refused rest. Not yet. She walked the length of the northern ridge, where the hills sloped downward into what remained of the hollow forest. The earth here was brittle—roots exposed, trees warped from years of dream-influence. But seeds had begun to sprout. Life, impossibly, was returning.
Lucian met her halfway, his breath visible in the morning chill. "You're up early."
"I'm always up early."
"You're also always alone."
Sera smirked. "You're changing the pattern, then?"
"Trying." He fell in step beside her, looking over the fledgling landscape. "It's strange. How quiet it is now."
"Do you miss it?"
Lucian shook his head. "No. But I don't trust it either. The world doesn't go quiet without planning something loud."
Sera nodded. She felt it too—not dread, exactly, but a tension underneath the soil, like coals that hadn't fully cooled. The Reverie was gone, yes, but dreams had roots. And some roots ran deeper than anyone understood.
They reached the ridge and stood at the precipice. Below, a work party was beginning to clear fallen trees. Children ran with bundles of sticks, chasing one another while the older survivors hauled rocks for new foundations. Smoke curled gently from the first proper chimneys. The people had begun calling the center of the camp "The Heart." Whether it was optimism or irony, Sera didn't yet know.
Lucian pointed toward the distant hills. "That's the third patrol to miss check-in."
"Which route?"
"Western edge. Near the Tangle."
Sera's stomach tightened. The Tangle had once been a waystation for dreamwalkers—its trees naturally resistant to distortions. But when the Reverie collapsed, the Tangle had blackened. Its heart, a massive wyrmwood known as the Stonebark, cracked down the center. Many assumed it dead.
But not Sera.
"I'll go," she said.
Lucian didn't argue. He simply followed.
✦
The path to the Tangle was overgrown with bramble and moss, yet strangely undisturbed. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled in a soft breeze. It almost felt normal.
That was the first sign something was wrong.
Normal was the mask the Reverie often wore.
Lucian knelt near a snapped branch. "Boot prints. Three pairs. Then… none. They just stop."
Sera frowned. "How long ago?"
"Two days, maybe."
She stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
The air shifted.
She felt it—like a skin peeling from reality, a veil brushing her cheek.
The Dreaming hadn't ended. It had retreated.
Something had learned from the Reverie.
And it was watching.
Lucian cursed. "It's here, isn't it?"
"No. Not all of it. Just... echoes."
He unslung his blade. "What kind of echoes?"
"The kind that remember."
They stepped cautiously into the remains of the Tangle. The forest felt wrong—too still, too symmetrical. Leaves grew in mirrored spirals. Vines curled into perfect loops, as though reality was attempting to copy itself without knowing what it was meant to be.
Then they heard the first voice.
"Help…"
Sera turned sharply. The voice came from ahead—soft, feminine, pleading.
"Please… it's so dark…"
Lucian's eyes widened. "That's—"
"I know," Sera cut in. "My voice."
They moved toward the sound. It grew louder, echoing with each step.
"Why did you leave me?"
"Don't you remember the dream?"
"I was safe there…"
A clearing opened, and in its center stood a figure.
Not quite human.
Not quite dream.
It had Sera's face—but too perfect. Unaged. Untouched by battle or grief. Its eyes shimmered like still water, and its mouth curved in a smile not meant for comfort, but mimicry.
Sera stopped. "What are you?"
The echo tilted its head. "I'm what you left behind."
Lucian raised his blade. "Back off."
But the figure didn't flinch. It only smiled wider.
"I was your peace," it said to Sera. "The part of you that didn't want to fight. You gave me up to win. And now, I've taken root."
The ground shook subtly. Vines pulsed under their feet.
Sera stepped forward. "You're not peace. You're forgetting. You're the comfort of lies."
"I'm the dream that made the pain bearable."
"I don't want bearable," Sera said. "I want real."
She drew her dagger—not the ceremonial kind, but the one Daen had forged from fallen dreamsteel. The blade shimmered faintly in the gloom.
The echo frowned.
"Then I'll become someone else," it whispered.
And the forest erupted.
Figures stepped from the trees—copies of those Sera had known. A version of Daen with unscarred hands. A version of Lucian wearing silver armor he'd never owned. A child she remembered from her earliest visions, smiling with hollow eyes.
Lucian growled. "This is bad."
"Not if we remember they're not real."
The fight was swift—and brutal. The copies moved fast, but they lacked weight, as if stitched from memory instead of matter. Sera slashed through her double, watching it disintegrate into ash. Lucian held the line, cutting down phantom after phantom.
When it ended, the clearing was empty.
The vines retracted.
The silence returned.
But something had changed.
Not the world.
Sera.
She turned to Lucian. "They're trying to find anchors. Ways back."
Lucian nodded grimly. "Pieces of you."
"Or anyone else who dreamed too deeply." Her jaw clenched. "We need to find the old sanctums. Bury them. Burn them. Whatever it takes."
Lucian grinned dryly. "So much for peace."
"There's no peace without truth."
They turned back toward Haven.
But the wind carried a warning behind them—a whisper from the trees, faint and haunting.
"You can't bury dreams."
✦
That night, Sera called a gathering. Not just the builders and scouts, but everyone. Children. Elders. The wounded. The quiet ones who watched but rarely spoke.
She told them what had happened in the Tangle.
She didn't soften the truth.
"They're not gone," she said. "Not entirely. The Reverie may be closed, but pieces remain. Not just in the world—but in us. Memories. Regrets. Shadows of what we wanted to believe."
The fire crackled.
"But we are not helpless. We have each other. We have the waking world. And now, more than ever, we must protect it—not just with weapons, but with clarity. With remembrance."
Someone in the crowd asked, "How?"
Sera paused.
Then she answered, "We build."
Another voice: "What if they come back?"
She met the eyes of the speaker.
"Then we won't forget how to fight."
The crowd was silent.
Then one by one, hands rose in agreement.
They would fight.
They would build.
They would remember.
And the dreams would not win.
Not again.