Caspian sat alone in the library's dim glow, curled into a sleek black leather armchair that groaned softly beneath his weight. The lamp beside him flickered faintly, casting golden arcs of light across the pages of the book cradled in his hands. Its cover was worn, the corners frayed with time, yet the words inside still burned bright as his eyes flitted across each line with practiced ease. Outside the tall, arched windows, the sky was a silent abyss, painted in deep obsidian and stitched by a thin crescent moon. The city beyond—the enigmatic sprawl of Nimerath—lay quiet and cloaked in shadow.
Above the fireplace hung an ornate clock, its ticking subtle but constant, like the heartbeat of the room. The hour had long passed midnight. Tomorrow—or rather, later that day—was the Blackwood Ball. An event drenched in politics, elegance, and veiled threats. Caspian didn't care much for it. Not on the surface, at least. But somewhere in his chest, an unease had begun to stir.
He had been in Nimerath only a few days, yet he understood the kind of people that ruled its towers. The elite here were not monsters in the traditional sense. They didn't bark orders or wear cruelty on their sleeves. No, their menace was more refined—coated in silk, served with wine, and delivered with a smile. The city still held elections, of course, but they were as empty as the wine glasses that would no doubt litter the ballroom by morning. Alexander Blackwood may not have been the official mayor, but the true strings of power were in his hands. Caspian had overheard names in the hallway—one in particular stood out: Drew Peramore. The puppet mayor. He, too, would be in attendance.
A sudden gust blew through the open window, sending a sharp breath of cold air swirling into the room. The breeze disturbed the silence, rustling pages and sending a cascade of silver through Caspian's white hair. In the kitchen beyond, the wind rattled cups like faint chimes, and Caspian's gaze briefly turned toward the sound. When the wind finally stilled, he turned back to the seat across from him—only to find it was no longer empty.
A young man now lounged in the chair opposite, legs casually draped over the armrest, dressed entirely in black. His presence had not made a sound. His face was bright with mischief, a wide grin breaking beneath raven-dark hair. It was Zach.
"Long time no see, kid!"
Zach's voice cracked through the silence like a whip, light-hearted and unrestrained, yet oddly jarring in the vast emptiness of the dream-space. He stood abruptly, the wooden chair behind him screeching faintly against the marble-like floor, and flung his arms out as if greeting an old friend who'd just returned from the dead.
Caspian blinked, caught off guard not just by the sudden noise, but by Zach's presence itself. The setting around them was unfamiliar—an endless, dimly-lit hall with no visible walls or ceiling, as though the world had melted into fog and shadow. His footsteps echoed unnaturally on the pale stone beneath him, sounding distant and wrong, as though coming from someone else.
"Hello to you too, Zach," Caspian said cautiously, his voice even but edged with suspicion. His eyes narrowed slightly, sharp and assessing. "But why are you here exactly? It's not often you drop in unannounced."
Zach's grin stretched wider, mischief gleaming in his eyes like shards of fractured light. He tilted his head with a languid, almost theatrical flair, the flickering glow from some unseen source casting dancing shadows that seemed to animate the depths of his gaze. "Well, to give you a lesson, of course! I've been rather remiss with our sessions lately, haven't I? Think of this as a... makeup class."
Caspian remained silent for a moment, the weight of Zach's presence settling uneasily around him. There was something different today—something darker beneath the usual playfulness. Zach's coat seemed to drape heavier, as if burdened by unseen weights; his grin, while still mischievous, carried a faint trace of exhaustion, or perhaps resignation.
Zach clapped his hands sharply, breaking the stillness. "Now, I've heard whispers—there's a ball coming up soon, correct?"
Caspian blinked, confused by the sudden shift in topic.
"Aha! So you understand what that means—dancing!"
"You're going to teach me how to... dance?" Caspian repeated, skepticism thick in his voice, sharp enough to cut the air between them.
Zach chuckled, a sound both warm and unsettling. "Not the kind you're thinking of. Trust me on this."
He lowered his voice to a near whisper, muttering something too fast and too faint for Caspian to catch, as if weaving a secret spell in the air.
Then, raising his voice again with unmistakable command, Zach said, "Now—try moving."
Caspian hesitated but obeyed, stepping forward cautiously.
And then, the world shifted.
Agony.
A sudden, searing pain exploded through his legs, like fire licking beneath his skin and bone. His muscles screamed in protest, trembling uncontrollably as if every fiber had been set aflame. He staggered, fighting to keep his balance, the air thickening around him like molten lead.
Zach's eyes gleamed, unyielding and sharp, watching intently. "Good. Now you're feeling it."
Caspian clenched his teeth, breath ragged. "What... what is this?"
"Discipline," Zach replied smoothly. "Movement isn't just muscle and bone—it's spirit, will, control. You cannot master either without pain."
The lesson had begun in earnest.
It struck without warning. A white-hot lance of pain tore through his arm, twisting the muscle and nerve into a knot of fire. He staggered, instinctively clutching the limb—only for his other hand to smack against something invisible. Another burst of pain erupted down that arm as well, doubling him over.
"What the hell is happening!?" Caspian cried out, his voice echoing in the void. He dropped to one knee, breathing ragged, blinking against the sudden surge of tears.
"Try looking around," Zach said, as though reading a weather report. "But this time, sense the energy around you. Don't rely on your eyes"
Caspian came to an abrupt halt. His limbs trembled faintly as he drew in a deep breath, trying to steady the chaos within him. The weight of unseen chains pressed upon his body, invisible but undeniable. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes in an attempt to harness whatever fading strength remained in his core. He sought the thread of focus Zach had instructed him to find, that fragile strand of willpower that might untangle the bonds and grant him freedom. But try as he might, his mind remained stubbornly blank — a restless storm of frustration and fatigue.
A shudder of exhaustion wracked him, forcing him to release his breath in a ragged pant. The effort had drained him more than he expected, even though his focus had barely sparked. He felt the dull ache of bruises along his ribs, a reminder of his earlier failures, and he could hear Zach's footsteps approaching quietly, though his gaze held a faint trace of disappointment.
"So," Zach began, a dry chuckle escaping his lips, "you've forgotten everything I taught you already?"
Caspian opened his eyes, wincing as the dim light caught the soreness etched into his face. "I haven't forgotten," he said through clenched teeth, though the weakness in his voice betrayed him.
Zach shook his head, amusement flickering in his tired eyes. "Well, unfortunately for you, the rule remains: you cannot move unless you can focus."
"What?" Caspian protested, rising shakily to his feet despite the pain crawling through his muscles. He forced himself forward, step by agonizing step.
The sharp sting returned instantly—an invisible force lashing at him from all sides. It crushed him back to the floor, knocking the breath from his lungs. His hands scraped against the rough surface as he struggled to rise again, every fiber of his being screaming in protest.
The realization dawned on him slowly, painfully: brute force would not free him from this trap. He could not fight the invisible web with strength alone.
So, defeated but not yet broken, Caspian sank to the floor and closed his eyes, willing himself to quiet the storm inside. Minutes stretched into hours as he sat there in silence, attempting to tune his senses, to reach that elusive focus Zach spoke of. The sky outside shifted subtly from the deepest indigo to the faintest blush of dawn, but still, no progress came. Exhaustion crept over him like a shroud; his limbs slackened, and finally, with a groan, he collapsed, spent and broken.
The silence hung heavy in the room until Zach approached once more, crossing the threshold of the unseen barrier as though it were nothing. He knelt beside Caspian, his voice low but firm.
"If I may offer a piece of advice," Zach said, "try this: think of only one thing. Something simple. Something that brings you comfort. Your favorite meal, perhaps."
Caspian lifted his head weakly and nodded, though his mind felt too heavy to even consider such a thing. Zach rose and returned to his chair, his movements swift and decisive, leaving Caspian alone with the weight of his thoughts.
Summoning the last reserves of willpower, Caspian cleared his mind as best he could, letting go of every distraction until only a single image remained: a cone of rich, dark chocolate ice cream, its glossy surface gleaming temptingly. He focused on that cone with the intensity of a man clinging to a lifeline, the world around him fading to a blur, colors bleeding into one another, until he was forced to close his eyes against the dizzying swirl.
When he dared to open them again, a new reality unfolded before him.
Before his eyes stretched an intricate web of golden lines—hundreds of them—suspended in the air, neither beginning nor end visible. They crisscrossed the space in all directions: down, up, left, right. Some shimmered faintly as they moved, threading through the air with a subtle hum of energy. A few passed right through Zach himself, yet the older man seemed oblivious, his expression unreadable.
"Ah," Zach sighed, rubbing his temples as if the sight had worn on him, "so you can see it at last."
"Yes," Caspian said, blinking rapidly, still trying to comprehend the spectacle, "but... what exactly is 'it'?"
Zach gave a weary smile. "It's complicated. But in short: living things."
The words seemed too simple for such an extraordinary vision, and Caspian's brow furrowed in confusion. Zach noticed, and elaborated patiently.
"All living beings are connected by these," he gestured to the golden filaments, "which we call spirit links. It's how the world... holds itself together, in a way."
He reached out a hand, his fingers slicing through one of the strands. The line shimmered violently before snapping with a faint crackle. Almost immediately, two small flies that had been buzzing near the floor dropped lifeless, their wings still fluttering helplessly. Not a scratch marred their delicate bodies—yet both were dead.
"Most living things carry these links. Humans, however, rarely do. Forming a link with another is... difficult. It requires immense trust and a bond deeper than most care to forge. It's often not worth it."
Zach glanced at Caspian's bruised skin. "Though, as you're painfully aware, they can be weapons."
Caspian flexed his fingers, the sting in his joints fresh in his memory.
"There's another advantage," Zach continued, voice low and careful. "In a link, damage done to one member is shared across all linked parties. So if one suffers a fatal blow, the injury splits between them. Both will be hurt, badly—but rarely fatally. The link acts like a buffer, absorbing some of the pain."
Caspian considered this quietly, the complexity of the magic unfolding in his mind like a map of shadows and light. Zach gave a faint chuckle.
"It's a complicated subject, something Devourers can spend millennia mastering it."
Caspian swallowed hard, then gestured around him. "So how do I get out of this?"
Zach leaned back, the shadow beneath his eyes deepening. "There are three ways. You kill the linkers, break the link, or—best of all—you learn to understand how they work."
Caspian echoed the last word, confused. "Understand how the linkers work?"
Zach rose, pacing slowly to the violin case resting nearby. He opened it and drew out Caspian's pristine white bow, holding it up so the light caught each fine string of horsehair.
"Look closely. What do you see?"
Caspian peered at the bow, a musician's eye examining every detail. "My bow, obviously."
Zach's lips curled into a teasing grin. "Try describing it with less detail. What is it made of?"
"Wood and strings," Caspian answered confidently.
"Wrong!" Zach exclaimed with an exaggerated flourish.
Zach motioned deliberately for Caspian to focus, his eyes narrowing with an intensity that brooked no argument. The room around them seemed to hold its breath, the faint hum of unseen energies thickening the air.
Caspian drew in a slow, deliberate breath, feeling the coolness of the air fill his lungs and steady the frantic rhythm of his pulse. He let it out carefully, pushing all intrusive thoughts aside like debris swept away by a tide. His mind emptied, a quiet void forming where chaos had reigned moments before. When he opened his eyes again, it was with a sharpened clarity—as though a veil had been lifted from his vision.
Before him, the familiar shape of his violin bow hovered, its polished wood gleaming softly under the diffuse light. But something was profoundly altered. The strings—those taut strands of horsehair that sang under his touch—had disappeared, vanished as if plucked from the very fabric of reality.
"W-what happened?" Caspian stammered, his voice trembling as a cold tendril of panic curled around his throat. His eyes darted frantically between the bow's empty frame and the soft glow that now filled the space around it. The sudden absence unsettled him deeply, a gnawing uncertainty clawing at his composure.
"Don't worry," Zach said with a calm, measured assurance that sought to soothe. "Your bow is fine. You're just seeing it stripped of its strings—bare, without the threads that bind it."
He reached into the dark velvet-lined case beside him and withdrew a second bow, identical in every respect to the first. Yet this one was different in one crucial way: a faint, ethereal thread of shimmering gold connected it to the first, a slender filament of radiant energy pulsating softly between the two instruments. It was the same spectral essence—the spirit link—that Caspian had struggled to comprehend earlier.
"See? They're linked," Zach murmured, more to himself than to Caspian, as if affirming an ancient truth.
The young man's brow furrowed in bewilderment, but he did not speak. Instead, Zach's voice broke through the silence again. "Now, try walking through the link."
"What? No! That'll only hurt more!" Caspian protested sharply, a mixture of fear and disbelief in his tone.
"I assure you," Zach replied with a sly grin, "as long as you don't seriously screw anything up, you won't get hurt."
The words were less comforting than intended, but Caspian knew there was no escaping the lesson. With a reluctant mutter, he stepped forward, eyes fixed on the glowing thread that tethered the two bows. The moment his body passed through the shimmering barrier, a faint tingle brushed his skin—like the ghost of a touch—but it was far from the searing pain he had anticipated.
He emerged on the other side, breath steady and body intact. Not a mark marred his skin.
"Great job!" Zach applauded, genuine pride flickering across his features, briefly softening the harshness of his earlier demeanor. "Now you understand the fundamentals of spirits."
Buoyed by this small victory, Zach's gaze drifted upward, toward a tiny fly buzzing near the ceiling, its erratic flight casting fleeting shadows on the walls.
"Try the same with that," he instructed.
Caspian fixed his eyes on the fly, focusing with renewed determination. His breath slowed once more as he shut his eyes to center himself, drawing on the fragile thread of concentration he had begun to master. When he opened them again, the fly remained—yet its wings were gone. Vanished, as if rendered invisible by the very magic Zach had revealed.
"W-wait," Caspian gasped, incredulous, "flies don't have wings?"
Zach chuckled softly, the sound low and amused. "Not when you see through their spirit links."
Without hesitation, Caspian extended a cautious foot and stepped through the invisible tether connecting the wingless insect to its spectral twin. Once again, no pain followed. No injury. Only a subtle vibration beneath his feet, the faint echo of something unseen.
He crouched low, hands resting on his knees, panting heavily. The energy it took to maintain such focus was draining, leaving a trembling exhaustion in its wake. Yet, beneath the fatigue, a fierce spark of triumph glowed.
"So if these spirit links exist," Caspian asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, "then why can't everyone move freely? Surely not many people can do this. How do people even move at all?"
Zach's eyes gleamed with a mischievous light, as though he were about to divulge a tantalizing secret. "Good question. The answer is... I made it that way."
Caspian blinked, caught off guard by the admission.
"In combat with Dreams and Nightmares," Zach elaborated, "they almost always use an ability that opens spirit links, making them physical—solid, tangible. It's the nature of their power."
"But how did you do it? Can you teach me?" Caspian asked.
"No I cannot teach you" Zach replied sharply.
"But why?" Caspian protested.
"Because I have seen to many beginners get themselves killed by opening spirit links in crowded places." Zach answered.
"Opening spirit links in cities is considered taboo, even amongst Nightmares, as the collateral damage would be inconceivable, and it would practically be suicide." Zach added.
"So why did you do it to me?" Caspian demanded, a flicker of frustration and disbelief sharpening his tone.
Zach grinned broadly, an impish glint lighting his eyes. "Because I found it funny."
He shrugged, the gravity in his expression softening just enough to reveal a glimmer of something more sincere. "Also, because you need to learn control—over your focus, your power. This is a test, nothing more."
Caspian rubbed his temples, trying to absorb the flood of information and the complexity of the lesson. Despite the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him, a slow-burning determination began to kindle within his chest. He would master this. He had no choice but to master it.
"Now, class is over. Please get some rest," Zach said, rising from his chair with a measured calm that seemed to command the very air around them. His movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic, as if each step away from the lesson marked a passage from one world into another. The faint glow from the spirit links flickered softly in the dim room, casting long shadows that danced across the walls.
Caspian remained rooted in place, his breath uneven, caught between exhaustion and a sudden, persistent urge. He hesitated, then forced himself to speak, voice steady despite the fatigue pulling at his limbs.
"Wait—hold on," he called out, the words slicing through the quiet like a blade. "I have a request."
Zach paused mid-step, the corner of his mouth twitching as he turned back with a raised brow, his gaze sharp and expectant. "A request, eh?" His tone was laced with mild amusement, but beneath it lay a subtle curiosity—an invitation to speak plainly.
Caspian met his gaze without flinching, eyes steady and unwavering. "May I return to the first dream?"
For a moment, Zach's expression shifted—confusion flickered briefly across his features, as though he were trying to grasp an unfamiliar concept. "What for?" he asked finally, his voice low and cautious.
Taking a slow, deliberate breath, Caspian searched for the right words. The air around him seemed to thicken, weighted with the gravity of his admission. "I recently fought Alexander Blackwood—and lost," he said quietly, the confession settling heavily between them. "And I know that in the future, I will face opponents of nightmarish strength. Ones who will push me beyond limits I have yet to understand."
Zach's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, the light in them dimming as if weighing the truth of Caspian's words against some unseen scale. "There's an old human saying," he mused, "fight fire with fire."
Caspian's voice dropped to a resolute whisper, unwavering. "I say we fight Nightmares with Nightmares."