The dawn stretched thin over Ravin, its gentle light struggling to penetrate the heavy fog that still clung to the village like a lingering shadow. But for Lior, the morning held no comfort — only the restless stirring of memories long buried beneath the layers of dreams and waking.
He sat alone in the quiet room of the clocktower's upper chamber, the shard of black glass resting on the wooden table before him. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat synchronized with his own. A deep ache throbbed inside his chest — a yearning for something lost, something he could not yet name.
---
Lior's fingers brushed the glass, and the world around him began to dissolve.
He found himself standing in a small house bathed in warm amber light — a place he knew but couldn't remember. The scent of fresh bread and blooming jasmine filled the air. A woman's soft laughter echoed from another room.
"Lior, come here," the voice called, gentle and full of love.
He turned toward the voice, heart pounding.
---
In the next moment, he saw her.
A woman with silver hair tied loosely behind her head, eyes shimmering like distant stars, and a smile that warmed the coldest nights.
"Elara."
The name slipped from his lips, carried on a breath of remembrance.
---
Elara knelt before him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
"You've forgotten much," she said softly. "But your heart remembers."
Lior's eyes filled with tears. "Why can't I remember everything? Why do I feel like I'm living someone else's life?"
Elara's gaze was steady, sad.
"Because you are," she whispered. "You are a fragment of my dream, and a piece of the world I created. The memories you carry are shards of a life I lived — a life I hoped to protect."
---
The room faded again, replaced by the cold expanse of the dreamscape — stars swirling around them like silent witnesses.
"Elara," Lior said, voice trembling, "why did you stay trapped in the dream? Why didn't you wake?"
She looked down, fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air.
"I was afraid," she admitted. "Afraid that if I woke, the fragile world I dreamed would unravel. That all the people, all the lives I had touched, would vanish."
Lior stepped closer, desperation rising in his chest.
"But the Bleeding One—"
"Is the darkness born from my fear and doubt," she interrupted, voice breaking. "It grows stronger because I remain silent. Because I refuse to face the truth."
---
Suddenly, the swirling stars darkened. Shadows crept forward, twisting into grotesque shapes that lunged at them.
"The Bleeding One," Elara whispered urgently. "You must be strong, Lior. You must remember why you dream."
Lior raised his hand, and the shard of black glass glowed with fierce light.
"I will," he vowed. "For all of us."
---
The shadows recoiled, but a haunting voice echoed in his mind.
"You cannot save what is broken. You cannot undo what has been done."
Lior's resolve hardened.
"Maybe not," he whispered. "But I can fight. I will fight."
---
Back in the clocktower, Mira and Rhéa watched as Lior's body remained still, caught between worlds.
"We need to prepare," Mira said. "The Bleeding One will not give up without a battle."
Rhéa nodded. "And the dreamscape is shifting. Time is running out."
Lior opened his eyes, breath ragged but steady.
"Then let's finish this," he said.
---
Outside, the village of Ravin began to stir — unaware that its fate, and the fate of all worlds born from dreams, now rested in the hands of a boy who remembered a life he never truly lived.