Chapter 39
Dream
A shiver shot through him like lightning.
First, it was just a tingling on the back of his neck, but within a second, it traveled up his back and tensed his shoulders.
Kaep went still, holding his breath, not understanding where this icy prickling came from.
His eyelids trembled. He opened his eyes, disoriented, as if he had just emerged from a dream he couldn't remember. He blinked once… again… and again, trying to focus on what was above him.
The silent room was barely moving, to the rhythm of the breathing of those sleeping, crisscrossed by the crooked lines of the wooden ceiling. The joints looked damp, dark.
Slowly, Kaep raised his head. His neck hurt; he had been hunched over for too long. He looked up, following a drop of water as it descended along one of the beams.
It was still there, exactly where it had been all along.
The chair creaked faintly under his weight, his back sunk against the backrest, his feet planted on the floor. In front of him, the table remained in its place.
He hadn't moved. Or at least that's what he thought, until he noticed the tingling in his left hand.
He raised it slowly, as if it weighed more than normal. He held it at face level, palm open, fingers tense.
He observed them for a moment. Every joint seemed alien, as if it didn't quite respond to his will.
He closed his hand, feeling his knuckles crack dryly. Then he opened it again and repeated the movement.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The faint sound of skin rubbing against skin mixed with his breathing. Something about that gesture—so simple, so mechanical—felt unsettling.
After the third movement, something changed in his face.
The stiffness broke and a smile, slow and restrained, formed on his lips. It wasn't broad or calm; just a subtle curve that didn't quite define itself as either relief or strangeness.
He leaned forward. The wood creaked under the slight shift of his weight.
He rested his right elbow on the table, settled his head on his closed fist, and let his cheek rest against it. The gesture seemed almost casual, but his eyes remained fixed on his other hand, the left one, suspended in front of him.
His fingers moved slightly, a faint tremor, almost imperceptible.
Kaep didn't look away. He kept watching himself with a calm that seemed out of place, as if he were trying to recognize something—a sensation, a memory, a certainty—within that hand.
And the smile remained there, still.
"Eighteen long years… and I finally could," he whispered.
The words came out almost voiceless, dragged through his teeth, as if he were afraid of breaking the air by speaking them.
His cheek remained resting on his closed fist, his posture motionless, almost lazy. But in his eyes, there was something new, an intensity that contrasted with the stillness of his body.
His gaze remained fixed on his left hand. He didn't move it. He didn't touch it. He just observed it, with a mixture of pride and wonder.
A muscle twitched at the corner of his lips, the smile stretched slightly, revealing a brief flash of teeth.
The silence surrounding him seemed to have thickened, as if the air itself was waiting for the next phrase, the next gesture.
But Kaep said nothing more.
He just took a deep, slow breath, and let that smile—long, patient, unyielding—settle completely on his face.
Heh heh —he laughed to himself, trying to contain his laughter as much as possible.
"And to think…" he murmured, letting the phrase drag a little before completing it, "…that my younger self would be so determined to stab himself just to get out of that space…"
The smile twisted slightly, becoming more weary than satisfied.
He leaned back slowly against the chair; the backrest creaked as if protesting the movement.
His shoulders dropped, releasing an old tension, and his eyes lifted towards the ceiling.
The wooden ceiling watched him in silence, the same one that had seen him wake up a few minutes earlier. The grain seemed to form crooked paths, routes that opened and closed in on themselves.
Kaep followed them with his gaze, remembering that "starry sky space" and Kaep's last expression, upon being trapped, along with the last expression that 'he' had given him.
A shadow crossed his gaze, brief, like a thought he preferred not to touch again.
He exhaled.
"What an idiot," he whispered with a thread of laughter, without looking away from above.
But the smile didn't leave. If anything, it became quieter, more intimate.
-…- He remained silent, not stopping his gaze at the ceiling, for a few more seconds.
…
"Kaep is no more…"
The thought emerged with the calm of an old certainty, not like a sudden idea.
"Back on this first day of my new self…" —he said to himself— "…or the second…?"
He blinked slowly, without taking his eyes off the ceiling. The boundary between thought and voice had become blurred; he didn't know if he had spoken aloud or just imagined it.
He felt a slight emptiness in his chest, a hollow where something that used to respond to that name once was.
'Kaep'
The sound seemed distant, foreign, like the echo of someone who no longer existed.
He inhaled deeply, let the air fill his lungs, and for a moment allowed himself the sensation of being something else—something newly formed, still without a name.
"This time I won't use that name anymore," he whispered.
"If I want to change something, I should start there… after all…" —He lowered his head a little, now looking at the junction between the ceiling and the wall.
"I only have four… no, three years to change things."
The silence of the room enveloped him.
And in that silence, his consciousness breathed for the first time.
He crossed his arms, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. The wood grain continued to draw irregular paths.
A memory filtered through those lines, blurry at first.
The sound of a voice calling him.
«—Eilor… sorry, Kaep—»
he had said back then, confusing his name.
"Uncle…" —he whispered, reinforcing the smile, but unlike his lips, his eyes sharpened.
"I will find you and save you," he said, closing his eyes.
The scene dissolved as quickly as it had arrived, but the echo of the mistaken name remained floating, persistent, in his head.
"Ei… lor…" —he repeated silently, testing the sound, feeling how it fit— too well, or was it just the dream?
With his eyes still closed, he let out a slow, almost satisfied smile.
"Unlike you, Kaep…" —he murmured— "…I don't have to worry about sleeping."
The phrase floated in the air, soft, weightless, as if it didn't need anyone to hear it.
His lips remained curved, serene, as his breathing became more regular.
"Time for a good rest…" —he continued, almost humorously— "…I'll need strength to find my uncle… and Bairon."
As his breathing slowed, his body remained immobile.
He remained seated, arms crossed over his chest, legs apart, his weight sunk against the chair's back.
A faint buzz began to vibrate in the air, so subtle it was barely distinguishable from the silence.
Then, something sparked.
Small orange lightning bolts ran along the surface of his forearms—brief filaments of light that lit up and went out in a matter of seconds—as if energy sought to escape, but he kept it contained.
The discharges danced, fleeting, sinking back under his skin with a dry flicker.
Each one seemed to leave a barely visible mark, a luminous line that faded slowly before extinguishing.
His face remained calm. Not a muscle moved.
And so he remained, suspended between silence and the electric pulse.
Little by little, the weight of sleep began to gain ground.
At first, it was just a slight heaviness in his eyelids, a warm sensation spreading from the back of his neck to his shoulders. Then, that silent tide dragged the rest of his body, loosening the muscles, quieting the buzz.
For the first time in over thirty hours, sleep overtook him.
His breathing became slower. The orange lightning on his arms dissipated completely, leaving only a residual glow under the skin.
And there, in that space between consciousness and nothingness, something ignited.
A strange lucidity.
And with it, a memory…
Hazy at first, just an image trying to recompose itself among the shadows.
Kaep immersed himself in that memory with the calm of one who knows exactly what they are about to find.
***
Walking among the uniformed men on the wooden gangway—sturdier than it looked and creaking softly under his boots—his uncle caught up to Kaep. The smell of sea salt mixed with that of the oiled metal of the weapons the soldiers carried. Seeing that Kaep hadn't noticed him, he placed a hand on his shoulder, firm but without abruptness.
Kaep turned without stopping. He smiled… but his expression failed to hide the avalanche of emotions overwhelming him. The corner of his lips trembled and his eyes shone with a mixture of anxiety and something deeper.
His uncle noticed it immediately, frowning slightly.
---
Just before they turned onto the gangway that would lead them aboard, his uncle pulled him aside with a controlled push, strong enough to make him step back.
The impact surprised Kaep. The air escaped him in a short gasp as he stumbled, his heels hitting the damp wood.
The movement was quick, but enough for a couple of soldiers in the group to turn towards them. One of them even instinctively reached out a hand, without intervening.
The sound of boots on the platform stopped for an instant. The atmosphere, which until then had been full of voices, brief laughs, and scattered orders, condensed into a mute tension.
The wind coming from the river carried the smell of salt, and the creaking of the gangway became the only perceptible noise.
Kaep looked up immediately, still breathless. His expression was more bewildered than angry.
His uncle watched him in silence, his brow slightly furrowed, with a strange mixture of severity and restraint. There was something in his gaze that didn't belong to the moment: a sudden intensity, almost analytical, as if he were verifying something.
Before Kaep could understand, the Uncle shook his right hand, up and then down, stopping it in a thumbs-up gesture with fingers closed. Along with a softer expression.
Then, a hand came to rest on the uncle's shoulder.
It was rough, hard like old leather.
"Family matter," he said, without changing his tone.
The phrase was so calm it was disconcerting. The tense looks that had accumulated around them wavered for a second. Some lowered their guard, others exchanged doubtful glances. But the pressure in the air didn't disappear completely.
Kaep noticed the looks. Some full of confusion, others of discomfort. He saw how a couple of comrades murmured to each other, leaning in slightly.
One of them tried to step forward, but his companion grabbed him by the forearm, shaking his head with a subtle movement. The gesture was repeated further away, in another nearby group: small nods, brief whispers that said without words 'leave them, it's nothing serious'.
Even so, the fragile atmosphere of joy that had filled the dock moments before, after the farewells with the families, cracked.
The laughter hung suspended, the steps slowed, and the general murmur adopted a lower tone, as if everyone was listening without meaning to.
The uncle took a deep breath, without moving from Kaep's side.
His expression changed slightly: a weary grimace appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Seems I messed up a bit," he said with a crooked smile, forcing a lightness that found no echo in the environment.
Some laughed out of politeness, others averted their gaze, preferring to resume their march. But the tension didn't dissipate completely. It remained floating, clinging to the air.
The uncle turned to Kaep. He took a step forward, putting them at the same height with a few centimeters difference. The wood creaked under his weight.
He placed both hands on his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes.
"Are you alright?" he asked, without raising his tone, though his voice now had a different edge, kinder and more concerned.
Kaep, still surprised by how things had escalated, averted his gaze towards the water for a moment, as if seeking an answer there.
The trembling reflection of the sky on the surface hypnotized him for a few seconds: broken patches of light, moving with the current. It seemed impossible that such a simple gesture—a push without real force—had completely changed the atmosphere.
Only when his uncle repeated the question did he react.
"Ah... yes, yes, I am." —His voice came out a bit higher than he intended, as if trying to compensate for the silence surrounding them.
His uncle watched him with a hint of irony.
"Hmm. Seems what happened back there cheered you up," he said, giving him a pat on the back.
The blow resonated faintly, but it sounded more like relief than affection. "Though I didn't expect it to escalate like that."
Kaep let out a short laugh. Now with a clearer mind—"Right? So now what? Everyone's moving again… shall we follow?" —he replied, nodding his head forward.