He couldn't move. Not an inch.
All around him, people were running—some fleeing from something unseen, others attacking one another as if they had lost their minds. It was as though they had all witnessed something so horrifying it had broken them completely.
Flames tore through the village, devouring homes and streets alike. The air was thick with the stench of smoke and the piercing cries of the wounded. Fear tightened around his chest like a vice, but his legs refused to obey. No matter how desperately he tried to move, it was useless… as if some unseen force had pinned him to the ground.
And then, through the chaos, his eyes were drawn upward.
A massive tree rose over the heart of the village, its vast branches stretching outward until they seemed to cradle the entire place. For a brief moment, it felt like a shield—its canopy guarding the people from the outside world.
Then came the voice.
"Help… help…"
At first, he thought someone nearby had spoken, but then the truth settled in like ice—it was the tree. The plea wasn't just for aid; there was something more hidden in its tone. Urgency. Sorrow. And beneath it all, an ache so deep it made his skin crawl. The sound scraped at his mind like a whisper in a language he couldn't understand, each word pressing painfully into his skull.
He spun, shouting for help, searching for anyone he knew. But everywhere he turned, there was only fire, death, and the endless screams.
The great walls surrounding the village loomed above it all. Once they might have been a shield against the world beyond, but now… they felt like a prison, trapping everyone inside with the flames. A crushing pressure settled over him, so heavy it felt like his bones might splinter.
Then he saw them.
Figures stepped through the smoke—blurred silhouettes, shifting like mirages. His vision wavered, his hearing dulled. One figure lifted a hand and pointed directly at him. Another slowly drew a sword.
And in that instant—
—his eyes snapped open.
The screams were gone. The heat was gone. Sunlight spilled warmly across the small room.
From the kitchen came the faint clatter of utensils and the smell of breakfast. His mother's voice cut through the silence.
"Wake up, Sumit! You'll be late for school!"
He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The nightmare clung to him like a shadow, but it wasn't new. He had seen it before—many times. But never this vividly.
Still, he had learned to live with it.
He washed up, ate breakfast, packed his bag, and waved goodbye to his mother before heading to school. The day passed as any other—lessons, laughter with friends, familiar streets. By evening, he was home again, eating dinner with his mother. And for a while, the dream stopped visiting him.
It was strange. For as long as he could remember, it had come to him every night without fail. And now… nothing. Part of him almost believed it was over.
Until that night.
The same fire. The same screams. The same great tree spreading its branches like a dying guardian over the walled village. The same helplessness.
But this time, something was different.
This time, he knew he was dreaming. And if it was a dream, then he could explore. He could find answers.
He turned toward the one part of the village he had never seen before. Pain lanced through him instantly, sharp and searing, like claws tearing at his flesh. Still, he forced himself to move.
And then he saw it.
It wasn't just a wall—it looked like a massive gate, yet there was no door. High above it, sitting like a silent sentinel, was a lion-shaped figure carved from stone. From where he stood, Sumit could only see its back, its powerful form facing the village as if guarding it from whatever lay beyond. Something about its presence made his chest tighten—not in fear, but in a strange, fragile hope. Maybe… maybe it would protect him. In his mind, he found himself whispering, Help… please help… as if the stone guardian could somehow hear him.
The tree's voice rose, almost desperate now—but it was joined by something else. A voice calling his name.
The dream unraveled.
He woke to find his parents standing over him. His mother wrapped him in her arms, trembling.
"What happened, beta? Why were you screaming? Who were you calling for?"
His father, masking his own worry, crouched beside the bed.
"Tell us—what did you see?"
His voice shook as he replied.
"A tree… a village… walls… a lion… and… some people."
His father froze. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes—a mix of confusion and recognition.
The room felt smaller, the air heavier.
Without a word, he straightened and exchanged a quick glance with Sumit's mother. Her expression tightened, though she tried to hide it.
Sumit didn't understand why, but he could feel it—the dream had meant something to them.
And for the first time, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing.