Night fell slowly across the plains beyond Aramoor.
The city still burned, its smoke staining the horizon in ash-colored streaks, but far from the outer walls, under a cluster of towering pines, the Blade of Torvas raised a small camp.
He worked with practised efficiency:
Stakes hammered, tents erected, the horses tied and watered.
The High Priest tended to his ceremonial cloak, muttering prayers under his breath.
Dream, still wearing the shape of Varos, finished setting up the last tent.
Erias watched all of it quietly.
But his hands trembled.
Not from fear.
From yearning.
He turned to the Blade of Torvas, who stood adjusting the straps on his sword belt.
"Can you…" Erias began hesitantly, "…can you show me some fighting moves?"
The Blade stopped moving.
He did not answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at Erias with eyes sharpened by a lifetime of discipline.
"Do you wish to fight because you fear death," he asked quietly, "or because you fear weakness?"
Erias hesitated.
His eyes wandered to Dream, who knelt beside the fire securing a support beam into the earth.
"I want to protect him," Erias said softly. "And myself. And… anyone who needs it."
The Blade studied him for several long seconds.
Then he nodded.
"My name is Kaelar," he said at last. "Blade of Torvas. Sworn protector of the High Priest and the fire of justice."
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a short dagger.
The metal shimmered with a faint ember-glow.
He placed it in Erias's palm.
"This is your first weapon."
Erias looked down at it, unsure how to hold it properly, unsure what he was supposed to do.
Before he could ask
Kaelar lunged.
Full speed.
Erias froze.
Instinct made him raise the dagger awkwardly in front of him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting pain, expecting the cold bite of steel.
But nothing struck him.
Instead, Kaelar's blade hovered at Erias's neck, still as the moon.
Erias exhaled in a burst.
Kaelar stepped back.
"Good," he said. "Instinct is the foundation. But instinct alone will not save you."
He motioned with his hand.
"Again. Hold the dagger like this."
He moved behind Erias, adjusting his grip, lowering his shoulders, and straightening his stance.
"Feet apart. Balance low. Your knife is an extension of your heartbeat, not your fear."
Erias nodded, swallowing.
Kaelar circled him.
"Now move."
He demonstrated basic footwork steps, pivots, and guards.
Erias mimicked them clumsily, but determination kept his feet moving long after exhaustion began to drag at his joints.
Kaelar watched without mocking him.
"You have courage," he said. "That is more than most."
As they continued, Dream approached the High Priest, who sat on a fallen log polishing a silver charm.
"You knew evil was rising in the court," Dream said quietly. "Why did you do nothing?"
The High Priest sighed, rubbing his brow.
"I did not know how deep it ran," he admitted. "Whispers. Unrest. Prophecies clouded. But never, never did I imagine my own priests would be corrupted. Never did I foresee Aramoor falling to darkness so quickly."
Dream's eyes were unreadable in the firelight.
"You should have acted sooner."
"I know," the High Priest whispered.
The fire crackled between them.
After dinner, a simple stew of herbs, grain, and dried meat, the camp fell quiet.
The High Priest retreated to his tent to meditate.
Kaelar maintained a silent vigil, sharpening his sword beneath the moon.
Dream rose quietly and walked toward the forest edge.
Erias looked up from the fire.
"Varos… where are you going?"
Dream smiled gently.
"To clear my thoughts."
But when he stepped into the shadow of the trees
He vanished.
His mortal body faded like smoke caught in the wind, dissolving into pure dream-essence.
And he returned to his realm.
The Dream Realm Castle Courtyard
He arrived in the courtyard where Seros and the two thousand dream-born stood assembled beneath the shimmering sky.
The moment they sensed him, every soldier bowed.
Even the Nightmare general lowered his head.
"My lord," Seros said, stepping forward, voice steady but heavy with concern.
Dream walked past them, his eyes burning with cosmic intensity.
"The traitor has made his move," he said. "Aramoor burns. A thousand corrupted dream-born have descended and a thousand demons with them."
Gasps rippled through the army.
Even the Nightmare general's eyes widened.
"A thousand demons?" the general muttered. "Then Ellas has joined his strength with the traitor."
Dream nodded.
"We delay the assault," he said. "The rift has opened prematurely. The city is in chaos. We must protect the dream realm first."
Seros bowed her head.
"As you command."
Dream turned slightly, feeling a familiar presence enter his realm.
Erias.
A faint, fragile spark.
But something else.
"Seros."
"Yes, my lord?"
"Train him," Dream said simply. "His path begins now."
Seros bowed deeply.
"At once, my lord."
With the wave of his hand, Dream teleported her across the realm to where Erias had appeared, lost, confused, and unsteady on a floating platform of starlight.
Dream turned to the Nightmare general.
"And the Nightmare I sent to hunt the traitor?"
The general's jaw tightened.
"Killed," he said. "By a demon of Ellas. A powerful one."
Dream's expression did not change, but the air around him cooled.
"I see."
He looked at the general fully.
"Return to your duties. Sharpen your strength. When the time comes, I will call for you, and the nightmares will wage war beside me."
The Nightmare saluted with a fist pressed to his chest.
"As you will, Lord of Dreams."
And Dream vanished again.
Back in the Mortal Realm Forest Clearing
He reappeared between the pines.
Kaelar was kneeling in prayer, sword planted in the earth before him, head bowed under the moonlight.
He looked up when he sensed Dream.
"You do not sleep," Kaelar said.
Dream offered him a small, mortal smile.
"Sleep and I are… poorly acquainted."
Kaelar chuckled softly.
"Then you and I have that in common."
Dream sat beside him.
"You do not sleep either?"
Kaelar's eyes glinted like flint.
"Sleep is a luxury for those who have not fought too many battles," he said. "I was raised by the church. Given a sword before I understood what death meant. Sent to fight in wars started by kings and nobles who cared nothing for the blade that bled for them."
He paused.
"I have killed for Torvas. For justice. For peace. And for reasons less righteous than I wish to admit."
Dream watched him quietly.
Kaelar continued.
"But I remain loyal. Because if I am not a shield for the innocent? Then what am I?"
Dream raised a hand gently.
Kaelar's eyes fluttered closed.
"You have served enough for tonight," Dream whispered.
And Kaelar fell into a deep, peaceful sleep the first he had known in years.
Dream created a soft blanket from dream-fabric and draped it over him.
Then he looked toward the tents.
The Dream Realm Training Grounds
Erias stood trembling, holding the dagger Kaelar had given him.
Seros watched carefully.
"What have you learned?" she asked.
Erias demonstrated the stance Kaelar showed him.
Then the footwork.
Then a basic strike.
Seros's eyes widened slightly.
"That technique… I do not recognise it from any dream-born styles."
"It was from Kaelar," Erias said.
She nodded.
"A human technique," she murmured. "But efficient."
She circled him.
"Again."
Erias repeated it, slower this time.
"Good. Now faster."
He complied.
Seros raised her staff.
"Now defend."
Erias barely reacted before she struck.
He yelped, dodging by instinct.
Seros didn't stop. She attacked again and again forcing him to use everything he had learned, forcing his reflexes to sharpen.
She struck him in the ribs once.
He winced.
"Pain is a teacher," she said.
She struck again.
He blocked.
A small, surprised smile crossed her face.
"Good."
For an hour, she attacked at random: from above, from behind, from both sides.
Each time Erias improved, little by little.
By the end, he was panting, drenched in sweat, but standing firm.
Seros placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You learn quickly," she said softly. "You will grow."
Erias took a shaky breath.
"Will I be strong?"
"In time," Seros replied. "If you choose to be."
Above them, the stars of the dream realm pulsed with anticipation.
The war had begun.
And the boy's path, fragile, uncertain, but brilliant, had taken its first step.