The town had two small inns, one on either side of the border, and both were near to capacity. It turned out that a caravan was forming on the Valoria side of town, and its members had spilled over into the Lysandran Inn. This wasn't uncommon, but it was unfortunate for us.

  The inn had plenty of room in the stables and yard for the wagon and horses. What it was lacking was rooms. Two were available, but each only had enough space for two to sleep. I volunteered to stay with the wagon, but that was ruled out immediately.

  Then, to my surprise, Nadine suggested that she should stay in the wagon overnight. She had a few projects she wanted to experiment with, and could use the privacy. Not willing to leave her out there alone, Mara volunteered to go with her. That made me feel a lot more comfortable with the idea, and seeing as the two of them had been growing closer over the past weeks, it made sense.

  With that sorted, I was content to have an evening alone and settled in with my book.

  The next morning, everyone was in a better mood. I think it was a combination of many things. Everyone slept well. Being in the Republic of Lysandra made the others feel less hunted and more comfortable away from the political turmoil, and for me, well, I was finally within sight of home.

  When all the harnesses were secured, the horses were mounted, and we were ready to leave, Mara rode up beside Nadine, where the two of them continued a conversation I assume they'd had going since the night before. Nadine was scrutinizing a bracer she'd covered in runework, and Mara leaned closer with a quiet tsk.

  “You said it needs time to settle,” Mara reminded her.

  “I said that about the binding, not—” Nadine stopped herself. “Never mind.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Mara answered, and I could hear the smile in her voice all the way back where I rode.

  Losing focus on their conversation, I looked back across the town and up the road until it vanished into the trees. There was no sign of pursuit, no approaching force, friendly or hostile, but I still smiled. I knew one would be coming that way in the next few days. I turned and urged Altivo into a canter to catch up with the others.

  We made good time that morning, the air sharp enough to bite at the nose and fingers, but not cruel. Winter had settled in, though it hadn’t found the energy for more snow. Out on the road, it was properly cold, the kind that crept through wool and leather if you let it. Unless you rode close to the wagon. There, it only felt like a cool autumn day.

  Nadine’s enchantments had been quietly stacking up over the past two weeks. Practice for her, practice for me, and instruction layered into both. None of it was flashy or dramatic. It had been steady, patient work, and nothing was left untouched. Our clothes stayed clean and dry no matter how much mud we crossed. The guards’ armor resisted moisture and the faint, creeping rot that always seemed to follow long travel. The wagon itself was turning into something absurdly comfortable. Its wheels no longer feared simple road hazards, the interior always felt fresh, the draft that once slipped through the seams between canvas and wood had vanished entirely. Even the horses pulled with less resistance, as though the road had grown more willing beneath them. It was almost unfair.

  The road remained empty, as expected. No caravans, patrols, or signs of pursuit appeared from either direction. By midday, we had come within a hundred yards of the forest’s outer edge. The trees stood quiet, dark and watchful, the air near them a fraction colder than the open road, and the sunlight all but disappearing only a few dozen yards beyond their edge.

  We stopped not long after, choosing a patch of open ground well within sight of the road. The horses were watered and fed, the wagon checked, and a small fire coaxed to life as much for comfort as cooking. The cold was manageable; it just lingered.

  I stepped away from the group when the work was done, as I always did when we stopped. It had become habit. I moved through a slow series of stretches, rolling my shoulders and working the stiffness from my back. The others had long since stopped commenting on it.

  The longer I kept my wings away, the more awkward it felt. It wasn’t painful, just wrong, as though I were pretending at a shape that no longer quite fit. Sometimes I wondered if the winged form was meant to be my natural one now, and this was nothing more than a human disguise I wore out of convenience. I stretched again, slower this time, feeling the phantom tension along muscles that wanted more space than they were given.

  Nadine watched me longer than she usually did before finally saying, “You’re getting stiffer.”

  “It's nothing,” I answered, turning to rejoin the group.

  “You are,” she insisted. “Every day you look more tense. Are you nervous about going home?”

  The idea made something in me brighten instantly. “No, of course not. I’m excited, actually. I haven’t seen it in so long. I have so much to tell Maeyke about.”

  Nadine paused. “Who’s Maeyke?”

  I blinked. I realized then I had never mentioned her.

  “She raised me when I was very young,” I said carefully. “Until… an incident.” I kept my hands busy adjusting the straps on my gloves. “She’s still there. Still herself. Just less alive than she used to be.”

  Nadine studied me for a moment, clearly aware there was more to that story than I was offering. She let it rest.

  "So, you're looking forward to seeing her, but not your father?” she asked instead.

  I straightened in surprise. "What? No, it's not like that. I am looking forward to seeing them both, but I know she will enjoy the story far more than he will. He's not one for tales."

  "Ah," she answered. "Then, why the tension?"

  I hesitated, then flexed my shoulders. “It’s not nerves. It’s just… uncomfortable. Keeping my wings away this long.”

  Her eyes flicked briefly to my back, though there was nothing to see. “You’re considering bringing them out.”

  “Maybe.”

  A few of the others glanced over at that. Careless of us.

  “We’re far enough ahead of anyone,” Tomas said. “Even if the Church sends word magically, they won’t catch us again.”

  “They might,” Nadine replied calmly. “And if they can’t, someone else could. I doubt it would be safe until we were past Angelshade.”

  Tomas frowned. “Couldn’t you just… put them away again if we run into people?”

  I shook my head. “There’s a cost. It isn’t something I can do lightly.”

  My tone must have made it clear that was the end of the matter. No one pressed further.

  Mara leaned back on her hands, watching me with faint amusement. “It’s too bad they’re too big to hide under a cloak. That would solve everything nicely.”

  Nadine rolled her eyes. “Folding them into something that small would require more breaks than even Mirela could heal.”

  It was only a bit of dark humor, nothing more. I might have laughed if Nadine hadn’t gone abruptly still.

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  “Folds…” she murmured.

  Her gaze shifted, not to my back, but to the mantle I wore draped across my shoulders. Her expression changed in that quiet way it did when something in her mind caught fire.

  She said nothing else. She simply reached for her notebook and began sketching lines and lattices, rune annotations filling in around them, then crossing it all out and starting again. Even after we finished lunch, packed up, and resumed riding, she kept at it, muttering softly to herself while the wagon rolled on.

  Nadine kept at it for the next two days, abandoning nearly every other enchantment and lesson in favor of the idea that had lodged itself in her mind. We camped inside the protective palisade of a small roadside outpost the first night, and I doubted she slept more than two hours. The second day, she began experimenting in earnest.

  The first attempt ended with one of our surplus cloaks bursting into a dozen small flames as it tore itself to pieces. The second was worse. A simple pouch twisted, folded in on itself, scrunched tight as a fist, and then vanished entirely.

  We never did find it.

  Things grew more concerning when she asked Mara to bring down a few birds with her bow and somehow incorporated them into her calculations. I did not ask for details.

  That night, she chose to stay in the wagon again, dragging Mara with her, while the rest of us took rooms at a small crossroads inn. It felt strange after so many days of at least some shared practice, but the solitude did give me time to focus on my own studies. I managed to replicate an experiment I had once read about, refining powdered steel into a purer form more receptive to magic. I suspected it might make an excellent enchanting medium one day, though I hadn’t read far enough ahead before leaving home to be certain.

  By the following day’s midday stop, Nadine looked half-dead and entirely triumphant.

  She presented me with my own cloak, now so thoroughly laden with enchantment that I could feel a subtle pressure against my skin before I even touched it.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “This,” Nadine said, her pride cutting cleanly through exhaustion, “is the solution to your issue.”

  I stared at the oilcloth with both confusion and mild alarm. “You’ll need to be more specific about the issue. And are you certain oilcloth can hold something like this? I can feel it from a foot away. It’s already leaking power.”

  She nodded without hesitation. “It will hold for a few days. A week, perhaps. By then, we will have found a more stable medium. I considered your mantle, but I am nowhere near skilled enough to modify it. That does not matter.” She lifted the cloak slightly, reverent and giddy all at once. “What matters is this. I do not believe anyone has ever made its like.”

  I studied her, wary and curious in equal measure. “And what, exactly, does it do?”

  She grinned, eyes bright despite the dark circles beneath them.

  “It folds wings.”

  I stared at the cloak for a long moment, a fresh memory of her last cloak experiment flashing unpleasantly through my mind, then looked back at her. When she only stared back in eager anticipation, I sighed.

  “I think I’m going to need a bit more to go on,” I said slowly. “I feel like we recently discussed how folding my wings small enough to fit under a cloak would end.”

  Nadine sighed in exasperation, though her excitement barely dimmed. “Not like that. The wings fold inside the cloak. It creates its own space. And more. Look, it’s very complicated. I can show you the rune map later. Just try it.”

  The concept sounded unreal. Then again, it was magic, and I had long since accepted just how brilliant Nadine was when it came to these things. Even so, I could not quite shake the odd mix of trepidation and anticipation that settled like a stone in my stomach. Her previous failures were still fresh in my mind.

  I trusted her. What pushed me over the edge, though, was the longing. The ache to unfurl my wings and stretch them properly had been growing worse by the day. It was manageable when I ignored it, but the moment I focused on it, it flared sharp and insistent. This was a solution to a problem she did not fully understand.

  She had hinted it would be safer after Angelshade, which to me was an obvious way of saying once we were safely in the Forest. But the reality was, I was nervous to show my wings to Father. It would be a final nail in the coffin, proving I was not part of his bloodline. I had always known, for as long as I had known to care about such things, and I think he suspected it too. But suspecting something quietly and seeing it spread wide before you were not the same. Some small part of me felt I should not be so quick to force that moment.

  “Alright,” I said at last. “But if I unfurl them here, I’ll be stuck with them out until I have a chance…”

  I trailed off, glancing around the camp. The others were making a show of not listening.

  Nadine did not hesitate. “It’s fine. Worst case, you sleep in the wagon for a day or two. An opportunity will present itself.”

  She sounded entirely comfortable with the idea. It caught me off guard. I was not sure if it was exhaustion, excitement, or simply that she had grown used to it all. Perhaps it was selfish, but I hoped it was the latter.

  The concern settled, and I nodded. I closed my eyes and then let go.

  My wings unfurled in a rush of shifting weight and air, and I breathed out without meaning to, the sound closer to relief than effort. My entire body seemed to settle into itself. The faint, subtle thinness I had barely noticed the first time I wore this shape returned, and this time, it felt more like I'd shed something unnecessary. I felt lighter, more balanced, as though I had been standing slightly off-center for days and had only just corrected it.

  This was how I was meant to feel.

  I had barely begun to enjoy it when Nadine stepped forward. I sensed the movement more than saw it, and before I opened my eyes, the cloak settled over my shoulders. The oilcloth slid into place, cool at first, then warming against my skin.

  There was a strange sensation as the enchantment took hold, almost like the world was less solid. My wings didn't compress or strain under the weight of the fabric. Instead, they seemed to pass through something softer than air, drawn inward with the slow, fluid motion of the cloth itself. I could still feel them, every feather and joint, but the space around them had changed. It was flexible, yielding, and impossibly accommodating.

  For one terrible second, panic flared bright in my chest. I flexed instinctively, expecting resistance, expecting something to snap or tear. Nothing did. The movement felt… muffled, perhaps, but not constrained. My wings responded to me. They were still there. Still mine.

  I opened my eyes slowly. From the outside, the cloak hung as it always had. From the inside, though, when I lifted a corner and looked down, I froze.

  Spread across the lining was an intricate pattern of red wings, impossibly detailed, each feather rendered with such realism that I almost expected them to shift beneath my gaze. They followed the curve of the fabric in a way that made no sense, as though the space within the cloak were deeper than it had any right to be.

  I swallowed and looked back at Nadine. She was watching me with the expression of someone who had just dared the world to prove her wrong and was delighted when it failed to do so.

  “It worked,” I said, unable to keep the astonishment from my voice.

  Her mouth fell open in mock offense. “You didn’t think I could do it?”

  I laughed. “No. I mean, yes, of course I did. I’ve just never heard of anything like this before. It’s amazing.”

  Her grin returned immediately. “That’s more like it.”

  Roderick recovered from his surprise a fraction of a second before the others, and soon they were all stepping closer to inspect the cloak for themselves.

  “This is incredible,” he said, running his fingers along the cloth.

  I shivered as I felt his touch brush over my feathers through whatever strange space Nadine had created. He jerked his hand back at once, clearing his throat as though he had touched something far more intimate than oilcloth.

  “Could you do this for something else?” he asked. “To hold a weapon? Or something larger?”

  Nadine hesitated only briefly before nodding. “I believe so. I had to build rules into the enchantment to keep it stable. This is restricted to a specific set of wings, for example. But I could alter the parameters for something else.”

  I flexed experimentally, shifting my shoulders and giving my wings a cautious stretch. The pattern inside the cloak moved in perfect response, red feathers sliding across the lining as though painted by living hands. I looked back at Nadine, unable to keep the smile from my face.

  “Thank you, Nadine. This is… wonderful. Do I need to do anything special to take it off?”

  She froze.

  Very slowly, she turned her gaze toward me, eyes wide.

  “Take it off?” she repeated, as though I had just suggested burning it.

  A flicker of alarm crept up my spine. “Yes. Eventually. I assume I will not be wearing this for the rest of my life.”

  She held the stare for another heartbeat, perfectly still.

  Then her composure broke, and she laughed. “Mirela.”

  The others relaxed almost in unison.

  “You can remove it like a normal cloak,” she said, still smiling. “The enchantment is keyed to you. It only engages while you are wearing it. I am not in the habit of trapping people in their outerwear.”

  “I would prefer you remain out of that habit,” I replied dryly.

  She made a small, pleased sound, clearly satisfied with herself.

  I shook my head, though I could not quite suppress my smile. “You enjoy this far too much.”

  “Of course I do,” she said. “It worked.”

  We rode longer than we had meant to, our midday stop stretching far past its usual measure thanks to Nadine’s triumphant demonstration. By the time the light began to fade, the air had taken on that heavy stillness that comes just before true dark. The next outpost came into view not long after sunset, its low palisade and lanterns a welcome sight against the dimming road.

  It was just before we reached it that I felt the eyes watching us from the Forest. They stood near the treeline, half in shadow, half in the last narrow band of light still reaching through the branches. At first glance, they were little more than vertical shapes against the trunks, too still to be mistaken for travelers. The fading sun caught the edge of one shoulder, one cheek, before slipping away entirely.

  Mara stiffened a moment after I did. Her bow hand shifted, subtle but ready.

  “Do you see that?” she asked quietly.

  “I do.”

  “They could be monsters,” she murmured. “Or undead.”

  I watched the nearest figure tilt its head slightly, just enough to make it clear we'd been seen. Nothing about it was threatening. I knew they would not approach. Their purpose was simply to observe, and they would move on soon enough.

  “No,” I said. “They’re not.”

  She waited for more.

  “They’re just the Watchers.”

  The word settled between us without explanation. Mara glanced at me, then back at the treeline. The figures did not advance. They did not retreat. They remained precisely where the light ended, and the forest began, patient as stone.

  After a few breaths, Mara eased her hand from her bowstring.

  Curiously, they were still there when we reached the outpost gates. When I looked back once more before passing inside, they had not moved at all.

  ? My Night With My Nightmares ?

  by Demon_Flower

  What does it take to turn a nightmare into a weapon?

  Drayen was an ordinary university student—quietly intelligent, comfortably careless, and content to fade into the background.

  Until he fell asleep in class… and woke up in a world where he shouldn’t exist.

  A broken hall.

  Cracked statues.

  A shadow that watches him from the dark.

  When he wakes again, the Nightmare doesn’t fade. Instead, it leaves something behind.

  Fragments of his previous life begin to surface—memories of Rael, a man shaped by blood, loss, and a revenge that ended in a hospital bed.

  Now, as the Nightmare Realm begins to bleed into reality, ancient bloodlines stir and hidden factions move in silence.

  The world he knew is already gone.

  To survive what comes next… how will he wield the nightmare?

  What to Expect: (Uploads: Tue / Thu / Sat)

  (no cheat systems)

  >Light slice-of-life woven into the progression