The cozy warmth of Linda’s cabin wrapped around them like a gentle blanket. The faint crackle of the fire in the hearth sent shimmering shadows dancing along the rough-hewn walls. Chad moved gracefully, footsteps muffled on the polished wooden floor, and poured himself a glass of water from a softly glowing pitcher. He took a slow sip, eyeing John’s shoulder with quiet concern.
John was stretched out on a narrow cot by the fireplace, his face pale but determined, the cloth of his torn shirt soaked with blood and dirt. The wound over his shoulder looked nasty—a jagged laceration, raw and swollen, the skin around it inflamed from the struggle.
Chad kept his voice gentle but steady. “John, there’s an injury on your shoulder. Looks deep.”
John shifted slightly, grit and exhaustion flashed across his face. “Yeah, I can feel it,” he muttered. “Hurts like hell.”
Linda stepped closer, her warm eyes already flickering with something deeper—compassion, understanding, and a touch of sorrow. She knelt beside him, her fingertips brushing lightly over the torn fabric—just enough to get a sense of the damage beneath.
Her face softened as if she could sense more than what was visible. She hesitated for a moment, then reached out and gently pressed her hand around the torn cloth, palpating the aching flesh beneath. Her brows furrowed ever so slightly, and her gaze deepened with a hint of sadness.
“I can see what happened,” she murmured softly, voice thick with remorse. “I’m very sorry you had to endure that.” Her eyes held his for a moment, tender but profound, as if she was seeing into the very pain that haunted him. “You’re brave, John. More than you realize.”
John’s brow knit. “Are you… okay?” he asked, voice thick with fatigue but tinged with concern.
Linda offered a faint, reassuring smile, but her expression revealed something more—an internal ache. “I feel it—what you went through—and it’s not just the wound. It’s the fear. The anger. The strength it took to come through this.” She took a small, sterile pair of scissors from her sleeve, the blades gleaming faintly in the firelight.
With careful precision, she slid her fingers beneath the torn fabric and cut along the edges, peeling back the bloody cloth to reveal the raw flesh beneath. It was not gentle, but deliberate—necessary. Blood darkened the skin, the laceration jagged and deep, muscles torn and tendons visible in some places.
John winced sharply, a jolt of pain shooting through him as the fabric was pulled away, his breath hitching involuntarily. His muscles tensed; every nerve alive with discomfort.
Linda hovered her hand just above the injury, her palm radiating a soft, white glow. It hummed gently, like the whisper of a breeze through a quiet forest. Her expression was one of quiet reverence—as if channeling something sacred.
The glow intensified, bathing the wound in an soothing, pristine light. The edges of the cut began to close, flesh sealing slowly beneath her touch. The swelling diminished, redness fading, leaving behind a new layer of skin—a gentle, almost miraculous transformation.
John inhaled sharply, feeling the pain ebb away—an odd mix of warmth and relief coursing through him. His body relaxed slightly, surprised at how quickly the healing was happening. The ache was still there, but it was replaced by a soothing calm, as if his body remembered its own natural power.
Alora watched in fascination, eyes wide as she leaned closer, her gaze fixated on Linda’s hovering hand and the healing glow. A quiet awe flickered across her face.
“Wow,” she breathed softly, trembling with wonder. “That’s… incredible.”
John looked at her, eyes clouded with a mixture of pain and disbelief. “That… that actually works? That’s real?” His voice cracked with astonishment.
Linda’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Yes,” she replied softly, voice full of warmth and silent strength. “It’s a gift—a connection to something higher. I can see what you carry, what you hide. And I can help you carry it a little easier.”
As the glow dimmed and her hand withdrew, faint patches of new, smooth flesh covered the gash, healing almost completely. The redness was gone—the skin unbroken and fresh.
John sat up slowly, testing his shoulder. The pain was gone, replaced with a comforting dullness, like a numb reassurance that he was going to be okay.
He looked at Linda with gratitude, a deep respect filling his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly, voice thick with emotion.
Alora was still marveling, her fingers reaching out instinctively toward the healing light. As John sat up slowly, his muscles still tender but without the sharp pang of pain, Alora’s gaze drifted over him—and her eyes widened suddenly at the sight of a tattoo on his back. The ink was strange, intricate, swirling with designs that shimmered faintly in the firelight. It looked like a symbol, ancient and unfathomable, deep beneath the surface.
Before she could make out what it was, a ripple of shimmering light shot across John’s chest and shoulders. In an instant, a new shirt materialized, fitting seamlessly over his torso and obscuring the tattoo beneath soft, white fabric. The fabric rippled briefly, as if sentience itself had just woven it into existence.
Linda reached out gently, her eyes soft with understanding. “In this world,” she murmured, “you will learn that most injuries can be healed within yourself, given what you are. Just like making things appear—it's a matter of knowing and willing."
John’s brow furrowed. Confused, he looked at her. “What do you mean, what I am?”
She smiled gently, tilting her head with quiet patience. “Don’t you feel it? That connection—deep inside, between us? You might not see it yet, but it’s there.”
He looked down, tentatively, then nodded slowly, uncertainty flickering across his face.
She continued softly, “In a way, we are. Half dreamers, half dreams. That’s the simplest way I can put it.”
A pause settled, thick and charged, until Chad’s voice broke softly through, unmistakable and calm. “Don’t say much more,” he advised evenly. “That’s a lesson for another time. Right now, there are more immediate things to learn.”
Alora, listening from nearby, couldn’t hold back her curiosity. She hesitated then asked softly, “And what about me? Am I… part of this too? Or just bystanders in a dream?”
Linda’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile—her face radiating warmth. “You, Alora… you are most important. You are a full dreamer—one whose reach extends beyond this world. You’re not just here to watch; you're part of the fabric that weaves this reality. Your role is still unfolding.”
Alora’s brow furrowed, absorbing her words. “So, I’m… more than just a visitor?”
Linda nodded gently. “Yes. You are a creator in your own right. You have the power to shape and change what’s around you, even if you don’t see it yet. Feel it. Trust it.”
There was a pause, heavy with understanding. Linda’s voice, though blind, carried an undeniable authority—her words thick with unseen depth.
John looked down, mulling it all over. The realization settled in his chest—his own nature, the intangible connection with Linda, Alora’s strength—that this realm was built on intention, belief, and will.
Alora looked at John, her brow furrowing. “I haven’t been able to do what you did, make things appear, I mean. Maybe it’s just because I doubt myself—deep down, I’m holding something back.”
Linda’s voice was calm but certain. “That doubt—the hesitation—is a barrier. Your true strength lies in trust. When you believe completely in what you carry, the world listens.”
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Chad, standing nearby, glanced at Linda. “Can you talk with me in another room for a moment?”
Without hesitation, Linda nodded, and in a smooth motion, she slipped through the doorway and vanished into the next room, leaving John and Alora alone.
The silence thickened, quiet but charged. Then, almost too quickly, Alora leaned in and whispered, “You didn’t tell me you had a tattoo.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Well, you never asked.”
She shot him a quick look. “What is it?”
He hesitated, then slowly nodded toward his back. “It’s an outline of an eagle, globe, and anchor. You know, the one from the military.”
Her brow raised in amused skepticism. “You’ve got a tattoo and never said a word? I swear, I’ve known guys who’d brag about that.”
He gave a small shrug, a faint smile touching his lips. “Like I said, never came up.”
She smirked. “And I suppose you just forgot to tell me what the quote says?”
He chuckled softly. “Yeah. ‘In the darkest hour, when the demons come, call on me, brother, and we will fight them together.’”
Alora’s eyes widened slightly, surprised at the seriousness behind it. Then she shot him a quick, dry remark: “You probably should change ‘demons’ to ‘nightmares,’ maybe—make it a little more accurate.”
John’s smile grew, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Better yet, I’ll keep it exactly as it is. Because in this world, you don’t pick what’s real—you just fight what shows up.”
She was silent for a moment, then murmured, “Yeah, well… I think you should. But I get it. We’re here now—with Chad and Linda. We’ll be okay. Somehow.”
He looked at her, steady. “We’ve got each other. That’s more than enough now.”
John looked at Alora, a knowing smile on his face. “So, do you have a tattoo too?”
She shifted her left ankle, revealing a small, faintly etched key, wrapped around her ankle like a delicate bracelet. The symbol was simple, but it looked ancient.
John raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, that’s… cool, I guess.” His tone dripped with sarcasm.
She gave him a soft jab on the shoulder.
At that moment, Chad and Linda walked in, the door closing softly behind them. Linda offered a warm smile. “Well, how about you two go with Chad for an hour or so while I prepare dinner?”
Alora looked at her. “Do we need help with that?”
Linda nodded slightly. “Maybe next time. For now, it’s important that you go with Chad. You’ll learn more if you do.”
The three of them stepped outside into the cool night air. John tilted his chin upward, gazing at the sky — and then his eyes widened slightly. Three moons hung high above, each glowing with its own strange light.
He let out a quiet, “Huh.”
Alora looked at him, puzzled. “What?”
John shrugged, still staring. “Just… three moons. That’s new.”
Chad cut in, his voice steady but with a hint of instruction. “Alright, let’s get to work. We’re going to practice again with creating things. Like Linda said, Alora—you’re a dreamer. Unlike John, when you get hurt, unfortunately, we can’t heal you the same way. But in theory”—he raised a brow—“you should be stronger than all of us once you figure it out.”
Alora looked thoughtful, then nodded. “I guess it’s good to know I’ve got that advantage. Or curse,” she added with a smirk.
John chuckled quietly. “Yeah, just don’t get too cocky. I’d hate for you to conjure up a demon by accident.”
They all shared a brief, knowing glance, then started walking deeper into the woods, heads full of questions but hearts steady enough to face whatever came next.
Alora paused for a moment, her gaze dropping to the ground. The silence grew thick with unspoken questions. She hesitated, nerves fluttering in her chest, but knew she had to ask.
“When you say, John, he’s half dreamer and half dream,” she started softly, “what do you mean by that? I’ve known him for three years now, and… implying there’s something else about him—about all this—just doesn’t add up. It doesn’t make sense.”
Chad exhaled slowly, acknowledging her question with a heavy sigh. “That’s a fair question,” he said, voice low. “It’s something you’ll learn as we go. It’ll reveal itself in time—just be patient with that part of him, and of all this.”
John looked at her, his expression steady but kind. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly. “We’re figuring things out as we go—together.”
Chad nodded once, then moved forward. “Alright. Let’s start with what we already know.”
He turned to John, who positioned his right arm out — palm facing down. With a clear, focused gesture, he summoned the spear-like hasta into his hand, the shimmering metal instantly materializing in the air. He grasped it firmly before it could fall, feeling the weight and texture.
“Very good,” Chad said, voice calm but encouraging. “Now, Alora—your turn. Just think of anything being in your hand. Anything at all.”
Alora looked at him, a mixture of nervousness and determination crossing her face. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, then reached out in her mind, trying to focus. The world around her seemed to hold its breath.
Alora opened one eye, then the other, slowly, as if reluctant to face another attempt. Her face fell into a look of disappointment when she realized she still hadn’t been able to make anything appear. A small sigh escaped her, and she looked down at her hands, frustration clear.
Chad spoke softly, offering reassurance. “Don’t worry, Alora. It’s a learning curve. When you do figure it out, you’ll be able to create things even I can’t, maybe things beyond what I’ve seen in my time here.”
She gave a small nod, taking a deep breath and trying to steady herself. Chad glanced back at John with a calm smile. “Alright, John. Now, it’s your turn. Try to create something from the real world—something you’d come across or use regularly. Think of it as a test, but also as a step forward.”
John nodded, eyes thoughtful. He took a moment, then said, “Got it,” and with a focused gesture, immediately summoned a replica of a cell phone.
Alora’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Oh, cool! Let’s see if we can contact someone from their world,” she said, leaning closer with curiosity.
Chad looked puzzled, crossing his arms. “How does it work?”
John looked at the device in his hand, a faint smile on his face. “I don’t really know. I mean, but… I’m not exactly sure how it functions around here.”
They all stared at the phone for a moment, but nothing happened. The screen stayed dark, and the device was silent.
Chad let out a slow breath. “What is it?”
John looked down at the phone, a little sheepish. “It’s nothing… at the moment,” he admitted softly.
Alora scowled slightly, still trying to make sense of it. “It’s a phone,” she said, gesturing to the device. “It’s supposed to be able to talk to people in their world, just like we can talk here. But… it’s not turning on. Why?”
John shrugged. “I guess I don’t really understand how it works exactly. I just made it. It’s probably missing something.”
Chad nodded thoughtfully. “In that case… if you don’t understand what you made, then it can’t work. That’s how this realm functions. You need to understand the core of what you’re creating—what powers it, what makes it function—before it can truly come alive.”
The group fell into quiet contemplation, the flickering light of the fire casting shadows over their faces. Outside, the night stretched on, filled with unspoken questions and the faint buzz of the world trying to settle into place.
Chad’s expression tightened. His voice stayed calm, but urgency crept in.
“Listen—you two,” he said firmly. “Asani will be after us soon. It’s important you figure these things out—for your protection.”
Alora frowned. “Why would he come after us? We don’t even want to be here.”
Chad shot her a brief glance, then turned to John. “I mean, he’ll be after me, Linda… and you.”
John’s eyes widened. “Why me? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Chad looked away, jaw tightening. “Maybe you should read more of those journals. There might be answers there.”
A beat.
“And… perhaps we should pick this up another time.”
The weight of his words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. The understanding that time was slipping away, and they needed to figure things out—fast.
Alora suddenly broke the silence, voice sharp with frustration. “This is bullshit. You’ve been giving us the runaround forever, Chad. You need to start being more straight-up with us—explain what the hell is really going on.”
Chad looked at her, quiet for a moment. Then his gaze softened slightly, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. “I admit there are things going on that even I am unsure of,” he said, voice steady but honest. “Now, let’s go inside.”
The air felt heavier after her outburst, the tension lingering in the charged silence as they moved toward the cabin doors.
Alora glanced back at John, expecting him to add something, but he was already absorbed in the journal, his eyes scanning the pages with quiet focus. She let out a small sigh, half amusement, half frustration. “Well, that didn’t take long,” she muttered, half to herself.
Without another word, they followed Chad into the cabin. Inside, the air was warm and inviting—an immediate contrast to the tension outside. The faint scent of actual cooked food drifted through the room, bringing a surprising sense of comfort. For a moment, Alora felt her nerves easing just a little.
She could hear Linda singing softly in the kitchen—something gentle and lilting, a tune she couldn’t quite recognize. Curious, Alora moved closer, stepping quietly across the floorboards, trying to catch the melody more clearly.
Meanwhile, John watched her leave the room with a faint, distracted smile. Then, slowly, he looked back at the journal resting in his lap, the pages fluttering faintly as he re-read the words—trying to make sense of them, trying to find a way forward.
Journal Entry:
