The world was quiet. A breathless, golden silence.

Caelum stood in the middle of an endless desert—no wind, no sound, only dunes stretching into a blinding horizon. His black coat fluttered as if caught in a breeze that did not exist. The sky was too pale, the sun hidden behind a veil of white haze.

He looked down at his hands. They shimmered faintly, half-real. “This isn’t real,” he murmured, but his voice felt distant—like an echo from a deeper part of himself.

Then, a shadow shifted in the light.

She stood at the crest of a dune, black hair billowing behind her like smoke, motionless against the nothingness. Her figure was wrapped in obsidian silks and adorned with fine chains. But it was her face—or what little of it was visible—that seized his breath.

A mask of blackened metal clung to her lower face, spiked like the fangs of some ancient predator, and crowned with a skull-shaped sigil that matched the chill in his veins. Her eyes—cold silver-gray, burning with intelligence and something else, something like sorrow—met his. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Caelum took a cautious step forward. The sand did not shift beneath his feet. “You,” he said, breath catching in his throat. “Why am I here?”

Her voice was low and clear, like dark water flowing over stone. “Because I called you.”

He blinked. “This is a dream.”

“Yes. But one built of magic.” She tilted her head slightly, watching him the way one might watch a wounded animal—not out of pity, but with silent comprehension. “I used my essence to tether my dream to yours. Our magic… it knows each other.”

He stiffened. “You shouldn’t be able to do that.”

Her eyes narrowed with amusement. “I shouldn’t be able to do many things.”

He clenched his fists, heart pounding. “What do you want from me?”

There was a long pause. The desert seemed to hold its breath.

“To warn you,” she said finally.

His breath caught. Of all the things he’d expected—mockery, cryptic riddles, maybe a magical attack—this wasn’t it.

“What?”

“There is a faction moving toward you. South, across the Ashline Hills.” She stepped closer, and he felt a sudden pull in his chest. Her presence, even here, was suffocating. “They call themselves the Children of the Eclipse. They believe I am a goddess of ruin. They kill in my name.”

His brow furrowed. “Then why warn me? Aren’t they your people?”

She shook her head. “No. They are fanatics. And worse, they’ve learned how to leech power from my magic. They are not bound by my will.”

A gust of hot wind whipped through the dreamscape, but she stood untouched. “You are not prepared for what they carry.”

His voice was sharp now. “Why would you care what happens to me?”

For the first time, her expression shifted. Something unreadable flickered behind her eyes—grief, maybe, or fatigue far older than him.

“Because if they kill you,” she said softly, “I lose.”

He stared at her. “Lose what?”

She didn’t answer. The sand beneath their feet began to ripple. The sky above trembled, and her form flickered for a heartbeat, like a dying flame.

He stepped forward, demanding, “What does that mean? Why are you—”

Her voice cut through the rising wind. “Wake up, Caelum.”

And then, he was no longer in the desert.

He awoke with a gasp, drenched in sweat, the whisper of her voice still clinging to his mind like smoke:

“Wake up.”