The warmth of sunlight filtered through the grand windows of his bedroom, casting intricate patterns on the floor. The room was vast, adorned with polished wood furniture and rich velvet drapes, all befitting a noble's status. Valen lay sprawled on his oversized bed, the soft silk sheets tangled around his legs.
Just outside his window, something scratched, a tall wide shadow descends upon him ready to grab him. Then a knock sounded at the door. The soft creak of it opening followed. A maid stepped in, her posture formal but her demeanor kind. Behind her, a girl about Valen's age peeked into the room, holding a tray with a steaming teacup. The younger maid had a playful spark in her eyes, but she kept her head bowed respectfully as her mother spoke.
"Master Valen, it's time to rise," the older maid said with a gentle firmness.
Valen groaned, pulling a pillow over his head. "Do I have to? It's not like anyone expects me to do anything important today."
The younger maid stifled a giggle, and her mother shot her a warning glance before turning back to Valen. "Your parents may not hold high expectations, but that's no reason to laze about. You're still a noble, young master."
"Barely," Valen muttered, though he sat up, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes. The younger maid stepped forward and placed the tray on his bedside table, her movements quick and precise.
"Good morning, Master Valen," she said with a small smile, her tone teasing. "Dreaming of heroics again?"
He smirked, brushing his hair back. "Always. Someone has to save the realm from mediocrity, don't they?"
The older maid sighed, shaking her head as she adjusted his curtains. "You'd do well to focus on your studies, young master, instead of daydreaming about adventures."
"Studies," Valen repeated with mock horror. "How thrilling."
The younger maid giggled again, earning another stern look from her mother.
Valen strolled through the mansion's grand halls, his boots clicking softly against the marble floors. The air was filled with the faint aroma of freshly baked bread and the distant hum of servants attending to their duties. His parents were likely in the study or hosting a noble dinner where Valen wasn't expected to be.
He found himself in the library, a place he often escaped to when the weight of noble expectations or the lack thereof grew too heavy. Rows upon rows of books towered above him, their spines gleaming in the light.
Plucking a book from the shelf, he sank into one of the plush armchairs. It was a tale of a legendary hero, one who rose from obscurity to save the world. Valen couldn't help but chuckle. "As if life ever works out so cleanly," he muttered to himself.
Just then, the younger maid appeared in the doorway, her arms laden with linens. "Master Valen, the stable master said your horse is ready if you'd like to ride today."
He glanced up, closing the book. "A ride sounds far better than reading about someone else's adventures."
The maid tilted her head, curiosity glinting in her eyes. "Where will you go today?"
"Anywhere but here," he said with a wink, standing and stretching.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the sprawling grounds of the estate. The cool wind blew gently through the trees, rustling the leaves in a symphony of whispers. Valen rode at a relaxed pace, his horse's hooves thudding softly against the dirt path, with the young maid, Rose, riding beside him. She held onto the reins with both hands, though her grip was light and easy, a reflection of her calm demeanor.
Rose was with him on the horse. She was of similar age, her youthful face framed by simple maid attire, yet something about the way she sat atop the horse made her seem more regal than her station suggested. They had been close friends since they were children. Back then, they would often run through the estate together, playing in the fields and getting into harmless mischief.
"Do you ever think about leaving?" Valen asked, his voice barely rising above the soft clip clop of the horse's hooves.
Rose glanced over at him, her face thoughtful. She was quiet for a moment, but Valen noticed the faraway look in her eyes. "Leave?" she repeated. "Where would I go? What would I do?"
"Anywhere but here," he said, gesturing to the vast estate surrounding them. "I don't think anyone notices when I'm around. Maybe it's the same for you."
She was silent for a long moment, the only sound between them the wind and the rhythmic trotting of the horse. "I think I would miss the gardens," Rose said softly. "And the way the roses bloom in the spring. But you... you're different. You don't have to stay. You could go anywhere, be anything."
Valen snorted softly, shaking his head. "I'm the black sheep of this house, Rose. Even if I wanted to leave, I don't think anyone would care."
She met his gaze, her lips curving upward just slightly. "Maybe you just don't realize how much you're needed here. You might be a 'black sheep,' but you're still a part of this place. A part of everything."
Valen didn't know how to respond to that. Instead, he nudged the horse gently, urging it into a trot. He had always liked her quiet, calm nature. Even as a child, she never seemed to mind being the observer rather than the instigator.
They rode through the winding paths of the estate's sprawling grounds. The trees were dense, their canopies thick enough to block out much of the sun, casting the trails in shade. The scent of fresh grass and the earth beneath their horses' hooves filled the air, and for a moment, Valen felt a sense of peace that he hadn't experienced in a long time.
"What if I really did leave?" he asked, his voice quieter this time. "What if I went off and didn't come back? What would you think?"
Rose was silent for a moment, and then she answered, her voice steady. "I would miss you, of course. But more than that... I think you'd regret it. You'd feel lost. You've always had everything handed to you, Valen. But you can't escape the responsibility forever."
His expression darkened. "Responsibility? I never asked for any of it."
"I know," Rose said, her tone softening. "But sometimes, things aren't about asking. They just are."
They rounded a bend in the trail, and ahead of them, the distant mansion stood its towering silhouette bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun, as they approached a small creek that ran through the estate.
Valen dismounted, stretching his legs as he led his horse to the water. He lowered his hands to the cool stream, letting the water run through his fingers as Rose followed. The silence between them felt comfortable, familiar, yet it was laced with something unsaid.
"Maybe one day," Valen murmured, looking down at the water, "I'll find something more than this. Something worth fighting for."
Rose watched him, a quiet understanding in her eyes. "You will. But just remember, you don't have to go far to find it."
The breeze shifted, carrying the scent of the estate's flowers with it. For a fleeting moment, Valen allowed himself to feel something other than the suffocating weight of his title. Perhaps Rose was right. Perhaps he didn't have to leave to find what he was searching for.
But in that moment, something else tugged at him a feeling that this peaceful life, this dream, would not last. The sense that things were about to change, and not for the better. The shadows of his future seemed to loom just beyond his reach, and for the first time in a long time, Valen wasn't sure if he was ready for them.
As the sun set behind the horizon, casting a deep orange glow over the estate, Valen felt the faintest stir of doubt within himself. It wasn't about what he had, or what he could gain. It was about who he was meant to become.
And he wasn't sure if anyone, not even Rose, could give him the answer.
Valen's dream began to fracture. The warm tones of the sunlit estate flickered like the last remnants of a candle's glow, replaced by something darker, colder. The shadows seemed to grow and shift unnaturally, curling around the edges of his vision. As the world warped, Valen's horse reared, panicked, and Rose screamed but the sound was distant, muffled, as if coming from behind a thick wall.
Then, the first flash hit.
It came in sharp, vivid detail a vision of the family estate ablaze. Flames licked up the grand halls, devouring the intricate woodwork and priceless paintings. The once pristine gardens were now ash streaked and trampled, littered with corpses. Valen stumbled forward in the vision, coughing, his throat burning from the smoke.
The shadow appeared. A towering, menacing figure, vaguely resembling Nyra but distorted, wreathed in darkness. Its presence chilled him to his core, and it didn't speak, but its eyes blazing and otherworldly seemed to scream at him of what was to come. Its form moved fluidly, almost like a phantom, leading him deeper into the nightmare.
Another flash.
His mother, the elegant lady of the house, standing before him. But something was wrong terribly wrong. Her once beautiful features were twisted, her skin marred with the dark, scaly patches of a Kruul hybrid. Her eyes were no longer kind, but filled with rage and pain. She lashed out, her claws raking through the air as she attacked his father, who stood valiantly to shield Valen.
"Run!" his father bellowed, his sword clashing against his wife's monstrous claws. "Valen, RUN!"
Valen froze, his legs rooted to the ground. He wanted to move, to help, but his body betrayed him. He watched in horror as his father was overpowered, her clawed hand ripping through his chest. His father's lifeless body hit the ground, and his mother turned her gaze toward him.
Another flash.
Rose. She was trapped beneath a collapsing beam, her face streaked with soot and tears. Valen reached out for her, desperately clawing at the debris, but it was too heavy. Her voice was weak, trembling. "Valen... go... you have to go..."
"No! I'm not leaving you!" he cried, his hands bleeding as he tried to pull her free.
But then the rest of the structure came down. The roof caved in, and in an instant, she was gone. The last thing he saw was her outstretched hand, reaching for him before the flames consumed her.
Another flash.
The scene shifted. He was outside now, the estate reduced to smoldering ruins. The air was thick with ash, and the sky was an ominous grey. He was the only one left alive. His family, his friends, his home everything was gone. But before he could even comprehend the weight of his loss, the sound of marching boots filled the air.
A group of soldiers appeared from the smoke, their armor bearing the crests of rival noble houses. Their swords were drawn, and their faces were cold, unfeeling. One of them stepped forward, a man with a scar running across his jaw.
"Leave no witnesses," the man ordered.
Valen stumbled back, his heart racing. "Wait! I"
But they didn't wait. The soldiers advanced on him, their blades raised. Valen's hands trembled as he reached for a weapon, but there was nothing. He was defenseless, powerless. The first blow struck his shoulder, sending him to the ground. Another kick to his ribs, and he gasped for air. The scarred man raised his sword, aiming for the final strike.
Then the shadow returned.
It loomed over the scene, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. The soldiers didn't react to it they couldn't see it, but Valen could. It moved closer, its form indistinct but imposing, and its eyes burned into his soul. It whispered something, a voice like a distant storm, but he couldn't understand the words.
As the shadow's presence enveloped him, the dream shattered like glass. The last thing he saw was the scarred man's blade descending toward him before everything went black.
Valen clutched his head, trying to shut out the shadow's overwhelming presence. The dream pulled him back to the sunlit estate, to the warmth of the day he had spent with Rose. The gentle laughter of her voice, the softness of her touch as she steadied herself on the horse, and the carefree smile on her face these were the moments he clung to, desperately trying to anchor himself in the illusion.
But the shadow wasn't done with him. It wasn't a passive observer it was a force, relentless and insistent. The darkness curled around the edges of the scene, turning the vivid greens of the estate into dull greys. Rose's laughter started to echo, distorted and distant, as if it were being dragged away. The warmth of the sun turned cold, and the sky began to darken.
Valen shouted, "No! Stay as it is! Stay!" He whipped his head around, trying to avoid the creeping reality, trying to hold onto the dream. His chest heaved, and his hands trembled as he fought the changes, willing the dream to stay perfect.
The shadow advanced, closer now, and its presence began to peel away the layers of illusion. Valen found himself back in his bedroom, the soft morning light streaming through the windows. Rose entered, her smile as radiant as ever. "Master Valen, it's time to wake up!" she said cheerfully.
He reached out for her, his voice desperate. "Rose don't go. Don't leave me."
But this time, the shadow was in the room too, standing silently in the corner, its fiery eyes fixed on him. As Valen's gaze shifted to it, the room began to collapse. The ceiling cracked and fell away, revealing flames licking up the walls. The vision began to twist and fracture again, and the shadow moved forward, its voice like thunder.
"See," it said, a single word that echoed in his mind like an unrelenting drumbeat.
"No!" Valen screamed, backing away. "This isn't real! It doesn't have to be real!"
But the shadow reached for him, its long, amorphous fingers brushing against his temple. Memories flooded in, sharp and raw, piercing through the dream.
He saw his mother, twisted into the monstrous Kruul hybrid, tearing through his father. He saw the fire consuming the estate, the walls crumbling, and Rose trapped beneath the beams, her eyes wide with fear and pain. He saw the soldiers descending on him, their cold steel glinting in the firelight before fading again.
"Stop it!" Valen roared, clutching his head. "I don't want to this!"
The shadow didn't relent. It surrounded him now, its voice growing louder, more insistent. "See what you've forgotten. See what you've buried."
Valen dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He clung to the fading fragments of the dream, to the life he wanted to remember. But the shadow tore through it all, leaving him in the darkness of the burning estate, with the echoes of screams and the acrid smell of smoke.
He could feel the weight of it all crushing him the helplessness, the guilt, the loss. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he finally whispered, "Why? Why are you doing this to me?"
The shadow didn't answer. It merely stood there, watching, waiting. It wasn't just trying to torment him it wanted him to face the truth. To feel it, to accept it, to witness it.
Valen clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "I won't let you win," he said through gritted teeth. "I won't let you take this from me!"
But deep down, he knew the shadow had already won. It wasn't taking anything from him it was giving him back what he had tried so hard to bury. And in the deepest part of his heart, he feared he wasn't strong enough to face it.
As the shadow burned brighter, Valen shielded his eyes, the once oppressive darkness now replaced with an intense golden red glow. The rune on its chest pulsed with life, the same intricate markings as the one Vivin had given him. It seared itself into his vision, as if branding its existence onto his very soul. The flames licked at the edges of the shadow's form, carving out detail's muscles, stature, and finally, a face that was eerily familiar.
It was Nyra.
But not quite. Her features were there, etched into the fiery silhouette, but her expression was cold and detached, as though she was only a reflection of herself a fragment of the hero she had become. The tattoos that lined her body were mirrored in this fiery form, glowing brighter with each pulse of the rune.
Valen staggered back, his breath caught in his throat. "Nyra? Is that... you?"
The shadow didn't answer with words. Instead, it stepped forward, its movements deliberate and heavy, each footfall echoing like thunder in the fractured dreamscape. The burning light of the rune on its chest pulsed in sync with Valen's own heartbeat, as if tethering them together.
Valen's memories, the ones he had fought so desperately to suppress, began to bleed into the scene again. The fire, the screams, Rose's final moments everything was clearer now, sharper. The dream offered no reprieve. And yet, this shadow, this fiery, twisted version of Nyra didn't seem like an enemy.
"Why?" Valen demanded, his voice shaking. "Why are you showing me this? Why do you look like her?"
The shadow finally spoke, its voice resonating with an otherworldly echo, both familiar and alien. "Because you refuse to see."
"See what?!" Valen shouted, the anguish in his voice splitting the air.
"Your weakness," the shadow replied, the rune on its chest glowing brighter with every word. "Your fear. Your guilt. You hide from it, clinging to the past like it can save you. But the past is gone, Valen. And you cannot escape what you've done."
The fiery figure began to circle him, the flames flickering but never waning. The memories intensified the sound of the roof collapsing on Rose, the guttural cries of his mother turned Kruul, the cold steel of the soldiers' swords as they dragged him away.
"You want to be a hero," the shadow continued, its voice sharper now, cutting into him like a blade. "But heroes don't run from their pain. They don't bury their failures. They face them. And they rise."
Valen shook his head, his hands trembling. "You don't understand! I didn't want this life! I didn't ask to lose everything! To lose... her!"
The shadow stopped in front of him, leaning down so that its glowing, fiery eyes were level with his. "Then stop pretending you're powerless. You survived, Valen. And survival means you have a choice. Are you going to keep running? Or will you fight for something greater?"
The rune on its chest flared again, and this time, it wasn't just light. It radiated warmth no, heat. It burned into Valen, not physically, but deep within him, igniting something he had buried long ago. Determination. Resolve.
The memories around him began to shift. The fire still burned, but it no longer consumed him. The screams still echoed, but they no longer paralyzed him. Instead, they became a backdrop a reminder of where he had come from, and of what he had to overcome.
Valen clenched his fists, his gaze locking onto the shadow. "I'm not running anymore," he said, his voice steady for the first time. "I'll face it. All of it. But you don't get to control me."
The shadow straightened, the flames around it flickering as if in acknowledgment. "Good," it said simply. "But this is only the beginning."
With that, the shadow began to dissolve, the flames dimming until only the glowing rune remained, hovering in the air before him. It pulsed one final time, and then, like a spark snuffed out, it vanished, leaving Valen alone in the darkness of the dream.
But this time, the darkness felt different. It wasn't suffocating. It wasn't endless. It was quiet a moment of stillness before the trials to come. And for the first time in years, Valen didn't feel like he was drowning in it.
and then one last memory comes to vision it was when a younger Nyra Helped him when he had lost everything
As the darkness faded once more, a new vision emerged not one of fire and anguish, but of something gentler, something that had been buried deep beneath his pain and guilt.
Valen saw himself, younger, broken, and barely alive. He was sitting in the ruins of a small, dilapidated hut far from the noble life he had once known. His clothes were tattered, his hands trembling as he clutched a rusted dagger, the only thing he had left to defend himself. His face was hollow, his eyes lifeless, staring at nothing. He was a boy who had lost everything his family, his home, his purpose.
The memory sharpened, and then she appeared.
A younger Nyra, barely in her teens but already taller and more imposing than most grown men, approached him with a cautious but determined stride. Her white hair was shorter then, messy and wild, and the beginnings of her tribal tattoos were faint but visible. She carried a large satchel slung over her shoulder, her strong hands gripping it tightly.
At first, Valen in the memory didn't even acknowledge her presence. He was too lost in his despair, his gaze fixed on the dirt floor as if it held the answers to his shattered life. But Nyra wasn't one to be ignored.
"Hey," she said, Her voice was steady, firm, but not unkind. "What are you doing here?"
Valen flinched but didn't answer.
Nyra didn't press him right away. Instead, she crouched down, setting the satchel beside her and rummaging through it. She pulled out a loaf of bread and a waterskin, placing them in front of him.
"You look like you haven't eaten in days," she said, her tone matter of fact. "Eat. You'll think clearer on a full stomach."
Valen finally glanced up at her, his expression a mix of confusion and mistrust. "Why... why are you helping me?" he asked, his voice hoarse and weak.
Nyra shrugged, sitting cross legged on the dirt floor in front of him. "Because you need it. And because someone once helped me when I was where you are now." She leaned forward, her golden eyes locking onto his. "We've all lost things, Valen. But sitting here waiting to die isn't going to bring any of it back."
The younger Valen stared at her, her words cutting through the haze of his despair. "How do you know my name?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nyra grinned, her sharp canines peeking through. "You talk in your sleep. Loudly."
Despite himself, Valen let out a weak, hollow chuckle the first hint of life in him in what felt like an eternity.
The vision lingered, showing Nyra staying with him that night, refusing to leave him alone despite his protests. She shared stories of her own struggles, her tone light-hearted but her words laced with pain and loss. She didn't pity him she understood him. And slowly, piece by piece, she helped him find a reason to keep going.
As the memory faded, Valen stood alone once more in the dreamscape, tears streaming down his face. It wasn't sadness that filled him now, but gratitude. Gratitude for that one moment, for that one person who had refused to let him disappear into his despair.
The darkness began to dissipate, the dream loosening its hold on him. But before it completely dissolved, he whispered into the void, his voice steady and resolute:
"Thank you, Nyra."