ALLURING : Between Two Realms

Chapter14 - The Man Beneath the Tree

Dreams were strange things.

I used to think they were only fragments of the mind. Random images, unfinished thoughts, or old fears wearing new faces. But the older I grew, the harder it became to believe that all dreams came from the same place. Some dreams felt like the body releasing pain. Some felt like warnings. Some felt like memories that had lost their names. And some felt like doors.

That night, after the rain swallowed the house and sleep finally took me, I did not return to the forest. There was no cottage. No crying newborn. No hooded priest with an old manuscript.

Instead, I found myself standing beneath a tree.

It was huge, its branches stretching wide above me, heavy with leaves that moved even though there was no wind. The ground beneath my feet was damp, and the air smelled of rain, earth, and something faintly familiar.

Then I saw him. A man stood under the tree, several steps away from me. I could not see his face clearly. No matter how hard I tried, shadows held it back, as though the dream itself refused to show me too much. But my heart knew him, and that was the terrifying part.

I knew him.

Not by name. Not by memory. But by the ache that moved through my chest when I saw him, as though I had missed him before I had even met him. He stood there quietly, waiting, like he had been waiting for a very long time.

And somehow, in the dream, I knew this was not the first time.

I had dreamed of him before. Again and again. Countless times. Only I always forgot him when I woke up.

Far across the Human Realm, a man jolted awake from his sleep.

His jaw was tense. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple.

For several seconds, he only sat there in the dark, breathing hard as though he had just surfaced from deep water.

Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and reached for the glass of water he had prepared on the dresser nearby.

He took a sip. Then another. But the image remained.

The tree.

The rain.

The woman standing beneath it.

He exhaled sharply and dragged one hand over his face.

"God," he muttered.

"Who is this woman?"

His grip tightened around the glass.

"And why does she keep appearing in my dreams?"

Arjuna POV

They thought I had stopped. Aurelia thought my silence meant obedience. Mother thought exhaustion had finally taught me fear.

Even Ravynn, with all his ancient arrogance, must have believed his warning had reached me. They were wrong.

I had not stopped trying to reach her. I was only preparing. The ability had always been there, buried somewhere beneath blood and instinct.

A quiet skill. A dangerous one. I could fold my presence inward until the surrounding air forgot I was there. I could silence my essence for a breath or two, hide the pulse of my energy, and move unnoticed where others would have felt me coming.

But it was never enough. Not for her. Not for the Human Realm. Not for the distance between her world and mine.

The last time I reached Zattie, I had been reckless. Hungry. Desperate. I had forced my essence through the dimensional laws and left too many traces behind. Ravynn had felt me. Aurelia had felt the damage. Even the veil itself had resisted. This time, I would not tear through it like a fool. I would learn to quiet every part of me.

My breath.

My pulse.

My power.

My body, if I had to.

I closed my eyes and drew my essence inward. Pain moved through my spine, sharp and cold, but I did not stop.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Until the chamber around me blurred.

Until even the moonflowers outside my window seemed to lose sight of me.

The next time I reached for her, I would not be caught at the threshold.

I would not be dragged back.

And I would not let Ravynn stand between us again.

Back to the Human Realm.

I woke up to the sound of knocking on the door, pulling me back to reality from the dream that had revisited me earlier.

It was Mom.

"Zattie, are you awake?"

"Yes, Mom. What's up?"

I dragged my lazy body out of bed and opened the door. My eyes moved to the clock mounted on the wall.

Almost eight. That was normal for me. My biological clock already understood that Sundays meant waking up a little later than usual. I chuckled softly at the thought.

"Your Uncle Matt invited us for brunch at his farm," Mom said as soon as I opened the door.

Great. I loved the farm.

It was not just a farm, actually. Uncle Matt had vegetables, herbs, and a small orchard too. I loved the sapodilla from his farm. They were bigger than the ones we usually bought, sweet and juicy in a way store-bought fruit never could be.

But none of my kids liked them. The gritty texture made them reject it every single time.

"Oh, yes," I said. "The kids are going to love that."

I peeked through the open door and saw all three girls still asleep in the hall, tangled with pillows and blankets.

Zach had already disappeared into his room, I guessed.

"Did you sleep well last night?" Mom asked as we walked toward the kitchen.

I nodded.

"Better than usual."

It was not exactly a lie. My body had slept. My mind, however, felt as though it had spent the whole night walking through doors that were not supposed to open. Before heading to the bathroom, I checked my phone. There was already a message from Zehra.

Already on my way.

Might stop by the mini market near home to buy steamboat stuff.

Don't let Mom cook too much.

I smiled. Of course. Zehra and her steamboat plan. Since she lived quite far, it would probably take another four to five hours before she reached home, depending on traffic. But driving that far had never been a problem for her. Zehra had always loved driving.

Long roads. Loud music. Random stops for coffee. She could turn a six-hour drive into a solo concert and still arrive with enough energy to talk until midnight. Sometimes, I wished I had energy like her. I replied quickly.

Drive safe. Text me when you're near.

Then I placed the phone back into my pocket, stopped by the bathroom to wash my face, and joined Mom in the kitchen to help her prepare a simple breakfast.

By ten, the girls were already awake, bathed, and excited. The moment they heard the word farm, they moved faster than any school morning had ever managed to make them move. Mom packed some muffins and fruit cake slices into a container, while I filled the girls' water bottles and made sure they had changed into clothes suitable for running around.

Uncle Matt's farm was not far from Mom's house. Only a few minutes away by car. The road there was narrow, lined with trees, small houses, and patches of land that looked untouched by time. When we arrived, Uncle Matt was already waiting near the entrance, wearing an old cap and a faded shirt, his boots covered with mud. Zach did not following us because he had other matters to attend.

"Finally," he said, smiling. "My little farm inspectors have arrived."

The girls giggled and ran toward him.

"Careful," I called after them.

Uncle Matt laughed. "Let them be. The land needs noise once in a while." His words made me pause. The land needs noise.

It was such an ordinary thing to say. And yet, after yesterday's dream, after the conversation about Granny, after the strange pull of the old mango tree, nothing felt completely ordinary anymore.

We followed him past rows of vegetables and herbs. The air smelled of soil, leaves, and something sharp from the herb beds. Mom walked beside me, pointing out the plants she wanted to take home later, while the girls crouched near a patch of cherry tomatoes, fascinated by how small and red they were.

Uncle Matt plucked one and handed it to Arya.

"Try."

Arya sniffed it suspiciously.

"Is it spicy?"

"No," he said, amused. "It's a tomato, not a chili."

She took a tiny bite, then made a face dramatic enough to belong on stage.

Everyone laughed.

For a while, the morning felt normal. Warm. Green. Simple.

Then Uncle Matt slowed near the orchard.

"Come," he said to me. "I want to show you something."

I followed him toward the sapodilla trees while Mom stayed behind with the girls. The fruit hung low from the branches, round and brown, almost plain-looking from the outside. Uncle Matt reached up and touched one gently.

"Not ready yet," he said.

I smiled. "You always know."

"Fruit tells you when it's ready."

"That sounds like something Granny would say."

He glanced at me. For a second, the morning seemed to quiet around us. Then he smiled, but it was softer this time.

"She taught me that."

"About fruit?"

"About many things."

I looked at him, waiting.

He brushed dirt from his palm and leaned against the tree trunk. "When we were young, your Granny used to bring us here before sunrise. She would make us stand barefoot on the soil, no talking, no playing."

I frowned slightly. "Why?"

"To listen."

The word slipped into my chest like a small stone dropped into water. "To the land?" I asked. His gaze lifted to mine.

"So you remember."

"I remember pieces."

"That's how it starts," he said.

My fingers moved to the saffordite pendant beneath my shirt without thinking.

Uncle Matt noticed. "What is that?"

"Just a stone," I said.

But the pendant warmed faintly against my skin, as if offended by being called just anything.

Uncle Matt did not press. Instead, he looked across the farm, toward the line of trees beyond the orchard.

"Your Granny used to say some people dream because their mind is tired," he said. "And some people dream because something is trying to get their attention."

My mouth went dry. "What if the dreams don't make sense?"

He smiled faintly. "Then don't chase the meaning too hard. Dreams are like fruit too. If you pluck them before they are ready, they taste bitter."

I let out a small laugh, but it came out nervous.

"You sound exactly like her."

"I should. She raised half of us."

A breeze moved through the orchard. The leaves shifted above us. For one strange second, the sound reminded me of whispers.

I looked up. Nothing. Only branches. Only morning light. Only fruit waiting to ripen. But my skin prickled. Uncle Matt's voice softened.

"Are you dreaming again, Zattie?"

I looked at him. The question should have surprised me but it did not.

"Yes," I admitted.

His face did not change. No shock. No judgment. Only a quiet kind of knowing.

"Then write them down," he said. "Even the ones that scare you."

"Why?"

Uncle Matt looked toward the line of trees beyond the orchard. For a moment, the morning seemed to grow quieter around us.

Even the wind felt as though it was listening.

Then he said, "Because one day, you may need the pieces."