Bound by Dreams

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Eliwyne

I woke up with my hands curled around nothing.

The dream slipped away slowly, like mist retreating from morning light. My fingers still remembered the cool shimmer of stone, the soft floating fabric of my gown, the way the air in that place hummed with magic like a second heartbeat. But here, in the waking world, there was only the cold press of linen sheets and the pale gray dawn spilling across my ceiling.

The stars above me—painted long ago across the high arched stone—had dulled with time. Cracks splintered the corners, hairline fractures the servants never seemed to notice. Dust floated in golden shafts through the gauze of my canopy, and the silence felt hollow, not serene.

This was Aetherra. The real one.

The castle I had been born in, with its ancient towers and spiraling halls, where the tapestries whispered old wars and duty hung heavier than the chandeliers. The one with rules and tutors and delicate silverware clinking in long, quiet meals. The one with Aunt Cael gently knocking at my door every morning, asking if I’d like honey or crushed mint in my tea.

Not the Aetherra of my dreams. Not the one I shaped with my own hands.

I sat up slowly, drawing the velvet coverlet around my shoulders. The dream clung to me like dew. I could still see it behind my eyes—the castle I had made of smooth, white stone that hummed when I touched it. Gardens that bloomed at my whim. A sky washed in soft starlight that never dulled, never cracked.

That Aetherra had no history. No inherited names. It was mine.

I slipped out of bed and padded across the cold floor to the tall window. Outside, the real world yawned into motion. The stablehands were leading the morning mares to pasture. Smoke curled from the kitchens. In the courtyard below, the fountain sputtered to life, scattering birds.

Behind me, the door creaked open without a knock.

“Up already?” Aunt Cael’s voice was gentle, but it held the weight of routine. She entered with a fresh dress folded over her arm and a small plate of honeyed toast balanced in one hand. “I brought the green one. You always seem happier in green.”

“I like the green,” I murmured, turning from the window.

She studied me a moment, then crossed to set the food on the bedside table. Her eyes were tired but kind—lined with years of quiet watching. She didn’t hover. She never did.

“You dreamt again,” she said softly.

I froze, hand hovering over the folds of the gown.

“How can you tell?”

“You carry it in your eyes,” she said. “Like someone who’s seen a sunrise no one else remembers.”

I didn’t answer.

It was hard to explain the difference between the Aetherra I lived in and the one I dreamt. Both had castles. Both had wind that smelled of lavender and spell-ink. But only one bent to my will. Only one made me feel like I belonged not because of bloodline or birthright, but because the very stones whispered yes when I laid them down.

In this Aetherra—the waking one—I was the daughter of a noble house, a lady of quiet grace and expected elegance. I knew the language of tea service and charmcraft, how to sit with dignity and speak when spoken to.

In the other, I was the architect of wonder.

“Aunt Cael,” I said after a long silence, “have you ever felt like there was… more than one truth? Like your heart belonged to a place no one else could see?”

She didn’t answer at first. She only walked to the window and looked out, eyes scanning the sky.

“I used to dream of a garden that grew stars,” she said. “Every night. Until I stopped dreaming altogether.”

I looked down at the toast, suddenly feeling both too young and too old.

“I think mine’s coming back,” I whispered. “And I don’t think it’s just a dream.”

Aunt Cael turned to me, her expression unreadable.

“Then you’d best remember what it feels like,” she said, voice gentle but firm. “Sometimes the dream is more real than what we wake up to. But that doesn’t mean they can’t both be true.”

Later, I dressed. I ate. I smiled through breakfast and listened politely during my lessons. But the whole day, I kept my thoughts tucked in the folds of the green gown—the one that shimmered just slightly, as if remembering starlight.

That night, I lit no candles.

I let the dark fill the corners of my room. Let the moonlight spill across the floor in soft ribbons.

And when sleep came, it didn’t take me gently.

It carried me home.

To my Aetherra.

The one I built.