Bound by Dreams

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Caelum

I woke to the familiar sensation of stone beneath me—cold and unyielding, pulling me back into the waking world. The remnants of the dream clung to my mind, bright and urgent: a girl with eyes like stormlight, a garden blooming in time to her breath, a place that didn’t just welcome me—but remembered me. Even now, her presence shimmered in my thoughts, delicate as spider-silk and just as impossible to shake.

But the weight of stone was real. The chill that seeped through the floors. The shadows of familiar hallways. I was back in Tormarion—my castle, my fortress, my burden.

Tormarion had stood longer than most kingdoms. It was a bastion carved into the cliffs of Droselle, its towers rising like the spines of a dragon out of the mist. Its stones bore the scars of war and weather, and within its walls lived the last of the Dragonguard. My family. My duty. My cage.

I rose stiffly, muscles aching from yesterday’s training. The crimson tunic lay folded where I’d left it, the golden sigils of my house stitched across the chest: the twin wings of Tormarion, the eye of the sky, the broken sword. I dressed quickly, belting on my weapons, already late.

But even as I prepared, my thoughts wandered. The dream had felt sharper this time. More present. Not the vague drifting of sleep, but something closer to memory—like I had walked it once before, and had only now begun to remember. Her footsteps had echoed before mine in a field of crystal dust. She had been near. And the world had changed around her.

The world changes around her.

I shook the thought off like mist from my cloak.

The castle stirred below as I made my way through its high halls. My boots echoed on ancient flagstones worn smooth by generations. Outside, the wind howled along the parapets, carrying the scent of snow and fire. Somewhere in the distance, a dragon bellowed.

The training field lay behind the stables, carved into the cliffside. There, the dragons of Tormarion waited.

Pyrrhos met me first. My oldest companion. My closest bond. His scales shimmered in the dawn light—deep crimson edged in black, like embers cooled and cracked. He lowered his massive head as I approached, his eyes locking on mine with familiar gravity.

“Good morning,” I murmured, placing a hand to his warm snout. He exhaled a stream of smoke, amused.

We trained as we always did—flights, drills, synchronized maneuvers in the skies above Droselle. The younger dragons followed Pyrrhos’s lead, their wings carving elegant paths through the morning fog. Yet no matter how focused I tried to remain, my thoughts kept slipping.

To her.

The girl in the dream.

No—dream isn’t the word. It felt… parallel. Real in its own way. The way the river had turned to silver when I knelt beside it. The way the trees had stilled when I looked toward the shifting stars. And her—the way the air bent around her, like the world itself wanted to be closer to her.

I had felt seen.

And that terrified me more than any Dark Dragon ever could.

The skies began to darken as the afternoon wore on, clouds gathering thick and low. A storm was coming. I called the dragons back, dismissing them one by one until only Pyrrhos remained. He hesitated at the entrance to the stables, glancing toward the sky, then to me.

“I know,” I said quietly. “I feel it too.”

He rumbled low in his throat before disappearing into the shadowed stalls.

By the time I returned to the main hall, my father and younger brother were already there. They stood near the great hearth, its flames casting long shadows up the stone walls.

“Caelum,” my father said. “You missed the morning counsel.”

“I was with the dragons,” I replied.

“As always.” His tone was neither approving nor disapproving. Just tired.

Darian gave me a half-smile. “You’ve got ash on your collar.”

I brushed it off absently.

Dinner was quiet. Conversation moved around me like mist curling past stone. I answered when spoken to. I ate mechanically. And all the while, I felt the other world pressing at the edges of my thoughts like a tide.

That night, as I climbed the spiral staircase to my chambers, I felt it more acutely than ever.

The duality.

Here, in Tormarion, I was the Dragonguard, heir to a throne carved in iron and expectation. In the other place—wherever it was—I was something else. Not just a warrior. Something older. Deeper. And she was always there, just out of reach.

The storm had broken by the time I reached my room. Lightning cracked over the mountains. I stripped down and sank into bed, letting the sound of rain against the glass lull me.

And then, I let go.

I fell.

Back into the world that waited.

Back to her.

And as the dream-world unfolded around me—sky full of suns, trees that remembered, rivers that sang—I realized I hadn’t forgotten anything at all.

I had only just begun to remember.

And she was near.

So near.