Bound by Dreams

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Eliwyne

In Aetherra, dawn always arrived gently—no blinding light or sudden warmth. Just a hush, like the world holding its breath. The sky softened to blush-pink, and dew pearls clung to every blossom like blessings left by fairies passing in the night.

I rose with the hush, heart still echoing with fragments of the same dream that had been following me for days now. Forests with golden fog. Rivers that sang. I would wake with images pressed behind my eyes, refusing to fade.

As I stretched, something unusual stirred in the corner of my room.

There, draped across the vinewood mirror, was a gown I had never seen before.

It shimmered like moonlight on still water, the fabric changing hue with every blink—midnight blue, then soft amethyst, then the color of twilight itself. Its bodice was snug and high-collared, wrapped in silver-threaded ivy that curled like it was still growing. Sleeves spilled past my wrists, sheer and glinting, trimmed with tiny opal charms that chimed when I moved. The skirt fell in layers, airy as clouds, yet heavy with some kind of old memory. And stitched along the hem in barely visible thread were runes I didn’t recognize—runes that almost looked like they were breathing.

It felt… intentional.

In Aetherra, magical garments often chose their wearers. They would appear when the time was right. That was what the elders always said. And though I’d never been chosen before, I didn’t question it.

I simply dressed.

When I stepped outside, the village sparkled.

All around me, people walked in their own gowns of spell-woven cloth—each one unique, alive with enchantment. Children twirled in sun-colored silks that repelled mud and rain. Apprentices wore robes stitched with glowing ink, their spells dancing just under the surface. Even the bread-seller wore an apron spun from charmcloth, the edges embroidered with dancing spoons.

But the moment I passed, they all slowed. Some turned. Some simply watched. I felt the weight of eyes—not cruel, just curious. As though I had stepped into a story they’d heard once in their youth but never expected to see again.

“Mm. So it’s you now,” Aunt Cael murmured when I passed her tea stall. She didn’t elaborate. She never did.

I stopped. "You knew? About this?"

She gave me a long look, her eyes full of things she wouldn't say aloud. "It always skips a generation. I wondered if it would find you."

"What does it mean?" I whispered.

She smiled gently. "Only that the story's started turning your way. Go on, Eli. Let it show you."

The day moved on—soft, strange, distant.

At the academy, I drifted through lessons like a girl in a half-dream. Even the walls of the spell-chambers seemed to breathe in rhythm with my dress. My fingertips tingled during incantation work. My voice, during chant practice, came out clearer than ever before, almost like I was speaking with an echo behind it—an older, wiser version of myself.

Still, I kept catching myself turning my head. Pausing. Feeling… watched? Not by anyone near. By something just beyond.

During magical theory, Master Virel stopped mid-lecture, eyes narrowing at me. "Miss Aerlynne, would you please explain what is humming from your direction?"

I flushed. "I—I don’t know, sir."

He walked closer, his staff tapping lightly on the stone floor. He eyed my gown, then me, then my open book. "Fascinating," he murmured. "Spellcloth of that nature hasn’t shown itself in nearly a century. Do you feel any changes? In clarity? Power?"

"A little," I admitted. "Everything feels... closer. Like it's listening."

"Then listen back," he said simply, and returned to the front of the room.

The rest of the school day passed in a blur of chalk dust, candlelight, and the quiet tension of transformation. I was still me. But more.

When the bell finally chimed its silver tones to mark the end of day, I left the school slow-footed, my skirt whispering behind me.

The walk home was quiet, save for the wind curling through the fig trees and the far-off hum of charm-lanterns being lit along the road. I didn’t speak to anyone. I didn’t want to. I wasn’t frightened, exactly—but I was stretched. Worn thin by magic and questions I couldn’t name.

I crossed the bridge where the water glowed with spellfish. I passed the mirror-stone where people left folded prayers. And at last, I reached the gate to our cottage, the mossy path crunching faintly under my boots.

Inside, Aunt Cael was already asleep in her chair, a book on her chest and a cup of dreambrew cooling on the table. I tiptoed past her, the hem of my dress leaving faint trails of stardust on the wood floor.

I did not undress.

I lay atop the covers, gown and all, and curled onto my side. My hair still smelled faintly of enchanted fig blossoms. My fingers itched with leftover magic.

And in the quiet dark, the only thing louder than my breath was the pull.

The sense that something—somewhere—was about to begin.

Sleep came easily.

But dreams?

Dreams came like a door swinging wide open.