The Ritual of Dreams
1422 Words
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Chapter 26
The night sky in Elion’s realm was unusually still, cloaked in a sacred hush. Even the stars blinked slower, dimmer, as if holding their breath. There were no howling winds or restless spirits wandering the forest borders. No echoes of warriors training or seers chanting in the high towers. The realm itself, vast and powerful, felt as if it paused — waiting.
At the edge of the royal sanctuary, hidden behind an illusion only accessible to those of royal blood, Elion stood silently before a tall obsidian door. It was unlike the rest of the palace — untouched by elegance or ceremony. It pulsed faintly with old magic. Not dark, but dangerous. Sacred.
His grandmother stood beside him, the only one who had ever stepped beyond it and returned.
She looked up at him with sharp eyes and spoke in a tone not even the queen dared challenge.
“You mustn’t tell a soul. Not your friends. Not your mother. No one. If word gets out… it could cost more than just your bond with her.”
Elion gave a single, solemn nod. “I swear it on my honor. On my life.”
She studied him for a moment longer. His eyes were no longer clouded with exhaustion — they burned. But it wasn’t the fire of war or vengeance. It was longing. Pure, aching, relentless longing. She stepped aside without another word.
The door opened on its own as he approached.
The chamber beyond was dim, glowing with a strange light that didn’t come from fire or stone. It was as though the air itself shimmered. Rows of ancient scrolls lined the curved walls, suspended midair. Hanging herbs glowed blue and silver, dripping light like dew. In the center was a shallow pool made entirely of crystal — no water, no ripple, but it glowed from within. Suspended above the pool was a curtain of mist, constantly moving, laced with fine silver threads that floated in perfect, hypnotic spirals.
“Come. Quickly,” his grandmother urged, already walking toward the center of the room. “The realm has granted us silence tonight, but that silence has limits.”
Elion stepped in behind her, awestruck. He had heard rumors of this place in childhood — the Veil of Minds — but no one ever spoke its name aloud. It was a relic of a time before the war, before laws were carved into magic. A place used only in times of desperation.
His grandmother stood at the edge of the crystal pool. A single candle floated just above its surface, its flame frozen in place, unmoving, untouched by wind or breath.
“This,” she said softly, “is the Veil of Minds. Through it, you may cross into her dreams.”
Elion stepped closer, drawn to the pulsing silver threads above the pool. They shifted as he neared, like they recognized him — or sensed her within him.
“But listen to me, Elion,” his grandmother continued, her tone hardening. She gripped his wrist tightly. “You must never reveal your full form. Only fragments. Your voice. A presence. The connection must be gentle, or her mind will reject it.”
He nodded slowly. “I understand. I just want to be near her. Even if she only sees me as a shadow.”
She studied him for a long moment, her fingers finally releasing his wrist. Then, from within the folds of her robe, she pulled out a small glowing orb. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. A quiet warmth radiated from it — soft, feminine.
She placed it in Elion’s palm.
“This holds her dream key. I stole it long ago, when I was watching over your uncle… before he died for love. I couldn’t destroy it. Something told me it would be needed again.”
Elion’s fingers closed around the orb. The heat in it pulsed stronger when it touched his skin, almost like it recognized him. His throat tightened with emotion, and he breathed deeply, steadying himself.
His grandmother stepped back. “Lie in the circle. Let your heart focus only on her. Call her name… and wait.”
Elion moved into the runic circle etched into the stone. As he lay down, the floor beneath him hummed to life. The crystal glowed beneath his back, and the candle flame fluttered for the first time. He closed his eyes. Everything inside him ached for her — not just her voice, but her laughter, her dreams, the way her breath had quickened the first time he said her name.
He whispered into the night, his voice almost a breath:
“Aria…”
The silver threads above the pool spun faster.
The candle flickered violently, then stilled.
The mist thickened. Everything went dark.
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Elion opened his eyes slowly, blinking into soft golden light. The scent of jasmine and healing sage filled his lungs. He felt weight in his limbs, as though he had swum across a thousand oceans and only just returned to shore.
He wasn’t in the veil chamber anymore.
He was lying in a warm bed, familiar and ancient — his grandmother’s private chamber. Thick blankets covered him, and a damp cloth cooled his forehead. His muscles trembled as he tried to sit up.
A hand steadied him.
“Grandmother…” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
She was already at his side, holding a cup of thick bluish liquid that shimmered like moonlight trapped in glass.
“Drink. The first crossing always takes a toll. This will restore you.”
He drank slowly. The liquid cooled his throat, then spread like warmth across his chest and limbs. Strength returned to him in slow waves. But his mind was already racing.
“I saw her…” he said hoarsely. “I almost touched her.”
His grandmother’s face darkened.
“And that is exactly why you need to listen now.”
She sat beside the bed, placing the empty cup aside. Her tone shifted — no longer warm, but filled with gravity.
“From now on, every time you wish to enter her dreams, you must drink from that cup. Only at night. Only when she’s already asleep. Her world must invite yours — never the other way around.”
Elion leaned forward slightly, the hunger in his voice clear. “And if I stay too long?”
Her lips tightened. She took his hand in both of hers, her eyes grave.
“Then she will never wake up. In her world, her body will grow cold. Her soul would be trapped… with you. And worse—”
Her voice trembled just slightly. “You would be lost too.”
Elion froze. His fingers twitched under her grip.
“You won’t be able to leave the dream. You will fade. Like your uncle. And the cruelest part?”
She looked straight into his eyes. “You’d lose her forever.”
The words hit like a blade. The room fell into silence.
“I… didn’t know it was this dangerous,” he murmured.
“Love always is, child. Especially when it defies worlds.”
She stood slowly, placing the cup on the wooden table beside him. Then she brushed back the damp hair on his forehead with the same care she once gave him as a boy. Her voice softened again.
“But if you obey the rules… she will keep dreaming of you. She will remember you not as a ghost, but as a feeling. A warmth. A safety. And one day, if fate allows, you might not have to meet her in dreams.”
Elion’s breath came slower now. He looked down at the lines of his hands — hands that had held swords, carried brothers from the battlefield, written laws of his people. And now they trembled over the thought of holding hers.
“I will follow the rules,” he said finally, voice low but steady. “I’d rather touch her heart in dreams… than lose her forever in silence.”
His grandmother smiled. It was not a smile of triumph, but of quiet pride. Of sorrow and hope woven together.
“Then tonight, sleep. And tomorrow, she will see you again.”
She stood, moving to the windows to draw the curtains.
Elion lay back against the pillows. The candle on the bedside table flickered gently.
In the silence, he whispered once more:
“Aria…”
And even worlds away, her breath quickened in sleep.
- Writer
