The Dreamfire Veil
960 Words
Cael
The dream pulled him under like a tide of molten gold.
There was no warning. No drifting.
One breath he was awake, wrapped in his cloak beneath the stars.
The next, he stood in a cathedral of flame.
Pillars of fire spiraled into a black sky that had no stars—only embers that pulsed like hearts. The ground beneath was glass, and through it he saw faces, flickering like memories in oil.
And then—she appeared.
Liora.
Not in smoke. Not in voice.
In body. In presence.
Across the glass floor, her eyes met his.
And he knew: this was no dream.
This was a crossing.
“Cael,” she said softly.
His name in her voice sounded like home. Like safety. And yet…
“How are we here?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, stepping closer. “But the more the Crown wakes, the more I see this place.”
“The Dreamfire Veil,” Cael murmured. “Therin mentioned it once. Said only relic-bearers can enter. Said it was made to test kings.”
Liora gave a dry smile. “Then they built it cruelly.”
A tremor rolled through the air—heat rising, distorting. The flame pillars flickered.
“They’re coming,” she whispered.
“Who?”
But he already knew.
The Ashguard.
Liora flinched. “They want the Flame. But they fear me.”
“Why?”
She hesitated. “Because I’m the lock. But I’m also the seal. If I die, the Crown scatters. If I fall… the King returns.”
The words echoed like thunder in Cael’s chest.
“You think I’m him?”
“No.” Her gaze softened. “But I think he remembers you. And he might try to make you remember him.”
Cael felt it then.
The stirring.
The second presence inside his chest. Not a voice, but a gravity. A hunger.
The dream began to crackle and warp.
“We have to wake,” Cael said.
Liora reached out and grasped his wrist.
“Not yet,” she said. “I need to ask you something.”
The flame shook around them. The floor began to fracture.
“Hurry.”
“If I fall,” Liora said, her eyes fierce, “if I’m ever not myself—will you stop me?”
Cael’s throat closed.
He didn’t want to answer.
But she deserved the truth.
“I will,” he said, voice hoarse. “Even if it breaks me.”
The Dreamfire shattered.
⸻
Liora
She woke with blood in her mouth.
Not hers—Ashren’s.
He stood beside her, blade drawn, eyes glowing faintly gold.
Behind him, one of the Ashguard lay sprawled, his robe soaked crimson.
“What happened?” she gasped, rising.
Ashren’s gaze flicked to her. “They tried to bind you.”
“What?”
“I warned you,” he said. “You’re not a guest. You’re a key. And now they’ve decided the door’s too dangerous.”
The two remaining Ashguard stepped forward, hands raised—but not in surrender.
They glowed now.
Their robes burned from within, sigils igniting.
“They want the relic out of you,” Ashren growled, “even if it means burning you hollow.”
Liora drew her blade.
“I told them,” she said, stepping in front of Ashren, “I’m not a weapon.”
One of the Ashguard spoke at last, voice low and inhuman:
“You are the End.”
Liora struck first.
⸻
Cael
He woke to screaming.
Not human.
Beastly.
Therin was already on his feet, blade drawn, as the sky lit orange from below.
Myra stumbled out of her tent, eyes wide.
“What is that?”
“Not bandits,” Therin muttered.
They crested the rise to find a creature of smoke and bone rising from the pit below—a fire-wrought hound, three times the size of a horse, its ribs glowing like forge-coals.
“It’s hunting a relic bearer,” Therin said grimly. “Not you this time.”
Cael felt it instantly—Liora.
He could feel her panic through the link.
Without a word, he ran.
⸻
Liora
She was losing ground.
Even after killing the second Ashguard, her strength was flagging. The last of them—the eldest, the one who spoke little but moved like a shadow—was forcing her toward the cliff’s edge.
Ashren was down, unconscious or dead, she couldn’t tell.
The ash-hound charged up from the valley below, called by the Ashguard’s signal fire.
“Give me the Crown’s seal,” the man said. “And I’ll let you fall cleanly.”
Liora panted, blood on her lips. “You’re afraid of what’s inside me.”
“No,” he said. “I’m afraid of what’s waking up.”
The hound lunged.
She leapt aside—
And a pillar of gold hit the beast mid-air.
It howled, twisted, and shattered mid-jump.
Cael stood there.
Hair wild. Eyes aflame.
“My turn.”
⸻
Cael
He had never fought like this.
Not in training. Not in nightmares.
This was pure instinct. Flame that bent not from rage, but from purpose.
He caught the Ashguard’s next blow with bare hands, the flames shielding him. Each strike echoed with memory—like he’d fought this man before, long ago, in another body.
He struck.
Once. Twice.
And the Ashguard went still.
Ash.
Gone.
Cael turned to Liora.
She was on her knees.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You came.”
“I felt you.”
She nodded slowly.
Then, to his shock—she smiled.
And said, “Then maybe we can do this together.”
- Writer
