It was only after Lucretia mentioned it that Taran El realized something unusual was happening in their immediate environment. Jolted by her observation, he swiftly turned his attention towards the window. Outside, a massive, verdant tree dominated the view, its sprawling branches and leaves filtering the majority of the sunlight. He moved closer to the window, studying the tree intently, confusion evident on his face. It was clear he was attempting to align this unexpected reality with his recollection of the place.
After a long moment of contemplation, he exclaimed, “No, this tree was never here before.” Pointing to a rooftop across from where the tree stood, he continued, “Do you recall the day the sun disappeared? I lept from this very window to that rooftop. There was no tree then to hinder my path.”
Lucretia, curious, stepped beside him and observed the tree’s base. It was peculiarly positioned at a corner of the courtyard, its roots disturbingly twisting and turning above the soil, entwining with the nearby stairs and ground, as though it had stood there for ages.
She then glanced back at Taran El, noting the deep concern etched on his face.
“The Dream of the Nameless One is expanding, Lady,” Taran El said, his voice filled with a mix of dread and urgency. “Certain fragments of it are beginning to appear in our world, even during daylight.”
Lucretia responded, “It’s not just appearing. Had I not mentioned it, the oddity of the tree might have gone unnoticed by you. In fact, when I first entered this room, it took me a while to sense that something was amiss. The tree was already there, standing tall and unyielding.”
Taran El stood silent for a while, his eyes searching the horizon, encompassing the farthest streets, rooftops, and the entire expanse of the city-state that was visible.
“During dreams, our minds often fail to discern the anomalies present,” he finally remarked. “Our subconscious tends to rationalize these peculiarities to prevent unsettling feelings. But now, the line between our dreams and reality is becoming indistinct. If this continues, the whole city of Wind Harbor might remain in a perpetual slumber, and its existence in the known form might be at risk. We must act swiftly to halt the growth of the Dream of the Nameless One.”
With a sense of urgency, Lucretia said, “Gather all your research and clear your mind. Seek out Governor Sarah Mel; he’s in dire need of assistance. Perhaps consulting Ted, the Truth Keeper, would be beneficial too. He must be struggling to make sense of all this.”
Without missing a beat, Taran El replied, “I’ll set out immediately.” He then paused, gazing at Lucretia with concern, “And what will you do during all this?”
The woman known as the “witch” wasn’t originally a native of Wind Harbor, but she had recently become an unmistakable force in the city. Having known Lucretia for quite some time, Taran El was convinced that she would never remain passive when things escalated to such urgency.
“I’m swamped with responsibilities just as you are,” Lucretia remarked, her hand fluttering in a dismissive gesture. Oddly, her silhouette began to soften and fade at the edges. “The Dream of the Nameless One is destined to resurface, and I need to make the necessary preparations for this evening. Furthermore, my concerns stretch beyond the boundaries of Wind Harbor.”
Before Taran El could form a reply, Lucretia underwent a mesmerizing transformation. She dissipated into a whirlwind of vibrant paper-like fragments, which were swept away in an unforeseen breeze, leaving the room empty of her presence.
The paper shards eventually spiraled down gracefully at the bustling harbor on the upper deck of the gleaming vessel known as the Bright Star. They flowed into the ship’s main cabin and reconstituted into the majestic figure recognized by many as the Sea Witch.
A peculiar sailor, seemingly crafted from an amalgamation of discarded metal, bolts, and tubes, quickly approached her. The metallic clinks of his movements echoed through the ship as he bowed deeply, announcing, “Mistress, Mr. Tyrian sought your presence about an hour ago.”
“Of course, I was aware of it,” she replied, her tone crisp and matter-of-fact. “Gather a few of your fellow crew members and relocate all the photographic and video gear from the storeroom to the deck. Point everything towards Wind Harbor’s quay, set up a timer, and chronicle any transformations in the harbor past 9 o’clock tonight. Proceed.”
The mechanical sailor nodded in acknowledgment, “Your command is my duty, Mistress.”
As the rhythmic sounds of his rusted steps retreated, Lucretia shook her head slightly, whispering, “That one’s in desperate need of lubrication…”
She then shifted her attention to a polished crystal sphere that rested nearby. With a graceful motion of her hand, it glowed radiantly. After a moment, the visage of Tyrian materialized within.
“Your hands appear to be full on your end,” Tyrian observed. “Is the predicament in Wind Harbor intensifying?”
“Today, just outside Taran El’s research chamber, I encountered a tree,” Lucretia began in a measured tone. “A tree that has bizarrely bridged its existence from the realm of dreams to our tangible world. This city is either being consumed by the Dream of the Nameless One or the dream itself is seeping into our reality. Whichever it is, the circumstances are growing more alarming. However, before we delve into that, tell me about your situation. Your premature call has me concerned that my apprehensions have materialized.”
Tyrian, choosing not to mince words, revealed, “Close to the Number 2 graveyard, in the elven quarter, there are three confirmed instances of a ‘sleeping ailment’. Three elves are trapped in an impenetrable sleep, devoid of symptoms of any recognized malady. This bears a striking resemblance to the sleeping disease incident you highlighted from Pland. Yet, currently, the efforts of our psychic healers, employing hypnosis and dream intervention techniques, have proven fruitless.”
“The hypnosis and dream intervention techniques aren’t working at all?”
Tyrian nodded gravely, “Indeed. According to the insights shared by our psychic healers, the state these three elves are in closely mirrors that of the ‘Dreamless’. It’s an uncommon inborn condition seen in elves. These healers have been unsuccessful in penetrating the dreamscapes of the afflicted. Their consciousness appears to be submerged in an endless abyss, utterly detached from our realm. If they’re unable to wake them, the only option left is to keep them alive through nutrient infusions.”
Lucretia’s expression grew serious, her eyebrows drawn together as she processed this information, silent for a few moments.
Seeing her contemplation, Tyrian elaborated, “My immediate worry isn’t so much about these three individuals. While their state is concerning, three comatose patients won’t destabilize the city-state. But I’m apprehensive about the possibility of this condition spreading. Frost is a favored region by the elves. Thousands of them have made their home in our city, scattered throughout every district. If this ‘sleeping sickness’ proliferates at a faster rate, we may see the fragile equilibrium of Frost threatened.”
Lucretia finally responded, “I see the gravity of the situation. Just so you know, Dad is attempting to identify the root of the Dream of the Nameless One. But such investigations take time. From what you’ve detailed, this dream phenomenon isn’t just affecting Wind Harbor; it’s bearing down on the entire elven population. There have been hints linking this to the ancient lore of elves, particularly their god. And we both know how intricate and messy that can be.”
A flicker of unease flashed in Tyrian’s eyes. He took a deep breath before venturing, “In the most extreme scenario, if you were faced with an unrestrained ancient god — not some celestial demigod, not a mere shadow from the ocean depths, but a deity woven into the very genetic memories of the elves… Do you believe Dad…”
Interrupting him, Lucretia recognized the direction of her brother’s query. They hadn’t felt concerned for their father in a long time; at least, their past anxieties were of a different variety. Revisiting such worries felt strangely nostalgic.
After a pause, she whispered, “I’d support him, but from afar.”
Tyrian seemed to struggle for words, “…”
Lucretia, seeing his hesitation, interjected, “What do you suggest? That I charge headfirst into the fray like you did, only to be effortlessly rebuffed by our own father? How many hallucinatory mushrooms should I consume before I even think about engaging in a battle of that magnitude?”
Tyrian’s expression turned rueful, “Must you always bring up the past about that mushroom incident, especially the day Dad had to teach me a lesson?”
Smirking, Lucretia teased, “Would you prefer I recount the occasion you were caught enraptured by those belly dancers?”
Tyrian sighed, “Maybe we should shift our focus.”
With a cheeky grin, Lucretia ended their communication. It was comforting to see her brother in good spirits amidst the unfolding crisis.
Taking a moment to center herself, Lucretia settled in front of the luminescent crystal ball. With a deliberate gesture, she gently tapped its surface, summoning its powers.
“Rabbi,” she began, her voice both stern and inquisitive, “I trust you’re there.”
Deep within the crystalline sphere, a faint glow began to dance, eventually revealing the ethereal presence of Rabbi. Her voice, curiously youthful and reminiscent of a mischievous child, reverberated, “Oh, Mistress~ Shhh~ Rabbi is in the middle of a secret mission…”
Lucretia’s eyes narrowed with intrigue, “You’ve located their lair, haven’t you? Which city-state are they operating from?”
Rabbi’s voice returned, tinged with a mix of pride and mischief, “It’s not exactly a city-state, Mistress. Based on the fragmented memories I’ve gleaned, they’re harbored… on a ship.”
“A ship?” Lucretia repeated, her surprise evident.
In a melodious and playfully exaggerated tone, Rabbi confirmed, “Indeed~ These misguided cultists have set their base on a ship. And oh~ the air here~ is thick with the scent of blood~~!”
For a brief moment, Lucretia allowed Rabbi’s dramatic reveal to sink in. Ignoring Rabbi’s theatrics, a spark of intrigue and satisfaction lit up her eyes.
So Rabbi had unearthed a naval stronghold of the cultists?
…
The rhythmic sounds of the waves caressing the ship’s exterior formed a consistent background. Within the vessel, the hisses from the steam-powered machinery whispered tales of an era gone by. The relentless din from the engine compartment was hard to ignore. Within one of the ship’s chambers, a lean man stirred from his restless sleep, his face etched with evident distress.
Lost in contemplation, he suddenly reached out, seizing a glass. With a swift motion, he gulped down its mysterious contents.
The events from the prior evening weighed heavily on his mind. Their well-laid schemes had been unexpectedly thwarted. A girl, fighting alongside a fearsome dark hound, had unexpectedly unleashed a devastating force. Her raw power had decimated the remnants of the Black Sun — a turn of events no one had anticipated.
The horror and chaos of that fiery onslaught still loomed large, casting dark shadows over the spirits of every cult member who had witnessed the catastrophe.
The troubled man let out a weary sigh, replaced the now-empty glass, and slowly got up.
Remaining confined to his quarters had done little to soothe his tormented soul. Maybe, he considered, meeting his comrades might provide some solace.
Gathering his thoughts and shaking off his lethargy, he was about to step out when an oddity caught his gaze. He halted.
Stooping down for a closer look, he noticed a small tuft of white, cotton-like substance resting near his bed.
“Cotton? Here?”
