The next dream came on like a wave crashing over my body. Hot, sudden, and choking.
I wasn’t in the healer’s cot.
I was in a chamber carved from black stone, slick with moisture, the air heavy with the metallic sting of blood and old magic. Runes pulsed faintly along the walls, ancient and alive, their glow beating in time with something I couldn’t name.
At the center of the room stood a figure cloaked in crimson robes, hood drawn low over his face. His shoulders were broad,his stance regal and poised, but there was something… wrong. His presence cracked the surrounding air, warping the dream.
Beside him stood Seraveth.
She smiled at me with blood-stained lips, her silver hair falling loose across her shoulders like a mockery of grace.
The robed figure laughed, low and rich, but familiar, disturbingly so.
His voice echoed through the chamber, through my bones, crawling beneath my skin. I knew that voice. Or I had once.
But his face was hidden.
Shadowed.
Seraveth stepped forward and raised her hand.
A knife. Long and curved, glistening with blood.
It wasn’t until then that I saw what was laid out before them. Who was.
Zander.
He was sprawled on the stone altar, armor torn open, blood soaking into the carved grooves beneath him.
His eyes were closed. Too still.
“No—” My scream ripped from my throat, raw and broken. “Zander!”
But the chamber swallowed my voice, and Seraveth just smiled wider.
The blade hovered over him.
And I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t stop it.
I woke with a gasp, my body jerking against the cot as if I’d been yanked out of fire. My skin was clammy with sweat, the remnants of that nightmare still coiled like thorns in my chest.
My hands trembled as I pushed myself upright.
Zander was already beside me, his fingers gently wrapped around mine.
“You were whimpering in your sleep,” he said softly, his voice hoarse from lack of rest. “I came to check on you.”
I blinked at him, trying to slow my breathing. “I’m… I’m not sure what happened.”
His brow furrowed, concern flickering across his features. “Major Ledor was taking liberties he shouldn’t have. That trial wasn’t sanctioned. I’m looking into it.”
I stared down at the space between us, our hands still clasped.
But I wasn’t talking about the trial.
I didn’t tell him about the blood-soaked altar. About Seraveth. About the robed figure whose laugh still echoed in my skull.
