While Kael’s mind wandered through the ethereal corridors of the Deep Foundation, learning the secrets of the Dream Realm under Master Elian’s guidance, his real body remained motionless, a quiet shell in the small room above his uncle Borin's hardware shop.

There, in the beating heart of Aris, the village nestled among the hills, Kael’s waking life went on, but in an absent, almost unreal silence. The village routine flowed as always, yet for Borin, time was marked only by the hope of his nephew’s awakening.

His room was a reflection of his life: austere, orderly, with a wooden bed covered in wool blankets pushed against the stone wall, and a small rough-hewn table where only a few herb books and carving manuals rested, remnants of his former interests.

The candle, often lit late into the night, was now extinguished.

Sunlight filtered faintly through the small opaque window, drawing trembling shapes on the dusty floor, yet it could not dispel the shadow that seemed to have settled upon him. The air itself in the room felt denser, quieter, almost protective.

Kael lay on his back, breathing slowly and evenly, almost imperceptibly.

His hands, once calloused from work, now rested relaxed at his sides. His face, usually tense or focused, was serene, bearing an expression of deep calm Borin hadn’t seen in years. His eyelids were smooth, concealing eyes that, in the Dream Realm, burned bright and alive.

He looked merely asleep, and yet there was something extraordinary about his stillness, a quiet that went beyond ordinary slumber. There were no murmurs, no twitching; only an absolute, profound peace, in stark contrast to the restless minds of the villagers, afflicted by the strange sickness that was draining them.

“Kael! Kael!” Borin shouted as he entered the room that morning.
He had knocked several times, receiving no reply. He decided to go in. Kael was lying on his back, fully dressed, his right arm stretched out toward the edge of the bed. A small vial lay on the floor.

“No! Kael! Kael! Nooo!” He rushed to the boy’s side. “Why!”
The first time he saw him motionless like that, he thought Kael had taken his own life because of the empty vial beside the bed.
Heart pounding, he took his nephew’s face in his hands.
He’s warm. He’s breathing. He’s alive!
Borin exhaled with relief. He adjusted Kael gently to make him more comfortable, then picked up the vial. He stared at it for a few seconds, then at Kael.
“Boy… what have you done? First Elara, now you.”

Sometimes, Borin would lay a hand on Kael’s forehead, feeling a faint coolness, not a sign of illness, but of a life suspended.
Borin, the sturdy uncle with the thick gray beard, was the only one who truly sensed the peculiarity of Kael’s sleep. Every morning, before opening the shop, he climbed the creaking stairs to check on him. He always found Kael in the same position, his face still, like a statue carved from wood.

At first, Borin had been worried. He consulted the few healers in the village, but none could explain such deep, prolonged slumber. They offered teas and light enchantments, but nothing worked.

“It’s like he’s trapped in endless sleep,” he once murmured to himself, touching his nephew’s forehead. “There’s no trace of sickness… yet he won’t wake, just like his sister, Elara.”

“Kael?” he had whispered one afternoon, gently shaking his shoulder. “Kael, wake up, boy. The shop needs you. There are urgent orders, and people are starting to ask about you.”
But Kael didn’t move. He didn’t react. He was deep within his dream-bound battle.

The Uncle had noticed other strange details. The food he left on Kael’s nightstand remained untouched for hours, sometimes days, yet the boy didn’t lose weight, didn’t show signs of hunger or thirst. It was as though his body existed in a state of suspended life, nourished by some unseen, mysterious source.
That both troubled and comforted Borin: at least, Kael wasn’t suffering. His skin remained healthy, his hair retained its sheen. He was both a wonder and a mystery.

Meanwhile, the other villagers, increasingly stricken by the mysterious illness that drained their vitality, began to notice Kael’s prolonged absence. Rumors spread, whispers grew.

“Where’s Kael, Borin?” asked old Mara, grandmother of little Lia, the girl who drew black spirals. Her face was hollow, her eyes deep and weary, signs of sleepless nights and growing fear for her family. “No one had seen him in weeks. The harvest is weak this year, and every strong hand is needed at the market. Kael’s always been a great help.”

Borin, as calm as ever, replied with a vague excuse. “He’s resting, Mara. Had a nasty cold. Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon, once he’s recovered.”

He couldn’t reveal the truth; he didn’t even know it himself.
All he knew was that his nephew had fallen into an inexplicable, persistent sleep… and that was enough to torment him.

As the sickness spread, the village grew darker. Faces turned pale, movements slowed, as though everyone were wading through mud. Children’s laughter faded, replaced by nighttime cries and fearful stares. The illness drained them, leaving them hollow, shadows of who they once were.

Borin, though burdened with worry, was grateful that Kael wasn’t exposed to that slow, merciless decay consuming everyone else. His sleep was mysterious, yes, but it also felt like a shield, an inexplicable refuge from the plague threatening their world.

In that vigilant silence, Kael’s body was more than still; it was an enigma. His room, once a simple place of rest, had become a chamber of anxious waiting, of quiet hope.
And there, in that silence, Borin waited. He waited for Kael’s awakening, praying it would bring not only a return to life, but also an answer to the strange illness consuming their world.

Unaware that his nephew was fighting that very same darkness, in another plane of existence, an unseen hero at the heart of the dream.