Kael’s sleep in the small room above Uncle Borin’s shop continued, unchanged in outward appearance, yet profoundly transformed in its essence.

The time he had spent in the Deep Foundations, his hard work through the First Threshold of the Dream, and the veils of Madness and Wrath had left their mark.

Not only was his dream essence stronger and more resilient, but his very presence in the waking world, though silent, began to radiate a subtle, almost imperceptible wave of well-being.

Uncle Borin, always vigilant and quietly concerned, was the first to notice the changes.
They were not obvious, like a sudden awakening, but small, unmistakable nuances. Every morning, Borin would climb the stairs and sit beside Kael’s bed, his sharp eyes scrutinizing his nephew.

“You’re different, boy,” Borin murmured one day, observing Kael’s face.

The face, once stretched in a calm, almost marble-like state, now showed a slight expression of peace, a hint of serenity that was not passivity, but the quiet of a spirit that had found balance.

Sometimes, an imperceptible smile would ripple across his lips, or a hand would move slightly, as if grasping something invisible.

His aura, if Borin could have described it, was more… present. “You sleep like a child. I don’t know what has taken you, but if this is rest, then it’s a miracle, especially now,” Borin said, massaging his temples, feeling the weight of the village pressing on his shoulders.

And the change did not stop with Kael.

It began to spread, subtle as a morning breeze, among the people closest to him in the village of Aris.

Old Mara, little Lia’s grandmother, was among the first. For months, she had suffered from restless sleep, plagued by faded nightmares that stole her rest.

One afternoon, Mara came to Borin’s shop to collect some herbs. Her back was less hunched, and there was a healthier color in her cheeks.

“Borin,” Mara said, placing her hands on the counter with a sigh of relief, “I don’t know what has changed, but my nights are different. I’m not well, not yet, but the oppression is gone. And Lia…” Mara smiled, an expression Borin hadn’t seen in a long time. “Lia, my little granddaughter, started drawing again. No more black spirals, Borin! Yesterday she used yellow and a bit of blue. I saw… I saw a small flower in her notebook. It’s as if she had been relieved of a weight she didn’t know she was carrying.”

Meanwhile, Borin wiped his grease-stained hands.

“It’s true, Mara. I’ve noticed it too. Even here in the shop, the air feels lighter. Fewer complaints, less irritability. Almost as if old age had returned to being the worst thing that burdens us.”
Mara nodded. “Yes. And it’s not just Lia. My son, who barely slept, had an entire night of peace. It’s as if the poison in the air has thinned, at least here in the center of the village. Maybe spring is coming, or perhaps it’s an unexpected blessing.”

Borin did not respond, but his eyes rested on the stairs leading to Kael’s room.

It was as if a tiny beacon had lit up in the heart of the village, and its weak pulses were, very slowly, pushing back the darkness. This effect then spread, with gradually decreasing intensity, to those connected to them.

These were not complete healings, nor sudden miracles. They were small, progressive improvements in the dream well-being of those near Kael.

Borin’s neighbors, who lived just a few houses away, noticed a slight relief in the oppression weighing on their minds.
Their sleep, though not yet full and restorative as it once was, was less tormented, the shadows of the Ash a little less dense. It was as if the walls of their homes were less cold, their hearts less dim.

This weak but growing recovery did not go unnoticed for long.

Far away, in the depths of the Dream Realm where the Ash reigned, a dissonance began to vibrate.
The Ash, a force of nullification and void, was accustomed to a constant flow of decay. But now, in certain spots, it perceived a slight but persistent resistance.

It was as if tiny cracks were mending, dreams that should have withered were instead sprouting with unexpected strength. The Ash had no consciousness in the human sense, but acted instinctively to preserve its hunger.

To find the source of this anomaly, the Ash sought to corrupt and activate the weakest and most vulnerable rings in the waking world.

In distant towns and villages, the Ash had already identified fragile individuals: people who had lost hope, failed merchants, rootless wanderers, or even dreamers, particularly exposed to general malaise. Instead of draining their lives as it did with its usual victims, the Ash insinuated itself into their residual nightmares, offering them an empty goal.

The process was subtle: an obsessive thought to travel, to find lost fortune, to escape a debt. The Ash amplified these desires and guided them, giving their minds a single, simple directive: seek the “quiet” or the “light” in a specific direction.

These individuals, the new unwitting agents of the Ash, the “Wanderers,” did not know they were serving darkness. They were driven by their own despair, but guided by an imperceptible impulse.

Their eyes grew dull, devoid of personal purpose, animated only by that mission. They began to move—wanderers, unemployed merchants, beggars—all driven toward the point from which this “interference” originated. When they approached the Aris area, they perceived the air as less heavy and the people less desperate; this “anomalous calm” was the sign they sought, proof that their induced mission was real.

A merchant, who had lost everything due to unbearable debt and now wandered, felt haunted by his failure. The Ash crept into his nocturnal visions, not with a threat, but with a reassuring, insistent thought.

All is lost. All must be swept away. Only in the void will you find peace and honor.

His mind, yearning for annihilation to escape the torment of debt, convinced itself that the only way out was destruction—a distorted reflection of his anger and remorse.

At the same time, a young woman, tormented by a deep and paralyzing fear of the dark, felt her mind succumb to the terror of the plague. The Ash approached her like a comforting echo.

I am your protector. Join me, and you will feel no more fear. In the void, there is no shadow. Give me your will, and you will no longer feel fear. 

The woman, desperate for mental peace, yielded, transforming her fear into a total emotional block and a will to serve the one who had offered her refuge.

In another city, an elderly scholar, who had spent his life seeking forbidden knowledge and now felt defeated by his mortality and lack of time, was an easy prey. The Ash addressed his obsession.

Knowledge is infinite, but time is short. Join me, and your purpose will have no end. Help me find the anomaly obstructing our expansion, and you will have eternity to study.

His obsession with knowledge and immortality led him into a servitude agreement, turning him into an agent dedicated to seeking out and eliminating all that was abnormal.

These Wanderers, though lacking the power of the Ash’s primary emissaries, were humans with physical bodies in the waking world, their minds diverted. Their mission was simple: be ready.
They had to blend in, live their apparent lives, but be ready to receive a command that would activate them at a crucial moment.

The Ash did not understand Kael’s exact nature, but recognized his positive influence as a threat to its spread. Kael’s body, helpless in his bed, unwittingly became the center of this new hunt. His inner awakening, his overcoming of his own denial, was, without him knowing it, lighting a beacon in the darkness that the Ash could not tolerate.

And soon, very soon, that light would attract a shadow far more tangible than any he had faced in the dream.

It was only a matter of time.