Chapter 3: Execution

The darkness of sleep claimed Reas quickly that night, his body and mind too weary to resist the pull of unconsciousness. But the moment he slipped into slumber, he was not met with the peaceful reprieve he craved. Instead, he was thrust into a nightmare—a twisted memory that had haunted him for years, a memory of the day his father, Alistair Perant, was executed.

It began as it always did: a soft, lilting whisper in the distance, calling his name.

“Reas… Reas…”

The voice was familiar, warm and comforting, but there was something off about it, something hollow. He couldn’t place it, but it made his stomach churn with unease. The whisper seemed to echo through an endless void, the sound stretching out and warping as it bounced off unseen walls.

“Reas… Come here…”

His surroundings were an abstract blur, a smear of colors and shapes that refused to settle into anything coherent. He floated through the haze, disoriented and lost. Then, as if a veil had been lifted, the scene snapped into focus.

He was back in the grand courtyard of the royal palace, but it was different—wrong. The sky above was a sickly shade of green, streaked with black clouds that churned and roiled like an angry sea. The sun hung low on the horizon, a bloated, blood-red orb that cast an eerie glow over everything.

The courtyard was empty, save for a single figure standing at its center. Reas’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized his father, Alistair Perant, standing tall and proud, his back to Reas. Alistair’s hair was the same rich auburn as Reas’s, though streaks of gray had begun to creep in. He wore the uniform of the royal guard, the insignia of House Illsum emblazoned on his chest, but the colors were washed out, dull and faded as if drained of life.

Reas tried to call out to his father, but no sound escaped his lips. He wanted to run to him, to warn him, to tell him to run, but his feet were rooted to the ground, heavy as lead. Panic surged through him, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum.

Suddenly, a harsh voice cut through the air like a knife, freezing Reas in place.

“Alistair Perant, you stand accused of treason against the crown!”

The voice was disembodied, coming from all directions at once, yet from nowhere at all. It reverberated through the courtyard, shaking the very ground beneath Reas’s feet. He looked around frantically, searching for the source, but there was nothing—only shadows that seemed to pulse and writhe with malevolent energy.

“Treason?” Alistair’s voice rang out, clear and strong despite the tremor that ran through it. “I have served this kingdom faithfully for decades. I have given everything to protect House Illsum!”

“Lies!” The voice boomed, louder this time, and the shadows began to coalesce, gathering into a dark mass that swirled around Alistair like a storm. “You have betrayed your king, and for that, you must pay the ultimate price.”

Reas’s heart lurched as he watched the scene unfold, the dread in his gut growing like a cancer. He knew what was coming—he had lived through it once before, and now he was forced to relive it, twisted and distorted by the cruel hand of his subconscious.

The shadows thickened, wrapping around Alistair like tendrils, binding him in place. He struggled against them, but it was futile. They tightened their grip, dragging him to his knees. The sky darkened further, the green hue deepening into a sickly, almost vomitous shade, and the red sun seemed to bleed into the horizon, casting everything in an ominous crimson light.

A sudden gust of wind howled through the courtyard, carrying with it the faint sound of jeering voices—distant and indistinct, yet filled with venom. The shadows parted just enough to reveal a figure stepping forward, emerging from the darkness. It was King Regas Illsum, his regal features twisted into a mask of cold fury.

But it wasn’t the king Reas remembered. This figure was a grotesque parody of the man who ruled Ceriphinam. His skin was ashen, his eyes hollow pits of darkness, and his mouth stretched into a cruel, jagged smile that seemed to split his face in two. He wore a crown, but it was made of twisted thorns, dripping with blood that oozed down his forehead.

“Alistair Perant,” the twisted king intoned, his voice dripping with malice, “you have been found guilty of treason. The sentence is death.”

Reas tried to scream, to beg for mercy, but his voice was still locked in his throat, his body frozen in place. All he could do was watch in helpless horror as his father was condemned.

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Alistair raised his head, his eyes locking onto Reas’s for the first time. There was a flicker of recognition, of sorrow, but also of resolve. It was as if he knew this was his fate, and he had accepted it, but that didn’t make it any easier for Reas to bear.

“No…” Reas finally managed to croak, his voice barely more than a whisper. “No, please…”

The king raised a hand, and the shadows surged forward, converging on Alistair. They wrapped around his neck, tightening like a noose, and Alistair’s breath hitched, his face contorting in pain. He struggled, his hands clawing at the darkness, but it was no use. The shadows were relentless, squeezing the life out of him.

Reas could only watch, his heart shattering into a million pieces, as the light began to fade from his father’s eyes. The world around him blurred, the colors smearing together like wet paint on a canvas. The sickly green sky, the blood-red sun, the shadowy figures—all of it began to swirl and distort, spiraling into a vortex of nightmarish imagery.

But through it all, Reas’s focus remained on his father, on the pain and fear etched into his features. He reached out, desperate to touch him, to save him, but his hand passed through the air as if his father were nothing more than a phantom.

And then, with one final, agonized breath, Alistair’s body went limp. The shadows released him, letting him crumple to the ground, lifeless. The twisted king laughed, a sound that echoed through the void, a haunting, malevolent cackle that sent a shiver down Reas’s spine.

“No! No!” Reas screamed, the words finally tearing free from his throat. But it was too late. His father was gone, and he was left standing in the ruins of the dream, the echoes of his grief reverberating through the void.

The scene shifted abruptly, the courtyard dissolving into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes that spun around him like a whirlwind. Reas was disoriented, lost in the chaos, his mind reeling from the trauma of what he had just witnessed.

But the nightmare wasn’t over. The world around him reformed, the swirling colors coalescing into a new scene. He was now standing in a dark, narrow hallway, the walls lined with tall, imposing mirrors that reflected twisted, distorted versions of himself. His reflection sneered at him from every angle, their eyes filled with malice and contempt.

“You’re weak,” one of them hissed, its voice dripping with venom. “You let him die.”

“You could have saved him,” another snarled, its face contorted with rage. “But you did nothing.”

Reas tried to turn away, but the mirrors were everywhere, surrounding him, trapping him in a prison of his own making. The reflections grew more distorted, their features warping and twisting into grotesque caricatures, their mouths stretching into wide, mocking grins.

“Coward,” they chanted in unison, their voices rising to a deafening crescendo. “Coward, coward, coward…”

Reas clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the sound, but it was no use. The words burrowed into his mind, gnawing at his sanity like ravenous worms.

The hallway stretched on endlessly, the mirrors multiplying, their taunts growing louder and more vicious with each step. Reas staggered forward, his legs heavy as if weighed down by chains, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the chanting stopped. The mirrors shattered into a thousand pieces, the shards raining down around him like a storm of glass. The hallway crumbled away, leaving him standing in the middle of a vast, empty void.

The silence was oppressive, pressing down on him from all sides. Reas’s heart pounded in his chest, his body trembling with fear and exhaustion. He was alone, utterly and completely alone, lost in the darkness.

But then, a light appeared in the distance—a small, flickering flame, like a candle burning in the night. It was weak, barely visible, but it was something. Reas focused on it, desperate for any shred of hope, and began to move toward it.

As he drew closer, the light grew brighter, and he realized it wasn’t a candle at all. It was a figure, standing at the center of the void, bathed in a soft, golden glow. The figure was tall and slender, its features obscured by the brightness, but there was something achingly familiar about it.

“Father?” Reas whispered

Reas’s heart skipped a beat as he approached the glowing figure, his mind still reeling from the horrors he had just witnessed. But as the figure came into focus, he realized it wasn’t his father. Instead, standing before him was a girl—no, a woman—unlike anyone he had ever seen before.

She was beautiful, in a way that seemed almost otherworldly. Her skin was flawless, a soft alabaster that seemed to glow in the dim light. Her hair cascaded down her back in waves of silken gold, each strand shimmering like spun sunlight. It framed her delicate face, highlighting her high cheekbones, her full, parted lips, and her wide, expressive eyes.

Those eyes… They were the most captivating of all, a deep, luminous blue that seemed to hold the entire ocean within them. They sparkled with a mix of fear, desperation, and something else—something that tugged at the edges of Reas’s consciousness, drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

She was completely naked, her lithe, graceful form illuminated by the soft golden glow that surrounded her. Her body was a masterpiece of curves and angles, perfectly proportioned and utterly mesmerizing. Her breasts were full and firm, her waist slender, tapering down to hips that flared gently outwards. Her legs were long and shapely, the smooth lines of her thighs leading down to dainty, delicate feet.

But despite her beauty, there was a vulnerability about her, a fragility that was impossible to ignore. She stood with her arms wrapped around herself, as if trying to shield herself from some unseen force, her body trembling ever so slightly. Her lips moved, but no sound came out, and her eyes were locked onto Reas’s, silently pleading with him, begging for help.

Reas felt his heart clench in his chest, a surge of protectiveness welling up within him. He reached out to her, desperate to comfort her, to offer her some kind of solace. But the moment his fingers brushed against the golden light that surrounded her, she recoiled, a look of terror flashing across her face.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear. “Help me…”

The words sent a shiver down Reas’s spine, and he tried to speak, to ask her who she was, what she needed, but the words caught in his throat. He could only stare at her, helpless, as the light around her began to flicker, growing dimmer and dimmer with each passing second.

“No…” Reas whispered, his voice barely audible. “Don’t go…”

But it was too late. The light that surrounded her continued to fade, and as it did, so did she. Her form began to blur, the edges of her body dissolving into the darkness that surrounded them both. Her eyes remained locked onto his, filled with a sadness so profound it made Reas’s heart ache.

“Help me…” she whispered one last time, her voice fading into the void as the light finally winked out, leaving Reas standing alone in the darkness once more.

Reas’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he reached out blindly, trying to grasp onto something—anything—that would bring her back. But there was nothing, only the cold, empty void that threatened to swallow him whole.

And then, with a sudden jolt, he was awake.

Reas shot up in bed, his body drenched in sweat, his heart racing as if he ad just run a marathon. His hands clutched at the sheets, his knuckles white with tension. The room around him was dark and silent, the only sound the ragged gasps of his own breath as he struggled to calm himself.

He was back in his quarters at the royal palace, the familiar surroundings slowly coming into focus as his mind began to clear. The nightmare, the woman, the execution—it had all felt so real, so vivid, but now it was slipping away, like sand through his fingers.

Reas ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to shake off the lingering sense of dread that clung to him like a second skin. He could still see her eyes, the way they had pleaded with him, the way they had seemed to look straight into his soul.

Who was she? Why had she appeared to him in his dream? And what did she mean by “Help me”?

The questions swirled in Reas’s mind, but there were no answers. All he knew was that the image of her—beautiful, fragile, and utterly desperate—would be burned into his memory, haunting him long after the dream had faded.