“All I’m saying is: it’s not like he would know it was me. Maybe he would think the universe is naturally pushing us to be together.”
Ori tapped her fingernails against the top of the glass display. Underneath rested a variety of enchanted gems and artifacts nestled amongst the softest velvet. If this were another realm, some may have wondered how they could keep such riches out in the open. But this was Sokal—the realm of dreams—which meant there were far more valuable things to be stolen.
In front of her stood a young girl no older than sixteen of age, clutching wads of cash that had been denied just moments prior. Ori clucked her tongue. The girl was pretty enough. She didn’t need to stoop this low.
“The signs outside clearly say we don’t do seduction spells.” Ori resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There was one every year before the Midsummer Festival—a young one who wanted to plague their desired person with dreams of them until they came running, thinking the gods or Divines were pushing them to pursue someone that they usually would not have considered.
Ori’s mentor, the owner of the magical shop these customers would rush to, made it more than clear that they would never accept such spells. Something about not wanting to impose on the free will of another living being. She supposed she could understand the reasoning behind it. Dream magic—anything to do with it—rubbed her the wrong way. Dreams were so personal to a person, who would ever want to manipulate them for their own gains.
“Look, money isn’t an issue. I have more than enough of it.”
“You mean your father has more than enough?” A cool voice drifted from the front door of the shop.
Chills ran down Ori’s spine. She straightened, meeting her mentor—Amon’s—gaze and surprised at the irritation brewing in her violet eyes.
The young woman sputtered, struggling for words. Amon had that effect on people, radiating a power that would make the gods bow to her in reverence.
Ori remembered how Amon’s young visage fooled her once, all those years ago. As a Quutu, Ori knew a thing or two about long lives with youthful appearances, however Amon did not look any different from a Human—yet she claimed to have lived when there was still an empire in the sky.
“My father has nothing to do with this,” the young woman retorted. Her face grew several shades red, eyes shining with unshed tears. “If he knew, he would have my head.”
Amon grinned. “Ah, so it’s the forbidden kind of love. Let me guess, your father is a high member of court, and you want to marry a servant who showed you the tiniest bit of affection that you mistook for love. When you made your move, you were rejected…”
The young woman’s eyes widened as Amon continued to talk.
“But how could such a lowly servant possibly reject you—a member of the upper echelon. Doesn’t he realize the risk you’re taking for considering him in such a manner? Shouldn’t he feel grateful to receive even a second glance from you?”
Amon crossed her arms, raising a brow. Ori sipped her hibiscus tea. Her mentor could read a person’s character with a single glance. Many years having a shop in the wealthier districts allowed her to be quite acquainted with all manner of the upper classes, but she also made a habit to help out the everyman when she could. Being exposed to so many dreams and fears allowed one to see through the facades worn by people—to see the true colors and feelings hidden underneath.
Ori hoped she never acquired such a skill. She preferred the guessing-type of game. A bit of mystery never hurt anybody.
“You’re wrong!” The girl cried out. “He loves me, he does. He just needs to see a dream and then, and then—“
Amon took a step forward. “And then what? You’ll go to the festival where he will profess his love to you? And with that courage you’ll be able to go to your father and say you want a common life?”
A vision formed in front of Ori until she saw two scenes in front of her. One of the present, of the brewing argument between Amon and the would-be customer, and another, of a time not come to pass.
Ori could make out the city square, filled to the brim with floral decorations, market booths, and dressed-up citizens. Some danced, some drank, and a lot more stood to the sides of the streets with scowls on their faces.
A large, robust man with a thick mustache looked down on a prettily-done-up girl and a mousy boy at her side. The girl Ori recognized whilst the boy she could not properly picture. But the man? She would recognize Archduke Winstoff’s face anywhere.
Which meant they really were in trouble if they even considered helping this girl out.
What is his daughter’s name…? Ori wracked her brain—trying to remember.
“Emma,” Ori’s voice was soft, but both went silent and peered at her. “Emma Winstoff, right?”
The girl froze whilst Amon’s eyes widened.
“The Archduke’s daughter?” Amon swung to the girl. “You’re lucky I don’t have a Guardian come collect you now.”
“Look, you don’t understand…”
“What I understand is that your marriage, or anything to do with your romantic pursuits, are a matter of state not just here, but among all the realms,” Ori said, gritting her teeth. “If we helped you, it would leave us in trouble with not just your father, but also the Triumvirate.”
Amon stiffened. Ori wished she had sugar-coated her words. She knew how her mentor felt when it came to the order, but the girl needed to understand how dire this situation was.
“Leave, now, or I promise I will get the Guardians here.”
With a huff and tears streaming down her face, the girl dashed out of the cramped shop—brushing past a tall woman with a sword strapped to her back.
The woman looked between the exiting customer and the two, a grimace spreading across their scarred face.
“I take it that wasn’t our usual seduction request?”
Amon shook her head and lifted the hood of her cloak over her head, obscuring her face. “I need to leave again. Things to settle so that this situation does not come back to bite us. Orielle, I’m relying on you to close up shop.”
Before any questions could be asked, Amon had dashed out much the same way as the girl.
The newcomer grimaced. “What did I miss while grabbing our lunch?”
Ori noted the parchment bags in her hands. “Nothing, Gillian. I’ll explain later.”
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When Oriel opened her eyes, she knew that she no longer stood in the physical realm. Her limbs moved easier as she lifted herself out of bed, as though weightless.
The room around her was not the attic above the shop, but a dingy shed with butchered holes and howling winds that threatened to break the structure down.
Oriel stepped outside, observing a raging storm, but not a single droplet of rain touched her skin. That’s how she determined she had done it again. She had slipped into the dreamscape on accident, but there was no telling whose dreams she would witness that night.
Shouts ripped through the fierce winds, lashing out to Oriel and beckoning her to trace its line to a farmhouse not too far away from the shed. Oriel made her way up the cracked steps, passing through the boarded up door and wincing as a glass cup flung in her direction—though it did not hit her. Nothing in this room was real, this entire world was not real. Nothing could hurt her here.
She stood in a dining room, where a finely dressed woman with crazed eyes and bushy hair exchanged glares with a portly kind-faced man from opposite ends of the table. Between them sat four children, two on each side, and to Ori’s dismay she recognized one of them.
Gillian’s golden eyes often reminded Ori of the lions she would visit at the zoos as a child. But here the vibrant amber was dimmed to a dull light brown—the younger woman’s eyes lacking any of the fire and life that Ori knew of her.
Ori looked to the man and woman again. The woman possessed the same fair hair as Gillian, whilst the man sported similar eyes.
She rarely talks about her family, Ori thought. I don’t think she even has any…
Did that mean this was a fragment of the past? A memory Gillian was forced to relive every night? Those were the worst dreams to see—in Ori’s opinion. To see what haunted a person when they should be resting… it made her grateful for the lack of dreams she herself experienced… when she wasn’t accidentally finding herself in others’ dreams.
“It’s got to stop, Noelle! Think of the kids—how are they supposed to get by if you keep wasting away their education?” The man’s voice was rough, sounding scratched.
A quick glance at the food placed around the table confirmed for Ori that this argument must have been going on for hours, which meant the kids had been subjected to listen to it for so long as well.
“It will get better! I just need one good win and then we will be golden!” The words left the woman in a rushed, manic pace. Ori’s head buzzed in dizziness, falling back a bit as the woman’s energy peaked. “The kids won’t have to worry about anything! They’ll be set for life—free to pursue whatever dreams they so choose. I promise—I promise.”
The scene quickly dissolved, replaced by another. Ori stood in the same room, but only four sat at the table.
Well, sitting was being rather kind.
Gillian’s father sat where he had been before, with his back to Ori, but even she could see the slight grey tinge to his body. Steeling herself, she walked forward and found three of the children—now teenaged years—sitting with their throats slit. A single gunshot wound went out one side of the father’s head and out the other. The blood had stopped flowing long ago.
Whoever did this was kind so they didn’t feel much pain. None of them looked frightened. If anything, their expressions were calm, at peace.
Gillian and her mother were nowhere to be found.
At least that’s what Ori thought at first.
Sniffles. She turned around and found Gillian, looking not much younger than she was now. Their face was red, eyes puffy as they stared at their family members.
Ori wanted to hug her. But there would be no point. Never before had she fallen into their dreams. And now that she had, an overwhelming guilt radiated through her. Why did she feel like this was her fault? Perhaps it was—for not getting a handle on her powers sooner.
This is why she never talks about her family, and never takes a break for a holiday.
The world around them began to crumble. Ori sighed. The dream was ending.
Should I tell them what I’ve seen?
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“Bad dreams, I take it?”
Ori shuffled into the kitchenette and found Gillian clutching a glass filled with amber liquid.
The mercenary didn’t spare her a glance as she sipped her drink. “You were there, weren’t you?”
Ori pretended not to hear them as she looked for a mug. Hot chocolate always helped after slipping into one’s dreams.
“Oriel, it’s not the first time you’ve fallen into my dreams. The world feels more real with you there.” Ori could feel Gillian’s eyes glaring at her back. “Do us both a favor and don’t play dumb with me.”
The apprentice magician only grimaced as her gaze found the mug she most cherished. A butchered old thing, sunken in and crooked in design—a gift from her twin when they were merely eight. She would never tell Tabri she kept the handcrafted-mug—it would only cause resentment from her sibling. Still, a small smile spread across her face as she brought it out of the cabinet and went to work crafting her hot chocolate.
“Fine, you caught me,” Ori said as she began to boil the hot water. “I saw some of it. I reckon the arguing had been going on for quite a while before I got there.”
Gillian hummed. “My father had always been wary of my mother’s expenditures. Usually it brought good things—that ranch for example was given to us after she made a good bet. But then her luck turned. We started bleeding money. My siblings couldn’t go to school. I dropped out to start mercenary work, and well, you saw what happened.”
Once the hot chocolate was ready, Ori joined Gillian at the cramped table, thinking over what to possibly say.
“She made a bad deal, I’m guessing?”
Gillian nodded, her eyes glassy. “She sold off the ranch and ‘its people.’ But it was clear when they arrive that my father and brothers weren’t just workers. And my father never wanted to give it up. So,” she took a long sip until the glass was empty, “he made a deal with them. An easy way out, and he would tell them where she ran off to—knowing she was indebted to many.”
Ori heaved a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I should have been more cautious.”
Gillian shook her head. “No, you just need to get a grip on your powers is all. You keep avoiding them, and it’s only causing you more pain.”
“Only the Academy can help at this point. Amon wants me to embrace my powers—to take control of them. But I can’t. No matter how much I try, I can’t.” Her eyes watered as a sniffle escaped her. She took a long sip of her drink, not caring how it burned the tip of her tongue. Anything to push back the tears. She didn’t need to break down in front of Gillian. Not after what she had witnessed.
The door to the kitchenette slammed closed. Amon walked through the room as though on a mission as she grabbed various spices out of a cabinet. “You need a recommendation in order to get into the Academy.”
“Which is why my oh-so-gracious mentor of the past two centuries could be kind enough to grant me one?” Ori moved to wink at Amon, but froze upon seeing the stony expression on her face.
“So what? You can ignore the gifts granted by Celestia? No thank you.”
And with that, Amon left the room without looking back.
Ori sat, frozen. Sure, she had made hints before and Amon turned her down. But this was the first time she had made an actual request.
Gillian patted her hand. “Don’t worry, I’m sure in the morning she will be more receiving to hearing you out.”
Ori could only hope.