The signature clanging of swords announced the presence of dualists in the courtyard. The heavy exhales and shouts of frustration suggested one of the competitors had the upper hand. As per usual, the main courtyard was a hub of activity. Young hopefuls being trained in the ways of war by grizzled veterans. Passing on either side of the combatants were the many workers that maintained the castle. Blacksmiths burdened by heavy materials; hunters carrying their daily catch; and garrison members patrolling the length of the castle. The sounds of the castle though unfamiliar felt comfortable, carrying the distinct feel of life.

Almost against my will, I feel myself move forward unable to delay my destiny any longer. Focused on my destination, I ignore the smell of the kitchens and even the booming ring of the bell tower. My feet finally come to a halt in a dense forest, the trees in the forest giving off an ancient feel as if they’ve existed since antiquity. My eyes though are drawn only to one of them. A large tree that exists at the centre of the forest, its foliage the colour of freshly spilled blood and its bark the same white as exposed bone. At the centre of the tree exists the visage of an old stern-looking man, who appears to have hardened with age rather than soften. Each of these characteristics if taken separately would be eerie or even frightening but the overall impression is one of purity and wisdom.

A blink of the eye and I find myself on top of the northern gate facing a far-off forest, between the dark forest and the castle is a white desolate land. My grasp of time wavering as day gives way to night, and the sounds of life give way to the stillness of death. An eerie feeling begins to grip at my heart, the feeling of coldness climbing my extremities like an army breaching the castle doors. The source of the feeling unmistakeably being the dark forest or more likely what hides within it. A hurried shout wakes the castle inhabitants from their slumber. The sound of equipment being hoisted; fortifications being hastily constructed; and military order being established melds into an undecipherable cacophony. Amongst all the action, silently a dark rolling fog has begun to seep out of the distant forest. The fog building up to become so turbid, it begins to resemble a viscous dark liquid.  As if following some predetermined plan, the fog then begins to advance on the castle. The closer the fog becomes, the greater the feeling of wrongness it exudes. Fear begins to take a grip of me and I hope only to escape these walls and retreat as far as possible. Unable to look at the fog any longer, I turn to my flanks and see grim determination planted on the faces of the castle inhabitants.  I take solace from their resolve and turn back just as the fog consumes us all.

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I jolt awake, my heartrate elevated and booming in my chest. The sticky feeling of semi dried sweat adhering my back to the sheet below it. Remembering my usual routine, I begin slow and deliberate inhalations while attempting to remember as much as possible from the dream. This includes the people within the dream; any identifying characteristics and points of interest. One thing I’m clear on is that the events depicted in the dream haven’t occurred yet as they lacked the concrete feeling usually emitted.  My thoughts finally in order, I head towards the large bloodwood table across from my bed. Withdrawing my chronicle from the shelf, I mark the date 404 SD and then recount the entire dream to the best of my recollection. The scenery of the castle surrounded by snow is not a first when it comes to my dreams and I search for similarities between past dreams and this one. I write a few theories and connections down, but I know I will need more information before I can piece together the puzzle. Content with what I’ve written down, I close the book and return it to the shelf.