Sleep held no true dominion over them, not in the way it did for ordinary men. It claimed their bodies, yes, drew them into the deep embrace of night’s silent tide. But their minds? Their souls? Those drifted beyond mortal constraints, into the realm where past and future coiled together like twin serpents, whispering secrets that no waking ear could grasp.

Celestial Trial

The dream unfurled before him in colors that defied nature’s palette—hues too vivid for waking eyes, too raw for the feeble light of day. A forest, pulsating with life, its neon flora stretching toward a sky where constellations wheeled in perfect, deliberate motion, as though crafted by a celestial hand that cared for precision above all else.

At its heart, a monolithic tree, its leaves molten sapphire, its roots pulsating with the rhythm of a slumbering titan. Beneath it, a bench—sleek and unfamiliar, neither wood nor metal, but something that shimmered with an energy both old and new, eternal and fleeting.

Kalvis sat upon it, his gaze distant, a man adrift in his own mind. But he was not alone.

Two figures loomed before him, reflections twisted in the glass of fate. One wreathed in ivory light, the other a shadow deeper than the void between the stars. They were him. They were not him. They were heart and mind. Mercy and wrath. Twin specters of his soul, whispering truths he wished to unhear.

“You want them back,” the luminous Kalvis murmured, his voice the hush of wind through sacred halls. “You seek to rewrite time, to bend the universe to your grief.”

“But the universe does not bend,” the shadowed one countered, his voice sharp as a blade drawn in the dark. “It only takes. And it has taken from you, Kal. It has left you with hollow hands and an empty heart.”

Kalvis clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palm. “There must be a way. A pact. A price I can pay.”

The light-shrouded Kalvis exhaled softly, eyes filled with quiet sorrow. “Would you trade your soul?”

“Would you trade your fury?” the dark one sneered. “Would you surrender the fire that keeps you breathing?”

The bench beneath him felt like an altar, an executioner’s block, a judge’s stand. The wind carried voices—his parents, their laughter, their screams, echoes of a time he could not reclaim. He pressed his hands to his ears.

“No,” he whispered. “I just... I just want them back.”

The dark Kalvis laughed, a sound that cut through the marrow of existence. “Then make the universe kneel.”

Kalvis reached out, desperate, grasping for something unseen, something beyond the veil of mortality. But the dreamscape shuddered, the figures blurred, their forms unraveling like threads from a cosmic loom. The sapphire leaves above shimmered, then dissolved into cascading filaments of time itself. The great tree groaned, its roots tightening, as if all reality held its breath.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

And then, silence.

Shattered Stars

Dreams should be soft. Dreams should be kind. But Karina’s dreams were ruin.

Galaxies tore themselves apart before her, stars screaming as they collapsed into the abyss. She stood in a void of color—nebulae swirling in hues of sorrow, supernovae shattering into embers of lost hope. And before her, two versions of herself. One veiled in light, serene as a marble statue in a temple of forgotten gods. The other, a silhouette so black it devoured the radiance around it.

“You are a fool,” the dark Karina spat, arms crossed, gaze heavy with disdain. “They are gone. Bargaining is for cowards. The strong do not weep over dust.”

The luminous Karina, calm, measured, unshaken. “The past is not mere weight. It is foundation. A house built without it is but an illusion, waiting to fall.”

Karina paced, her breath uneven. “What if there is a way? A loophole? A path unseen by those too willing to accept loss?”

The shadow scoffed. “Do you think the universe forgot a fine print?”

“And yet,” the light mused, tilting her head as though seeing something beyond the veil, “we exist in possibilities. If there were no choices, why are we here?”

Karina’s throat tightened. The voices of her parents wove through the stars, fragile, fleeting. She reached out, but the constellations burned her fingers.

She screamed.

And woke in a cold sweat.

Breathing heavily, she clutched the sheets as though they alone anchored her to reality. The weight of the dream lingered, stretching like phantom limbs across her waking mind. She wiped her brow, feeling the heat of forgotten stars against her skin. Somewhere, deep within, a decision began to take root.

Blades Clashing

His dream was war.

A battlefield of steel and blood, smog curling in the air like the breath of an old god that had long since abandoned mercy. The ground was blackened, scorched by fire and ruin. And at its center, three versions of himself.

Art sat upon a throne of wreckage, a synthstick between his lips, watching with idle amusement. Watching as the other two versions of him fought.

One, shrouded in white, fast and precise, a whisper of steel through the air. The other, a figure of pure shadow, brutal and relentless, wielding rage like a cudgel. Their blades met in bursts of fire, their blows shaking the earth.

They did not speak. They had no need. Their war was ancient, waged in the marrow of his bones.

Art exhaled, smoke curling like specters in the wind. “So, who wins tonight?”

Neither answered. They only fought harder.

Steel clanged. Sparks flew. The white specter struck with elegance, a warrior of reason, a master of precision. The dark figure countered with unrelenting fury, a creature of instinct, of blood, and vengeance.

Art took another drag. “It’s funny. Every night, the same fight. Same blood. Same dust.”

The combatants did not falter.

“Maybe I should pick a side,” Art mused. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

The thought lingered. But just as their blades met in a final, cataclysmic strike—

Darkness.

He jolted awake, the synthstick still clutched between his fingers, now just a dead ember. His heart pounded against his ribs, a drum of war. The taste of smoke lingered on his tongue, but beneath it, something more bitter. The taste of inevitability.

Blades Clashing

They woke at the same time, gasping, hearts hammering. A voice whispered through their minds, threading through the cracks of their souls:

Make the universe kneel.

The words burrowed deep, deeper than dreams, deeper than flesh. Not merely a whisper. A command. A promise. A threat.

Kalvis sat up, his eyes burning in the dark. Karina pulled her knees to her chest, breathing shallowly. Art ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling.

None of them spoke. None of them needed to.

Because the battlefield of dreams was no longer confined to their minds.

The war had already begun.