Date: November 2nd, 2034

Location: Elven Research Facility, Laboratory 13

The sterile, cold light bathed the walls of Laboratory 13, casting an almost clinical glow over the various arcane instruments that lined the counters and tables. The mixture of alchemical tools and enchanted apparatuses created an eerie harmony—technology and magic blended in a way that felt both advanced and deeply unnatural. The air smelled of chemicals and herbs, an unsettling fusion of the scientific and the arcane.

Vaelin Tharos, the head researcher, stood at the center of the room, his back straight, hands clasped behind him. His sharp eyes, gleaming with the familiar hunger for discovery, darted across the various specimen reports and studies spread across the table before him. Today, however, there was something darker in his expression.

Kaelen, his younger assistant, stood nearby, clearly uneasy. The experiments they conducted on the human subjects had reached a tipping point. Each day, they grew closer to understanding the psionic mutations that had taken hold of the prisoners. But they had also hit a wall, and Vaelin’s restless mind was already seeking more extreme solutions.

“Vaelin,” Kaelen began hesitantly, his voice trembling slightly, “you wanted to speak about… other methods?”

Vaelin turned slowly, his lips curling into a thin smile. “Yes, Kaelen. We’re at a crossroads. While informative, our current methods are inadequate to fully grasp the potential of the mutation.” He stepped closer to the younger elf, his eyes narrowing. “We need to take bolder steps.”

Kaelen swallowed, his gaze shifting to the vivisection table where the body of a human subject lay motionless, still alive thanks to a combination of potions and enchantments. The violet crystals embedded in the subject's body pulsed faintly, a physical manifestation of the psionic mutation they had been studying for weeks.

“We’ve dissected some of them, even removed organs, but our sensors report brain activity in the dream mimicking theirs,” Vaelin continued, his voice growing quieter, more dangerous. “We’ve tested their limits. But we are still missing something fundamental. Something that would allow our future soldier to cut through Illithid psionics, to harness their psionics in ways that would go beyond anything we’ve achieved so far.”

Vaelin could already see it and the accolades his research would afford him. You neophytes would be forced to memorize his name for generations. He would be remembered as one of the key figures in ending the war.

Kaelen nodded, his discomfort palpable. He had worked with Vaelin for years now, but even he was beginning to see the darker turns their experiments were taking. It wasn’t just the vivisections or the invasive magical probes—the conversations that had started to surface. Conversations about more… forbidden methods.

“Are you suggesting,” Kaelen began carefully, “that we turn to one of the more… dangerous options?”

Vaelin’s smile grew sharper, more predatory. “Precisely.”

He moved toward a hefty tome on the far end of the table, its cover worn and ancient, bound in leather that had seen centuries of use. The symbols etched into the cover were unfamiliar to Kaelen, and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine as Vaelin ran his fingers over the runes.

“This,” Vaelin said, barely above a whisper, “is the Codex of Nyrax. One of the oldest collections of forbidden magic known to our kind.”

Kaelen’s eyes widened in alarm. “Vaelin, you can’t be serious. The Codex… it’s illegal even to possess a copy of it, let alone use its contents.”

Vaelin’s gaze hardened, and for a moment, Kaelen saw the depth of his mentor’s obsession. “Morality is a luxury we no longer have, Kaelen. We are on the verge of something extraordinary. If we succeed, we will reshape our understanding of magic and psionics. We will wield powers that could rival the Triad itself. Do you understand what that means?”

Kaelen hesitated. “You’re talking about summoning a creature from beyond the dream—something from the realm of nightmares.”

“Exactly,” Vaelin replied, his voice filled with excitement. “The mutation these humans undergo is powerful but still contained within the physical realm. Psionics are impressive, but imagine if we could tap into something more—something that transcends the dreamscape.”

Kaelen felt a knot forming in his stomach. “You’re talking about calling upon creatures from nightmares—things that even our kind has long feared. If we fail to control it—”

“We won’t fail,” Vaelin interrupted, his voice sharp. “Not if we prepare properly. The Codex outlines the rituals, the protections, and most importantly, the methods of binding these entities to our will.”

Kaelen stared at the tome in Vaelin’s hands, his mind racing. The forbidden enchantments of the Codex of Nyrax were notorious among the elves. Stories had been told for centuries of those who had dared to use them, only to meet horrific ends when the creatures they summoned tore free of their control. These beings were not just dreamers; they were nightmares made flesh, entities from a realm of chaos and madness.

“But Vaelin,” Kaelen said, his voice strained, “even if we perform the ritual, even if we succeed in calling something forth… how do we control it? These creatures don’t follow our laws. They don’t operate on the same principles as life here.”

Vaelin’s eyes gleamed with a fevered intensity. “That is why we will start small. We’ll choose one of the less interesting subjects, one whose mutation has not yet fully manifested. We’ll bind the entity to them, use them as a vessel.”

Kaelen’s breath caught. “You want to use a human as the conduit.”

“Of course,” Vaelin said, his voice filled with cold pragmatism. “They’re already undergoing mutations beyond anything we’ve seen before. Their bodies are adapting to psionics. Who’s to say they cannot also adapt to something… more?”

Kaelen shook his head, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “And if they can’t? If the creature breaks free?”

Vaelin’s smile returned, sharper than ever. “Then we’ll learn from the failure and move on. But if it works… we’ll have a weapon unlike anything the world has ever seen.”

The room was silent for a long moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Kaelen glanced toward the vivisection table, where the human subject lay, unconscious and unaware of the fate that might soon befall them. The violet crystals pulsed faintly beneath their skin, a reminder of the power already building within them.

“I don’t know if this is wise,” Kaelen said, his voice barely audible. “We’re playing with forces we barely understand.”

“Isn’t that what science is?” Vaelin replied, his tone almost dismissive. “We push the boundaries of what we know. We take risks. And if we succeed, the rewards are beyond imagining.”

Kaelen bit his lip, his mind swirling with doubt. He had always admired Vaelin’s brilliance and relentless pursuit of knowledge. But this… this felt different. This felt wrong.

Still, the promise of what they might discover was tantalizing. The power to control not just psionics but the very fabric of nightmares themselves—such a thing could change everything. It could elevate them beyond the Triad’s reach and allow them to reshape the world as they saw fit.

Kaelen’s hands trembled as he reached for the tome, his fingers brushing the ancient leather cover. The runes etched into the surface seemed to pulse with dark energy, as though the Codex was alive, waiting to be opened.

“Will you help me, Kaelen?” Vaelin asked quietly. “Together, we could unlock something greater than the elves have ever known. Or we could sit back, continue our slow, methodical dissections, and let this opportunity slip through our fingers.”

Kaelen hesitated, his mind torn between fear and ambition. Vaelin's visions of power were seductive, pulling at him with the promise of immortality and knowledge beyond comprehension. But the risks… they were staggering.

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Finally, Kaelen exhaled, and his decision was made. “What do we need to do?”

Vaelin’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “We’ll need a few key components to perform the ritual. First, we’ll need a subject—someone whose mutation hasn’t fully progressed but who shows potential. Someone expendable.”

Kaelen nodded, his thoughts already racing through the list of human prisoners. A few fit the description—those with unstable mutations but not yet developed enough to make them interesting.

“And we’ll need dream crystals,” Vaelin continued, his tone growing more focused. “They will anchor the creature in the dreamscape and allow us to control its presence in the physical world. Without them, the entity could slip free, which would be… unfortunate.”

Kaelen grimaced, but he understood the necessity. Dreamcrystals were volatile, powerful tools that could bridge the gap between the dreamscape and reality. But they were dangerous, especially in a ritual of this magnitude.

“What else?” Kaelen asked, steeling himself for the next step.

“We’ll need a place to conduct the ritual,” Vaelin said thoughtfully. “Somewhere isolated, where we won’t be disturbed. The laboratory will suffice for now, but we may need to move to a more secure location if the summoning proves difficult to contain.”

Kaelen’s heart pounded in his chest. The enormity of what they were about to attempt weighed on him, but there was no turning back now. He had made his choice.

“Vaelin,” Kaelen said, his voice steadying, “are you sure we can control it?”

Vaelin’s expression darkened slightly, but his confidence didn’t waver. “We are the team entrusted to save the Freehold by the high council. There is no way we can control it; our brothers on the battlefield depend on it,” Vaelin said.

…

Date: November 7th, 2034

Location: Elven Research Facility Dreamscape

Red stood at the edge of the dreamscape, his body tense with an energy that pulsed through him like a caged storm. Cracks appeared even in his dream form, healing slowly as if by magic. He pressed against the slowly expanding edge of the dreamscape but couldn’t move past it. Symbols etched into the sky like the laws of heaven stopped him. They were an impenetrable wall to his dream body, and even knowing that and sensing it for himself didn’t stop him from trying. It was impossible if he gave up; quitting was the only thing that would beat him. His breath came out ragged, his muscles straining as he pushed himself far beyond the limits he'd known just a few months before. He was no longer the man who had been captured. The mutation coursing through his veins had made sure of that.

But he didn’t have the power to use force to escape. Not yet.

Red was in his training room, his place, and at the edge of his control over the dreamscape. At the edge, physical laws mattered more. Others moved their rooms closer to the center of their dreamscape, granting them almost god-like control.

He was fired up and liked the feeling of using his muscles, even if he used his psionics to stimulate them to keep up with his training if the others continued to drift further afield, how would they cope with their atrophied, weak bodies? What if they were trapped here for decades? Did no one think of that? He was unsure Red hadn’t talked with anyone since Brandon died.

The rocks he used for training hovered in the air around him, beginning to tremble, wobbling under the pressure of his psionics. Red clenched his fists, pouring every ounce of his will into controlling them. Sweat dripped down his brow, and his muscles screamed for relief, but he didn’t let up. He couldn’t. More of his body had changed, guided by his actions. The harder he worked, the faster he changed and the smoother it seemed.

He made the rocks intentionally fragile to increase his difficulty. Power wasn’t hard to get with the mutations running rampant through his body, but control was worth its weight in gold. He had leaped and frogged ahead of the rest with his tactics.

If the elves happened to grow consciousness and release them, Red would be ready to walk out on his own two feet.

Just a little longer, he thought, his mind racing. If he could hold them up just a few minutes more, he would have broken another personal record—a victory, however small, in the face of an impossible situation.

But then, a sharp crack echoed through the dreamscape as one of the rocks shot upward, shattering against the invisible ceiling that marked the boundaries of his created world. The rest fell unceremoniously, and Red cursed under his breath.

His strength was growing exponentially, but so was the chaos that came with it. The power slipped away like sand through his fingers whenever he thought he had control. It wasn’t enough to get stronger—he needed control. Without it, this mutation would tear him apart. Worse, it might destroy his only chance of getting out of this place alive.

The mutation had made him less human, according to some of the others, but it also had woven itself into the fabric of his being, turning his body into a psionic conduit. His muscles ached from the raw power surging through them. He felt the static buzzing in his veins, alive and uncontrollable.

Red would control the chaos, but it wouldn’t control him.

He wiped his forehead, trying to focus. There was no room for doubt, no time for weakness. His eyes narrowed as he glanced toward the far edge of the dreamscape, where the elves no doubt continued their experiments on his people, on his kind.

The psionic yelled into the wall, “We aren’t yours to control,” Red said. He had to be better, to push harder.

But the harder he pushed, the more the question gnawed at him: What’s the price?

There was no denying the power he had now, but the mutations...they came with a price. He could feel it creeping up on him, the weight of something alien inside his body, something changing him into what? He didn't have the answer, and the elves were silent. If they could communicate after weeks, they chose not to.

But they were interested. The vivisections, the experiments, the mutilations—they had a goal, but he had no idea what made their bodies adapt to whatever sickness changed them. The elves might know or not, but they have a goal. The massive cascade of ignorance was impossible to bridge.

Red paced the room he had constructed, a mental space that mimicked the real world in some ways but with enough flexibility to allow him to push himself to his limits. He had trained here daily, honing his skills and tempering his body to match the new strength the mutation had brought. But his body wasn’t enough—his mind had to be stronger, sharper.

He wanted to fly like Superman and shoot lasers like him. In some ways, this power was a dream come true, too bad it was almost impossible to control. Red was almost grateful for the isolation for the time he needed to get control of the static running through him.

The psionics coursing through him wasn’t just a tool but wild power. And if he would escape this place, he had to master it completely. The elves were watching, always watching, probing their every move, manipulating them like lab rats.

Machines pumped fluids and some slurry down his throat to keep him alive. Sometimes, he could almost feel his body, but nothing he did allowed him to twitch a finger.

Red stopped in his tracks, his mind racing as he turned over an idea that had been lurking in the back of his thoughts for days now. He could feel them—the elves—probing, observing, and learning from every experiment. They were taking samples and leaving with them; he could feel those cells even far removed from his body.

Some were mostly emptied and turned into an ovum, and then the bastards inseminated them with elven seed. It was horrible, along with the eternal multiplying and alien sensations as injections poured into them. He could feel them like a phantom limb. They weren’t a part of him. He was only aware enough to collect information. Cells with violet crystals were great for transmitting and receiving information even through all the defenses the elves had in place.

The human psionic couldn’t do anything with the information, but it was functional. It fit somewhere in a great big puzzle about how to wake up and escape from this place. Some of what he knew was either guessed by the others or transmitted from his harvested cells through trauma from various experiments.

But what if I could learn from them instead?

The thought hit him like a jolt of lightning, and for a moment, he stood frozen, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He had never considered spying on the elves—not directly. It was dangerous, reckless even. If they detected his psionic thread, they would know. And then, whatever fragile advantage he still held would be lost.

But the temptation gnawed at him. He was desperate for answers. They were too close to something—something that could give him a way out or something that could end it all.

His mind whirled with possibilities, doubts, and fears, but in the end, only one voice mattered—his own. He was a leader, a fighter. He had survived this long by trusting his instincts, pushing beyond his limits, setting impossible standards, and crushing them underfoot.

“Do it,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with barely contained fury.

He knelt, closed his eyes, and reached out with his mind. The static surged again, the energy buzzing and crackling through his veins as he extended a single, thin thread of psionic energy outward, weaving it through the dreamscape. It snaked through the walls, beyond the confines of his created space, slipping through the cracks of reality until it brushed against the edge of the elven minds.

Red’s heart pounded in his chest as he held the thread steady, his breath shallow. He had never done this before or reached out to them in this way. But there was no turning back now. He needed to know what they were planning, what they were hiding.

As the thread made contact, he felt a rush of foreign thoughts—alien, cold, and calculating. The elves’ minds were sharp, disciplined, and shielded by layers of magic and training. The thread was thin enough that even the heavy shielding wasn’t enough to stop him.

He probed carefully, cautiously, listening to their thoughts. They were entirely alien and undesirable. Worse, through such a small connection, very little information could travel back to him at a time. By the time he heard something, a hundred other conversations had already taken place.

His jaw clenched. It was another dead end. He couldn’t get anything but surface thoughts in the elf's strange language.

It was better to focus on something that would get results for the foreseeable future. Or perhaps he was going about it all wrong. Maybe what he needed to do was create a copy of an elf and learn from them. That was his only chance to get a handle on their language. But who should he choose?

They didn’t seem able to detect such a small thread of psionic energy so maybe he should multiply his efforts. More threads could help him collect the data he needed into a singular form. How would he even begin copying someone into existence in the dream?

Red would need to consult Zack and the others and see if he could figure something out.