CHAPTER ONE

Echoes of the Sunlit Dream

The sun glowed warm and clear, shining high above a gently flowing river. Its surface glistened as though studded with tiny jewels, and the soft light seemed to embrace every blade of grass along the bank. A sudden breeze stirred the leaves around me, sending them dancing past my ankles.

The old trees swayed and creaked, their branches bending as if whispering secrets to one another. The wind gathered strength, and I heard the heavy groan of trunks bowing beneath its force. Dry leaves rained down in short bursts, swirling along the river’s edge.

I looked up and glimpsed a flock of birds wheeling gracefully overhead. Their wings flashed in the sunlight, tracing patterns against the pure blue of the sky.

For a moment, I stood there, content and grounded. There were people around me. I sensed their presence close by, even though a gentle haze obscured their faces. Their outlines wavered, half-real, half-imagined. Yet I felt only calm and kinship, as though we shared a bond older than speech.

Then the light faded. The sky darkened in an impossible instant, and the air thickened with tension. My vision shifted, as if the world tilted beneath my feet. In place of the sun’s warm glow, something vast and terrible loomed overhead.

Massive tentacles writhed through the gloom, twisting and curling, blotting out the last remnants of daylight. They swayed across the heavens like colossal roots of an upside-down tree, stretching in every direction to claim the horizon.

A dense fog poured into view and swallowed the landscape. The gentle laughter of running water and the rustle of leaves vanished. Now there was only a heavy silence, broken by a low tremor beneath my feet. The ground rumbled, and I lost my balance. I fell hard, striking my head, and the pain tore through me, sharp and real. Darkness rushed in, devouring everything in an abrupt wave.

I opened my eyes to the dim world I knew. It had only been a dream. Still, the lingering echo of that sunlit memory—the silent faces, the monstrous shapes that devoured the sky—remained vivid and unsettling.

This was not the first time I had that dream; it came often and rarely changed. I realized some might consider it a nightmare, but I could still feel the warmth of the sun reaching my skin in the early morning after I woke. I felt oddly grateful each time this dream visited.

As I stirred awake, a dull ache throbbed in my back. I remembered that I had slept on the stairs near the overhang by the door from home. Not mine, just a place others called home. I had no idea what else to call it.

The previous night’s rain had arrived late, and there was hardly any cover in this part of the district. The overhang by the door offered just enough shelter for a few steps, yet most of my body had been left out in the rain. Now I saw that my only blanket was soaked, and my legs were almost numb from the cold.

Nights in the district could be brutally cold. There was a kind couple living in this building who had given me a few things, so I at least had my blanket and a decent coat. The coat had some holes when they got it, but the lady who gave it to me had patched them first. The slight mismatch in the fabric let me know where the tears had been. The coat’s thickness varied, yet it was far better than nothing.

As I stood up, I heard voices stirring inside. I hurried to gather my things, knowing that if I lingered, someone might try to leave and simply kick me aside. That had happened before.

Although one couple in the building treated me kindly, this was not their home alone. The building housed multiple families, all sharing cramped spaces. I glanced up at its tall structure, thinking about how many people might be tucked into those rooms. I had been told that, in earlier days, nobody lived so tightly packed in these residential blocks. Supposedly, families once had larger quarters or smaller, separate units. I could hardly imagine such luxury.

They said District 98 had not always been so overcrowded or so plagued by hunger, that life had been better—until the day I arrived. The couple insisted none of this was my fault, that I had nothing to do with it. Yet I still felt a knot of guilt.

I could not recall exactly what happened on that day. The guards found me wandering near the edge of District 98 ward and brought me inside. Later, people told me how everything changed at the moment of my arrival.

They explained that I came from the direction of District 7. The Chainrunners, those who traveled beyond the ward’s protection were dispatched to see what had become of that district. They discovered nothing but ruins. The ward of District 7 had failed, allowing beasts and monsters from the fog to enter and kill everyone.

The Chainrunners went on to check other neighboring districts, only to learn that it was not just District 7; several more had fallen on the same day. Their wards, too, had failed.

I knew little else. They had questioned me, but I remembered nothing beyond stumbling through the fog until I saw some lights and was brought inside by the city guards of District 98. Perhaps it was trauma from seeing those monsters that made me lose my memories, or so they said. According to them, I was lucky to be alive. However, most people did not see me as a harbinger of luck—rather the opposite.

After all, the day I arrived was the day everything changed.

I sighed softly, recalling that I had left my clay cup behind while gathering my belongings under the overhang. I turned to retrieve it just as a small boy in a blue coat stepped out of the door. He spotted my cup first and dashed forward, kicking it.

That clay cup was probably the most precious item I owned. As it tumbled along the ground, I dared to hope it would survive. For a moment, it bounced harmlessly, and relief fluttered through me. But when it struck the pavement again, it shattered into countless shards.

The boy was slightly older than me. His name was Pallo. He lived on the first floor, and he had bothered me every chance he got since the day I peered through his window out of curiosity.

Back then, he had received a gift—a zoetrope. When spun, it showed an illusion of galloping horses, those mythical creatures I had read about. I had only wanted a glimpse, enchanted by the motion, wondering if horses were real and imagining one leaping forth from the spinning images. Pallo, however, took offense at my prying. He had not wanted anyone else to see his toy. From that moment, he seemed to hate me. Now, seeing my clay cup in front of him, he had kicked it with a look of glee.

As soon as he noticed I was watching, his grin only widened. Then, with no further word, he turned and walked away.

I knelt slowly to gather the cup’s remains, collecting each fragment with trembling hands. I tucked them into my coat pocket. Perhaps the kind couple upstairs could mend it later, though I doubted it would hold water again.

With my cup gone, I felt an emptiness that went beyond hunger. My stomach growled, reminding me of the winter to come. Last winter, I believed I had only survived because that cup let me fill up on water whenever I needed to fool my body into ignoring hunger pains.

I knew a trick to dull hunger: drink as much water as possible, and sometimes mix a bit of dirt into it. The couple insisted it does not solve hunger. Still, it momentarily distracted me from my stomach’s ache. If I swallowed enough water, I could sometimes fall asleep before hunger returned.

And that was why my clay cup mattered. I had carried it everywhere. Now, with no way to store water, I might be forced to sleep near the well just to keep the hunger at bay.

I tried not to linger on that thought and headed for the water well anyway, hands shoved into my coat pockets. As I walked, I felt the broken cup pieces poking against my fingers like jagged reminders of my bad luck.

When I reached the well, I pulled up the bucket, filling it until water splashed over the brim. I drank greedily, gulp after gulp, until my stomach felt tight. A faint discomfort replaced the gnawing hunger for a while.

I looked around. The district stirred awake around me. People began stepping outside, carrying baskets or tools, many looking tense or weary. I realized I needed to hide soon. District 98 was not very large, and most public wells were heavily used. There were few places to gather water, so I could easily be spotted if I stayed.

I lingered another few minutes, drinking until I felt water might spill from my ears. The sense of fullness warred with my hunger, which had been momentarily subdued. But with my cup gone, I would have no water to drink while I hid. That left me with little choice.

So I ran, weaving between cramped buildings until I reached a narrow alley. Only someone my size could slip through the gap between the leaning walls. It was an ideal hiding spot for the day, no adults would fit, so I would be out of sight. Sadly, there was no shelter from rain.

I spread my damp blanket on the hard ground and wrapped myself in it. Though it barely covered my thin frame, it offered some measure of comfort.

Then came the hardest part: forcing myself back to sleep. If I stayed awake, the hunger would creep in again, sharper than before. And if the rain came, I would be stuck here without shelter. But I had learned a way to shut down my mind, or at least push intrusive thoughts to the edges.

I had no idea if it was truly possible to silence one’s mind, but I knew how to drift into a hazy realm where logical thoughts—those linked to reality—faded, allowing me to slip away into slumber, a state of focus in which I felt completely disconnected from the world.

Soon, the world blurred at the edges. My heavy eyelids shut, and I felt myself sink into the same emptiness I always sought. This time, I silently hoped for that dream again, for the warmth of the sun on my skin, even if it was only make-believe.

…

This time, I was not lucky enough to have the dream. When I finally woke, hours later, the light was already piercing through the thick fog that surrounded the district. It must have been close to midday.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

I blinked away the remnants of sleep and realized with a start that someone was crouched in my hidden spot. My heart lurched, but then relief washed over me as I recognized Meris, the daughter of the kind couple who helped me survive.

“Took you long enough to wake up,” she said with a grin. “I thought about shaking you, but my mother would have scolded me.”

“Others have tried,” I replied, returning a wry smile. “Believe me, once I’m out, you can’t wake me.”

She laughed softly. Meris was one of the few people in the district who did not look at me with disgust.

“Is that a challenge?” she teased, arching an eyebrow.

“Just stating facts,” I said, shrugging off her playful tone.

It was then that I noticed the basket in her hands. The unmistakable smell of fresh bread wafted up, making my stomach clench with sudden hunger. I tried to conceal my yearning, but the loud rumble in my belly betrayed me.

“Here,” Meris offered, holding out the basket. “Mother sent this for you. It was baked this morning.”

Her kindness squeezed at my chest, a reminder of how much her parents, Elina and Jharim had done for me. Despite their own hardships, worsened since my arrival, they still shared what little they had.

Elina, the district’s only librarian, had taught me many things. She insisted that our people were resilient and would one day find a solution to the hardships we faced, possibly by discovering an artifact to help us. I often clung to that hope when times felt impossible.

I sat beside Meris on the cold ground and gingerly took the bread from the basket. Its warmth still radiated through the cloth, and a thin curl of steam rose into the chilly air. I paused, glancing at her uncertainly.

“This was supposed to be yours, wasn’t it?” I asked, breaking the bread in half and extending one piece toward her.

Meris shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Mother really did send it for you.”

“Take it,” I insisted, pressing the broken half into her hand. “We can share.”

She studied me for a heartbeat, then gave a tiny nod and took the piece. Without waiting, she began to eat. I started more slowly, taking careful bites. I knew from experience that eating too quickly after going hungry for so long could make things worse. Besides, I had no idea when I would taste bread again.

The flavor overwhelmed me, rich and comforting. I could almost feel my body waking up, remembering what it was like not to be starving.

We finished in companionable silence. Neither of us was truly full, but bread was a rare commodity these days, and neither of us had expected to eat any that morning.

In District 98, survival revolved around work. Wages came in the form of rations, paid work or minimal allowance, determined by how necessary and important your profession was. Elina, Meris’s mother, worked as a librarian, a role seen as less vital than guard duty, blacksmithing, or chainrunning. She earned little, scarcely above what an apprentice might receive. Her father, Jharim, was a blacksmith, but not the most sought-after in the district.

Under ordinary circumstances, blacksmithing might have been well-paid, especially with the constant risk beyond the ward. But ever since I arrived, demand had fallen. Fewer ventured outside, so fewer weapons and tools were required. Building projects were rare too, Araksiun’s ancient magical properties kept structures from crumbling, food from spoiling, and water sources drinkable. There was no constant rush to repair or construct. Consequently, Jharim’s work was sporadic at best, leaving their family with a smaller income than ever.

Yet they still shared their meager resources with me.

Meris herself had not been planned. Born without permission from the district, she received no official support, as every child of the district receives. At first, her parents managed, but after my arrival, every allowance was cut further. Food was scarcer, allowances shrank, and the tension in people’s eyes grew sharper each day.

Guilt twisted inside me. Elina often told me it was not my fault, but I could not shake the feeling that my existence here burdened them.

“You’re still hiding during the day?” Meris asked gently, breaking the quiet. Her tone was curious, not accusing.

“Yes,” I answered simply.

She looked thoughtful. “It’s been four years. Do people still need someone to blame?”

Her words jarred me. Four years. I had almost lost track of how long I had been here. That meant I must have turned eight by now. Only four more years until I could become an apprentice officially.

When I first arrived, Meris’s parents were the only ones willing to accept me. I did not know my true age, but since I was about Meris’s height, they officially registered me as her age. They even offered to let me live with them, but the rest of the district protested and they were not allowed to adopt me.

Here, access to district facilities belonged only to the members. Even children had to show they could learn or work, for they were viewed as the city’s future.

Whenever Jharim needed assistance in the forge, I helped as best I could. I was not strong enough to lift the hammer or most of his tools, but he promised he would take me on as his apprentice when I came of age. An apprentice’s allowance would be meager, yet it would grant me a bunk and a chance to be truly accepted in District 98, as well as access to live indoors.

I realized I had not answered Meris’s question. She was watching me with a slight tilt of her head, her eyes openly curious.

“Sorry,” I blurted. “I was lost in thought again.”

“You do that a lot,” she said, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “I wonder where your mind goes when you drift off like that.”

She paused, then added, “Anyway, I know some people still blame you. But you had nothing to do with it, and deep down they know that too. Sometimes, though, I think you’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

I felt my cheeks warm, uncertain how to respond. “Your mother explained that to me,” I said quietly. “I understand. But they hate me anyway.”

“Yes,” she admitted softly, glancing at the foggy sky. “But they’ll forget. They always do.”

I nodded, wishing I shared her confidence.

And I hoped she was right.

…

As the weeks went by, winter arrived. The already scarce food supply became even more limited because almost nothing grew in District 98, and during winter, food production came to a complete halt.

One bitter morning, they found me lying motionless in the cold, not stirring or waking after an especially frigid night. Later on, Elina brought me inside a residential building, convinced I was not going to wake up anymore.

They laid my body on a bed, and after some time, I gradually became aware of soft, hushed crying. Among the voices, I recognized Meris’s.

“Why are they crying?” I wondered in the darkness of my mind.

I had heard rumors of certain residential buildings having heating systems, though none of them were common and this building definitely was not among those. Even so, that day I felt a noticeable difference. Sleeping inside sheltered me from the worst of the cold, and I awoke again not long after.

They had been certain I was gone for good, so when I finally opened my eyes, everyone around me seemed startled. I was not sure why they found it strange. I always woke up eventually.

Elina jumped back as though frightened, while Jharim and Meris both stared at me in puzzled silence.

“Are you sure?” I heard Jharim whisper. I was still groggy but recognized his voice instantly.

“Yes, I am sure,” Elina murmured. “His heart stopped a long time ago, and he was not breathing.” The room was small enough that their whispers reached my ears clearly.

They paused for a few moments, gathering themselves, then approached to check whether I was truly well.

I liked these long sleeps because once I awakened, my hunger would vanish for a few days. It always returned, but I had never understood why these long sleeps, that were so difficult to wake from, made the gnawing hunger go away.

Of course, not everything about it was good. Each time it happened, Jharim and Elina worried themselves sick. Meris never fully grasped their anxiety, but this time they all believed I would never open my eyes again.

“I told you, it is just hard to wake me up,” I said with a faint smile at Meris, hoping to ease her concern. The lines of worry on her face softened slightly.

Elina examined me thoroughly, then looked me in the eye. “We found you outside the door,” she explained. “Some people pushed you aside, but you just would not wake, so we brought you in.”

I wondered why she felt the need to recount what I had already sensed. Then I realized how peculiar it was that I remembered them carrying me inside, even though I had not been conscious. It must have been another dream, I decided.

“Thank you all for caring about me,” I said quietly. “I am sorry I worried you. I think I should be going now, soon it will be harder to find a place to hide.” I got up from the bed, my limbs still sluggish but functional.

“Nonsense,” Elina said firmly, stepping forward. “You are staying here. It is too cold outside.”

During these freezing nights, many people fell into their own long sleeps and never woke up again. That was a grim reality. Sometimes I was not sure which misery was worse: the cold or the hunger. On nights like the last one, both became unbearable, and my mind threatened to slip away completely.

In those moments, I tried to focus on something else, similar to how I concentrated when attempting to fall asleep quickly. It offered some escape from the pain of cold and hunger, though I rarely managed to sustain it for long. Nevertheless, it was the only option I had.

“You know I cannot stay,” I answered, my voice resolute. “Thank you, Elina, but I should go.”

Elina looked ready to argue further, but Jharim rested a hand on her shoulder. He spoke softly, urging her to let me leave.

It was not that I refused the safety of walls or the warmth of a bed with a proper blanket. They had offered before, and I knew what comfort felt like in that brief moment. But it always ended the same way.

Jharim and Elina had already risked much by raising Meris, born without the District’s official permission. Any additional act of defiance, such as openly sheltering me, could put Meris at risk of exile. Many people in the district hated me and called me the bad omen. If Elina and Jharim were to harbor me, someone would likely report them, leading to punishment from the District council.

Elina once told me how people blamed me for the destruction of several neighboring districts, even though I had nothing to do with it. They claimed my presence reminded them of how things used to be before I arrived and the bitter changes that followed. More than once, furious residents had beaten me until I drifted into one of those long sleeps. That was why I mostly hid during the day.

As long as they did not see me, they would not become angry. So I hurried to find a place to hide. Thankfully, the long sleep meant I did not feel hungry or thirsty right away, but the moment I stepped outside, the cold gripped me like icy hands.

Before I could get far, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Meris dashing down the stairs of the residential facility. She caught up to me and paused, hesitant. Then she spoke.

“You know, you could stay inside. We could hide you for the day, pretend you are off somewhere else.”

“I cannot risk it,” I replied. “If people find out, they will report your family. You might end up an outsider, just like me.”

“It might be worth the risk,” she said softly, eyes downcast. “When you did not wake up this time, my parents thought you were gone for good. I did too… and I am scared that one day you really will not come back.”

I considered it. More than anything, I wanted to stay warm, behind solid walls. But the trouble it would bring them loomed in my mind, and I forced the idea away.

“You know I always wake up,” I said with a slight smile before sprinting toward my hiding spot.

Just four more years, I reminded myself. At age twelve, I could officially become an apprentice, and Jharim had already promised to take me on if I waited until then.

Even if there was not much work, at least I would get a small allowance from the District. Besides access to certain facilities, rations, and a little more security.

In the following weeks, winter bit down even harder, driving me into many more of those long sleeps. Others around me suffered the same fate, but unlike me, most never opened their eyes again after drifting into a long sleep.

Sometimes I heard the wails of those left behind, and on certain days the air hung heavy with the smell of burning bodies. Occasionally, I wondered whether fire might wake someone from a long sleep, and I felt an odd sense of relief that nobody had tried that approach on me.