***

You drift into sleep, drifting off to undiscovered worlds.

You stand before a burning figure, her body completely composed of flame.

She has turned away from you with her arms crossed. You understand that she is not upset with you but just preoccupied with other things. Beside you, on either side, sit Aso'une'aawn. Both seem restless and potentially worried.

"L'Oos, your Shards are moving." One says in a thick, masculine voice. His plumage is effervescent vermillion that is striped with swaths of deep, royal blue.

"I am aware." She answers curtly. "And so is Sa'Bel."

"They're getting closer to each other, faster than we'd expect." The other adds, her voice crisp and cool just like her dark purple down.

"We want that. It brings Rebirth closer."

They both nod. Standing up on long, spindly, avian legs before launching themselves into the sky.

***

You feel weightless.

Falling, floating, flying on the wind.

You throw your great wings out, catching the air and using it. Your wings beat strongly against the rushing air, pushing you toward the horizon ahead.

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The feeling of freedom is almost palpable as you glide and soar over a vast cloudy abyss.

A grey Aso'une'aawn joins you with stark, washed-out feathers and a shadow black and bone white crest on its head.

The newcomer flies below you to your right, keeping its distance.

You press on.

The night air rushes through your feathers as you soar.

"Nova." It's the stark Aso'une'aawn. His voice is scratchy, grating even. "You have drawn the attention of Dark Forces. The Storm approaches."

Your breath catches in your throat.

You are no longer a majestic avian creature.

You stand on a blank white floor amid an endless white void. Upon the throne sits Tyrr'olni'nel'mul.

Your Patron.

Tyrr'olni'nel'mul sits placidly on his terrible throne. He looks up at you, expression unchanging.

"The Storm approaches."

***

You wake in a cold sweat.

The Storm approaches.

Darkness still prevails throughout your room.

You slowly drift back to sleep. This time without dreams.

***

You awaken to the soft light of morning.

The Sun's blazing light spills in like streams of dew.

You stretch languidly while lying in bed. You yawn and roll onto your side. Then you sit upright again and rub your face vigorously.

You sigh softly and shake away the remnants of drowsiness. Cold dread and the memory of the dream still linger instead of evaporating like morning mist to the Sun's rays.

You glance around your home. It feels empty. Empty except for yourself.

You walk across the bare wooden floors, past your simple kitchenette, past your bookshelf, and to the windows.

Your Patron's grinning face flashes in your mind's eye.

The Storm Approaches.

You breathe, trying to ease the dread, trying to let the stress melt away, when your eyes rest on a dark smudge on the clouds below. It moves, circling around the Titan Tree in a wide berth. It is too far away for you to make it out completely.

The Storm Approaches.

Tyrr'olni'nel'mul flashes through your mind, his horned head propped up with a bony-white hand.

Your pulse pounds in your head.

The thing out there is an enemy.