Ba-Dum.

Ba-Dum

Ba-Dum-tak-dum-tak-dum. Ba-dum-tak-dum-tak-dum.

Drums echoed in the dark—near, yet far as if they carried across a cavernous lake. A deep, reverberating sound it was, beating against her chest, accompanied by a sharp, vibrant beat that grew more complex as the sounds grew louder. Intense. Growing, growing, until the world was filled with color.

But when she opened her eyes, all sound ceased. The world was empty. Quiet. Hollow. The air, still.

A light, glowing, flickering like a candle against dark waters, pulsated; each pulse sparkling, bringing the light close to where she sat. Bright and silvery, it waxed and waned and danced until it took the shape of a white fox.

Its knowing pink eyes stared back at her, serene in their wisdom.

With a blinking, she found herself standing before the creature as it if had summoned her. To this, she could only kneel and ask: “Why am I here?”

Pink eyes lovingly squinted at her, but they did not answer.

A gentle wind came from behind, causing her to look back—but when she did, she saw a long, golden hall that seemed to lead on for miles.

The hall glittered with a warm glow of yellows and reds and other bright colors reflecting against polished gold. The walls, covered with thousands of carvings, colorful paintings, and sparkling gems in simple settings, came to life in the flickering of dozens of torches that lined them.

Standing in the hall, her eyes darted from place to place. She knew it all. She knew it all like the back of her hand—yet, she knew none of it.

Stepping forward, she ran her hand against the smooth of the stone, feeling the etchings under her fingers with a sense of nostalgia. Images of painted animals and people with no like-like resemblance danced and marched in rings around colored stones. Sharp awareness of how each line moved did nothing to help her recognize them, however. No matter how closely she stared or how many times her fingers ran over them, it was as if she could not perceive them. Memory told her that the carvings were of animals and people, celebrating, tools in hand—yet though they were there, so clear to see, the details her heart so longed to know were lost to her, faded by some unknown power.

All, save for one.

The etching of a man, standing tall and proud atop a black gold orb, wore plain clothes as he proudly held a hammer high above his head. The more she looked at him, the more she saw. The neatness of his beard. The patterns in his clothes. On the hammer’s head, a small symbol was carved with great care and in detailed precision: an eight-pointed star.

With a finger, she ever so gently wiped away the dust that time had left, but from her finger, this time came to light.

Radiant gold, the light poured like liquid through the riverways of the carvings, running through them like electricity. It flowed out from the eight-pointed star until all the walls shone in golden glory.

And then the carvings came to life. All around her, the characters in their patterns began to dance and twirl, peeling away from the golden walls and entering a frenzy of freedom, joining together as they flew through the air like schools of fish. Around her, through her—they danced—a golden menagerie of light.

Tall and proud and life-sized stood the man before her, his hammer held loosely at his side. Golden eyes made up of the light stared passed her, through her. They were sad eyes, kind, in a tired face. Well pronounced crows feet wrinkled around them, and the dark, heavy bags beneath them drooped. His body looked leaner than she might have expected—toned, though perhaps malnourished, as his shoulders looked burdened by what weight of the world she could not begin to know.

The urge to open her arms to him, to hug him, to hold him, to cry in his arms washed over her—but she did not know why.

“Who are you?” She begged desperately to know, but there was no indication that he had heard her. He made a motion as if to sigh deeply and shook his head.

Stolen story; please report.

His mouth began to move, and his expression changed. It was as if he were arguing with someone, but there was no voice, no sounds. There was only the movement of the image before.

Alone he argued till the world began to swoon and spin, and then the floor came up around her, swallowing her, causing her to fall through the dark and the waters and the caverns she thought she had left. Slamming her hands against her ears, she pressed her eyes shut in hopes that the darkness would return once she opened them again.

Then, there was sun against her face. Warm. Soft. The air, moist against her skin. Bird calls of some exotic nature sounded in the distance, and the gentle babbling of running water set her mind at peace enough to open her eyes.

This time, the sound remained, but the world was black as a pool of ink.

Ba-dum-tak-tak.

Ba-dum-tak-tak, went the drums.

A soft, deep-voiced humming accompanied it—then turned to warm laughter.

She sat up and looked over at the dark grey garuli sitting in the air as if there should have been a surface to rest upon.

“Why did you close your eyes?” the visage of Sathuren asked.

“I was scared,” she answered. “Were you playing music?”

“It’s all right,” it said. “I know why you have come.”

She bit her lip. “I’ve come to ask you to save me,” she answered. “Will you?”

But the garule reached behind itself and pulled out a small, well-worn book, the cover of which was as blurry to her as the inscriptions had been. When she looked at the white and purple garule in confusion at the appearance of the text, however, she saw that its mouth was moving wordlessly.

“I... I can’t hear you!” she cried.

In its hand, the book turned to ash. Claws grew and grew sharp, and suddenly the garule had changed into a dragon.

She had been here before.

“I am sorry, silly girl,” the dragon said, a single large, molten gold eye staring at her as the world turned into a lush green jungle. “The good may work hard to save the world for a day, but evil can destroy it in a moment, for all eternity.”

Ah, she thought, standing tall and clenching her didst as she closed her eyes and said, “For you are what you are, and shall always be.”

“For I am what I am and shall always be.”

When her eyes opened this time, she stared into the dragon’s cavernous throat as the world, once again, turned black.

***

This time, Dassah simply took a deep breath. Groggy, she sat up and slumped over, her head falling into her hands without much resistance. She was starting to get used to them. The dreams. A little more control. A little more memory.

And yet, with each bit more she recognized, she felt as if the dream threw a hundred more things at her to learn. It was an odd combination of familiar places and daces that she sometimes wasn’t sure if they were truly familiar to her or if it was all a trick of the dream world. It was like a puzzle or a game. Perhaps it was two truths and a lie—but which part was which? And why was she getting the dreams at all?

Dassah pulled herself up and out of bed and followed through on her morning ritual, starting with a good stretch and the warm hum of the coffee maker. Checking her phone told her that Elric had sent her several messages as she had slept.

Was he playing all night? She snorted, thumbing at her phone.

Elric: Noona! Will you be on today? I want to play with you! :3

Elric: My character name is [Drakov]. I am a hidden ranger-type class! :3

Elric: Pew, Pew!

Smiling, she sent an affirmative reply to him before hopping into the shower. Hot water caused steam to cloud the room up thick with moisture, but it was a comfortable kind of feeling, like a hug.

She hoped the running water would clear her mind. Lifting her face into the streaming water, she let it wash over her as she worked through the images in her dream.

This one had been different.

Before, the dreams had always repeated the same events over and over—but now, with her trip to the catacombs, they had changed.

Least surprising was the addition of the fox, nor had she been surprised to see Sathuren.

The fox was easily dismissed by the lack of context, but her mind lingered on the change in the role of the garule. The drums in the background had been very reminiscent of bone playing of Ibraxis.

Likewise, the golden hall had been taken straight from her experience in TheirWorld—but what bothered her wasn’t the images or the sounds; it was the feelings that those things stirred up inside her.

Even though she was no longer in the dream, she could see the face of the man with the hammer so clearly. Though his eyes had been gold in her vision, the color rang oddly false. Though his expression had been sad and angry, she could easily imagine him with a kind, soft smile; the kind of smile that could set her at ease in a moment.

But who was he? Who was he to her? Why did she have such strong feelings about him?

Dassah looked up at the large, disc-like shower head hanging about her, pouring water over her like rain. What am I missing? She wondered, biting her lip.

TheirWorld. Everything seemed to come back to TheirWorld.

Scoffing at herself, she turned off the water. You just want a reason to play more. Like you needed the excuse.

What she needed was to get dressed. Dassah wrapped herself in her towel and checked her phone. Elric hadn’t responded, but Stella was now checking up on her progress regarding the date even though she was in the next room and clearly knew that Dassah hadn’t left yet. Cursing under her breath, she once again reassured the easily excited young woman and dressed herself.

At the very least, the blind date would distract her from thinking too much more about the dreams.