The Dreamwalker’s Despair

The curse felt heavier with every use of the Shadow Crystal. I was losing pieces of myself—little fragments that slipped away unnoticed, like whispers on the wind. Sometimes it was my temper, sharp and cold. Other times, it was the warmth I used to feel in simple moments, like laughing with Lila or enjoying the quiet comfort of Elijah’s advice.

And yet, the more the crystal took, the harder it was to let go of the power it offered. It was an addiction I couldn’t seem to shake, an answer to problems I didn’t know how to solve.

But something else haunted me—a deeper threat. My dreams. They were shifting, growing darker. Shadows twisted in the corners of my sleep, morphing into familiar faces—some lost to time, others still alive. And every time I woke, drenched in sweat, I feared that one day I might not wake at all.

I knew what this meant. The dreamwalking magic I had touched once before was returning, but this time, it wasn’t a gift—it was a curse of its own.

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