The confusing dream

Hael watched the three men retreat, his gaze unwavering. Loki, who had been observing the fight from a distance, tilted his head, puzzled. 

"Why not finish them off?" he asked.

Hael turned to look at Loki, perched on a nearby branch, before glancing back at the fleeing figures. "They ran away," he simply said.

Loki's confusion deepened. "You could've outrun them easily. Why let them go?"

A faint smile tugged at Hael's lips. "It would be wrong to keep fighting those who've already given up. There's no honor in striking down someone who's lost the will to fight."

Loki couldn't quite grasp the logic, but he shrugged it off. Hael had always been this way—a strange human with a beastly yet angelic appearance, at odds with his kind and gentle heart.

Turning to Brontus, Hael saw the bear sitting, clutching his chest in pain. Despite the wound, Brontus managed to glance up as Hael approached.

"How are you feeling?" Hael asked.

Brontus grunted lowly. "What do you think?"

Hael smiled. If Brontus still had the energy to be sarcastic, it meant he was already on the road to recovery. Hael moved to the lake, where he picked a large leaf and soaked it in the healing waters of Sanatio Lake, known for its restorative properties. He returned to Brontus and placed the leaf over the bear's wound.

"This should help speed up your recovery," Hael said.

Brontus gave a grateful grunt as the animals gathered around, promising to take turns replacing the leaf over the next two days.

*

Back in the Kingdom, the three huntsmen stumbled in, battered and bruised. Their eyes were red with exhaustion, and their bodies were marked with deep, painful bruises. Anemone gasped when he saw them.

"What happened to you?" he demanded.

One huntsman, panting, spoke up. "It was a manbeast—huge, with the strength to move mountains! We couldn't even go deeper into the forest because of him. We had no choice but to flee if we wanted to live long enough to see tomorrow!"

Anemone stared at them, disbelief evident on his face. It was hard to imagine such a creature existed, let alone believe that he lived in the Aphthonia Forest, communicating with the animals. Yet, the strength this man possessed troubled him deeply. He couldn't help but think of the King.

A sigh escaped Anemone's lips as he considered how to relay the news to King Ceremus. The King had already been in a foul mood, nursing a drink in his chambers after Lady Amelia—who usually attended to him—had been unavailable. Anemone could feel the tension rising in his stomach, but he knew the King's wrath would only worsen if the news was delayed.

He sent the huntsmen to the physician and assured them he'd inform the guild leader about their time off to recover. Then, with a heavy heart, he made his way to the King's chambers.

As expected, Ceremus was in a terrible mood. 

When Anemone tried to deliver his report, the King ignored him completely, tossing a golden plate his way in a fit of anger. 

Knowing this wasn't the time to press, Anemone wisely decided to leave, telling himself he'd return another day.

With Anemone gone, Ceremus drank until his mind blurred, eventually succumbing to sleep. That night, he had a dream. 

A meteor had crashed into the fields outside Trojas, its fiery core glowing in the night. As he approached, an inexplicable pull drew him toward it, a magnetic force he couldn't resist. It was a sensation unlike any he had ever felt before—similar to the irresistible attraction he experienced toward beautiful women, but more intense, more urgent. This feeling was not just desire, but an overwhelming need to hold on—to possess, to never let go.

He reached out toward the meteor, as if it held the answer to everything he had ever wanted but the more he reached out to it, the farther the ball of light seemed. 

It was a strange feeling, one that was foreign yet also familiar to him. 

The feeling lingered even after Ceremus woke. It was strange—foreign, yet oddly familiar—something he couldn't quite place. He couldn't shake the dream, its strange intensity, and the unshakable sense that it was important. Ceremus rarely dreamed, but his mother had always told him to pay attention to them when he did. She'd said they carried messages, warnings, or glimpses of the future.

Uncertain of what the dream meant, he reached for a piece of parchment and began to write. He detailed every moment, every sensation, even the feeling that pulled him toward the meteor—something deeper than mere curiosity. When he finished, he quickly set the paper aside and began preparing for the day. There was no time to waste.

"Anemone!" Ceremus called as he fastened his robe. 

The advisor, who had been heading to the King's chambers, turned at the sound of his name. "Your Majesty?" 

"I'll be visiting my mother's temple for a while. I wish not to be disturbed."

Anemone's eyes widened in disbelief. "But, Your Majesty! You have a meeting with the Nahatian envoys in an hour. And the matter of the forest—"

"We'll discuss it later," Ceremus cut him off, dismissing him with a wave.

Anemone stood rooted to the spot, watching the King depart in a hurry. "Why now?" he muttered to himself. "He hasn't visited his mother in months…"

*

Ceremus reached the temple in quick strides, his mind racing. He lit a candle at the altar once he arrived, and offered a swift prayer to his mother, hoping for guidance. His call was answered almost immediately. The goddess, sensing her son's urgent plea, pulled him into the celestial planes, where her palace gleamed like a star in the heavens. Every time Ceremus entered this realm, he was struck by its beauty, but today, he had no time for admiration. The weight of his dream pressed heavily on his heart.

As they arrived in the ethereal palace, Aria, the goddess of the heavens, was already waiting. Her expression was serene, but her keen eyes immediately saw through Ceremus's composure.

"What troubles you, my son?" she asked, her voice steady, yet laced with concern.

Ceremus hesitated for a moment, appreciating how direct his mother always was. With a deep sigh, he began recounting his dream. He spoke of the great white meteor, the pull he felt toward it, and the strange, compelling need to claim it—as if it held something precious, something he couldn't afford to lose.

As Ceremus spoke, Aria's expression shifted. Her thoughtful gaze deepened into one of seriousness. He saw the change and felt a knot form in his stomach. When his mother looked like this, it often meant she was about to reveal something he didn't want to hear. He remembered the first time he'd seen that same expression—it was when she'd told him his father was sick. The memory struck him like a physical blow, and his heart twisted painfully. He quickly pushed the feelings away, burying them beneath a mask of calm.

"Son, you need to listen carefully to my words," Aria began, her voice unwavering, drawing Ceremus's attention back to the matter at hand.

"The meteor you saw represents a man you will soon encounter. A man unlike any other—strong, resolute, and destined to be your companion. He will be the mightiest in the lands, his strength rivaling the very heavens themselves. You will grow to love him as if he were your own flesh, your equal. He will be your protector, your ally, and he will come to your aid in times of need, just as you will come to his."

Ceremus stood frozen, his mind reeling from the enormity of her words. "A what?" he stammered, the shock clear in his voice.

Aria's expression softened, but her tone remained firm. "Unfortunately, my son, this is a fate you cannot escape. It is written, and it will come to pass whether you wish it or not."

Ceremus recoiled, his disbelief turning into anger. 

"Are you telling me—Ceremus Rohelus Marcrinos, King of Trojas—will fall in love with a MAN?" His voice cracked, as though the very notion was an insult to everything he knew about himself, his world, and his identity.