Chapter Eight: Embers in the Mist

Night draped the Academy in its quiet shroud. The wind outside whispered against the stained glass of the dormitory window, but inside, all was still—save for the restless shifting of one boy tangled in dreams too heavy to bear.

Zyren stirred beneath his blanket, the moonstone pendant clutched tightly in his hand. His brow glistened with sweat, his breath short, uneven. And then—like a tide pulling too strong to resist—he slipped beneath the surface of sleep.

He stood once again in that strange meadow.

Silver trees ringed the clearing. The stars above were unfamiliar, pulsing softly in colors he didn't recognize. The grass beneath him glowed softly, pulsing with a gentle rhythm, as though alive. The air shimmered with heat and chill at once, laced with the distant scent of something familiar—jasmine, perhaps, and old parchment, smoke, and stars.

Above him, the night sky spread wide and deep, but the stars were wrong. They blinked in hues of green, blue, violet—colors not meant for this world. A slow wind rustled the glowing leaves.

Everything was otherworldly. And yet… it felt like home.

He shouldn't know this place. Yet something inside him whispered that he'd stood here before. Maybe not in this life—but in some echo of it.

And then—she was there.

No longer a girl, but a woman in her early twenties. Her hair fell in silver cascades down her back, catching the starlight in shifting patterns. Her gown clung to her form like mist to a riverbank, simple yet striking. Her eyes were a deep blue, flecked with silver, but it was the way she looked at him—like she had waited forever—that took his breath away.

He knew those eyes. Not the color. Not the face. But the feeling.

He didn't know her name.

But Ly…

A fragment flickered in his mind. Ly—something. It was on the tip of his soul.

She smiled, not like a stranger, but like someone who had counted the nights in silence.

She laughed, dancing barefoot across the grass, her hands aglow with blue flame. The fire didn't burn—it shimmered like light through water, twisting into shapes that danced around her like living spirits. A rose. A wolf. A crescent moon pierced by a thorned ring.

"I missed this," she said softly, her voice melodic and strange, carrying echoes of places Zyren had never been. "This place. This moment."

Zyren tried to speak, to ask who she was, but no sound came. His throat tightened, his lips parted, but nothing emerged.His chest ached with the weight of the unspoken.

"You're still locked in," she said, her voice like wind brushing glass. "But you're getting closer."

She stepped toward him, her gaze searching his.

"You used to smile more," she whispered. "Back before everything fractured. Before you forgot what we were."

His hands trembled. Her face was unfamiliar, but her presence struck like a memory to the bone.

Not a stranger.

Not to him.

She raised a hand to his chest—but didn't touch him. Blue light spiraled from her fingers and painted a glowing symbol in the air: a crescent moon, bound in thorns, encircled by stars.

Zyren stared at it. The shape meant nothing to him—no House, no heraldry, no sigil from any history lesson. And yet, the sight stirred something deep in his chest. A whisper without words.

The pendant at his chest flared—a pulse of warmth answering hers.

"You'll come back to me," she whispered. "You promised."

Zyren clenched his fists. He wanted to reach for her, to tell her he didn't understand, that none of this made sense—but still he was voiceless, a prisoner inside a memory he hadn't lived.

The woman stepped closer, voice lowering to a thread. "They're hunting for me, Zyren. But they don't know the truth." Her hand hovered inches from his chest. "You have to find me before they do. Or everything ends."

A gust of cold wind whipped through the trees. The glowing grass dimmed. Shadows pooled at the edges of the clearing, creeping inward like ink spilled in water.

Her expression shifted—calm melting into fear.

"Run," she said suddenly. "When the stars turn green—run. You'll know where."

He tried to grab her hand—but his fingers passed through air.

She backed away, eyes locked on his. "I'll be waiting."

And then—

Darkness.

—

"Zyren! Wake up!"

Corwin's voice echoed snapping him out of the dream.

Zyren gasped awake, his back hitting the dormitory wall. He was drenched in sweat, heart pounding, the moonstone burning warm against his palm as if it had just been branded there.

Moonlight spilled through the window, too bright, too real.

Across the room, Corwin sat upright in his bed, already at his side. "Zyren?" he asked, eyes wide, voice tight. "You were thrashing. Saying things. You were—gods, I thought you were choking."

Zyren couldn't speak at first. His breath trembled as he tried to focus on Corwin's face.

"She was real," he whispered finally. "I saw her. She spoke to me. Not like before. She was older this time. Like she was waiting."

Corwin frowned, brushing damp hair from Zyren's forehead. "The same girl? From the last dream?"

Zyren nodded slowly. "It wasn't just a dream. I couldn't talk to her, but I could hear her. And it felt… like a memory. Like something that will happen."

Above them, Alaric groaned half-sat up on the top bunk. "This better be worth the noise," he muttered. But when he saw Zyren's face—pale, stricken, eyes wide—his smirk faded. "Gods, you look like you saw a ghost."

"She's not a ghost," Zyren said, more to himself than them. "I knew her. I know her."

Corwin sat on the edge of the bed, gripping his hands. "Who is she, Zyren?"

"I don't know," Zyren whispered. "But I remember a part of her name. Ly… That's all I have. Just that sound."

Corwin swallowed hard, sitting back slightly but not leaving. "You said something about stars turning green. And a symbol?"

Zyren opened his palm. The moonstone pendant still gleamed faintly, pulsing to some unheard rhythm.

"A crescent moon, wrapped in thorns. She said when the stars turn green, I'll know where to run. That I promised to find her."

Alaric groaned again, leaning over the bunk rail. "It's the middle of the night. Can we not have cryptic magical prophecies until morning?"

But then he saw Zyren's face again—and this time, really looked. His smirk faltered. "Okay... maybe less dream-girl and more actual vision."

Corwin shot him a sharp look. "This isn't a joke, Alaric."

"Didn't say it was," Alaric muttered, sitting up straighter. "Just saying—we're in deep either way."

Zyren leaned back against the wall, breathing slow and ragged. "It felt real."

Corwin's brown furrowed, his voice low. "That's not something I've ever seen. But the stars turning green—" He hesitated, then glanced at Alaric before returning to Zyren. "There's only one place I've heard of that happening. The Wildlights. In Northwood Vale."

Alaric blinked. "You're not saying we're chasing dream-girls into ghost forests now, are we?"

Zyren locked eyes with Corwin. "You're sure?"

"My mother used to tell me stories about the Vale," Corwin said. "She said the sky dances with green fire when the seasons shift. Only a few nights every decade. If that's what this girl means…"

Zyren looked down at the pendant again. It pulsed once, warm and steady.

"Then that's where I have to go," he said.

No one spoke.

Outside the Academy walls, the wind shifted.

And far away, a scout galloped toward the capital with a message that could change Rithaleon's course, awaken forgotten powers, and unravel the threads of fate that bind all.

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**End of Chapter Eight**