Ysera

Was it a shriek that peeled paint off the very walls of reality? A guttural bellow that could curdle dragon's blood? The earth-shattering roar of the apocalypse itself? Or just the pathetic whimpering of a soul utterly broken? Duke, bless his cotton socks, couldn't tell the difference! And frankly, he didn't want to!

He didn't want to decipher the nuanced symphony of his own impending doom! He wanted to rage! To tear down the very tapestries of fate and weave them anew with his bare, trembling hands! Was a measly twenty-one percent deviation from the script enough? Ha! If that wasn't enough to shatter the cosmic ledger, then by the beard of Khaz'goroth, he'd personally drag it kicking and screaming to a hundred percent, two hundred percent... a thousand percent! And then some!

He refused to believe it! Was raw power truly the only currency in this wretched existence? Was destiny truly etched in stone, unyielding as a mountain range? No! A thousand times no! Not on his watch! Not while there was breath in his lungs and a spark of defiance in his soul!

Every sentient being, from the lowliest grunt to the mightiest archmage, had a right to their dreams! He'd poured his very essence, his blood, sweat, and tears, into this! He'd twisted the very fabric of this world, turned it upside down and shaken it until its pockets were empty! So why, by all that was holy and unholy, was he not qualified to smash the chains of fate and drag his ludicrous, impossible dream into the harsh light of reality?!

Unbeknownst to Duke, in a realm beyond mortal ken, a bizarre, rippling wave erupted from his very soul, spreading outwards like a cosmic inkblot. The serene, placid waters of the spiritual world, usually as still as a forgotten tomb, began to churn with an unholy tempest. A gale of pure psychic energy whipped through the ethereal plane, conjuring monstrous tidal waves that crashed against the shores of every single dream, shaking them to their very foundations. Images, a torrent of them, flooded his mind – but these weren't his own nocturnal fantasies. No, these were the raw, unfiltered hopes, fears, and desperate pleas of every living creature: the soaring ambitions of humans, the ancient wisdom of elves, the stubborn resolve of dwarves, and even the brutal simplicity of orcs and the chaotic mischief of goblins. He gritted his teeth, enduring the soul-rending agony of their deepest nightmares, only to then be swamped by the saccharine sweetness of their most cherished desires.

If Duke's previous capacity for dreaming was a paltry ten terabytes, a mere drop in the bucket, then the dreams now being violently churned were beyond measure – a cosmic ocean of 'em, stretching from here to the farthest star, more than all the gold in the Dwarf King's vaults, or all the bad decisions made by gnomes combined!

Amidst this dizzying, kaleidoscopic maelstrom of countless dreams and untold scenes, Duke's own dream of destiny, a stubborn, defiant little spark, suddenly shot out like a rocket, leaving all the other dreams eating its dust, a true dark horse in the race of fate!

"AHHHHH!" It was a primal scream, a guttural cry ripped from the very fabric of existence, echoing far beyond the petty confines of the mortal realm! "AAAAAAAH!!" A soul-shattering shriek that didn't just shake the Dream World, it cracked it! "AAAAAAAAAAA—" A cosmic roar, a sound that didn't just ripple the long river of fate, it threatened to divert its very course!

Just when it seemed this monumental bellow had reached its absolute zenith, incapable of ascending any further, a new, impossibly taller peak would materialize, daring it to climb, to conquer, to use as a stepping stone to even greater, more absurd heights of defiance! And then, as if by some arcane decree, countless other dreams, drawn by the sheer audacity of Duke's will, began to hum in unison, resonating with his own, unleashing a deafening chorus that thundered across the entire Dream World, a cacophony of ambition!

Suddenly, with a jolt that felt like being yanked by a cosmic fishing hook, Duke found himself soaring upwards, propelled into a kaleidoscope of blinding light and vibrant hues. In that very instant, the crushing weight on his chest lifted, his ragged, suppressed breaths transforming into effortless, deep drafts of pure, ethereal air. His mind, previously a frozen swamp of sluggish thoughts, cleared with the crispness of a winter morning. Even before he dared to open his eyes, he felt himself utterly submerged in a world of swirling emerald green, a hazy, living mist that pulsed with unseen energy.

Within that verdant, flowing expanse, a single, monumental illusion began to coalesce. Unlike the chaotic, fleeting phantoms that danced around it, this one held its form, growing, expanding, until it utterly dwarfed and swallowed the minuscule, wizard-robed figure of Duke. Aye, that's right! Compared to the sheer, awe-inspiring scale of the entity now manifesting before him, Duke was less than a speck, a mere dust mote in the eye of a titan!

Then, with a grace that defied its colossal size, a dragon emerged, both tangible and ethereal, shimmering like a heat haze on a summer day. She unfurled wings the size of small mountains, as if roused from an age-old slumber, her form draped in the soft, verdant glow of a twilight forest. Duke craned his neck, expecting to meet eyes ablaze with ancient power, only to find them heavy-lidded, almost drowsy. Yet, he harbored not a single doubt that the Mistress of Dreams herself was acutely, intimately aware of his utterly insignificant presence.

A faint, almost imperceptible curve graced the corner of the Green Dragon's immense maw, an expression so impossibly gentle for a creature of such primal majesty, it was almost comical. "So," a voice rumbled, soft as a forest breeze yet deep as the earth's core, "to gaze upon my humble visage, you actually chugged the Dream of Death like it was a pint of ale? Sacrificing yourself to rewrite your destiny, eh? My dear Edmund Duke, fate isn't some old scroll you can just scribble over with a quill! And besides, I wouldn't dream of letting you make such a dramatic exit. From the moment you stumbled into this world and tripped head-first into my domain, you've been, shall we say, the most… intriguing dream-weaver I've encountered."

The most intriguing dream-weaver...

As the legendary guardian dragon, the very soul of the Emerald Dream, who had been standing sentinel for eons untold – what manner of dream hadn't Ysera witnessed? The mundane, the predictable, the utterly vanilla dreams of mortals were enough to make her eyelids droop with existential dread. She wasn't asking for a circus, mind you, but a little novelty, a dash of the unexpected, would certainly be a breath of fresh air!

Duke's dreams, on occasion, had flickered across the periphery of Ysera's vast, cosmic awareness. It was merely a passing curiosity, a fleeting blip on her radar, certainly not enough to warrant a personal appearance, a full-blown divine intervention.

But today? Today was a whole different kettle of fish! The sheer, unadulterated force of Duke's dream, a dream so potent it could rip apart the very fabric of millions of lives and stitch them back together, had snagged her attention like a grappling hook to a dragon's wing. It had practically dragged her into this encounter. As Ysera materialized, Duke's instincts screamed for solid ground, for something, anything, to anchor himself to. But alas, the 'ground' beneath his feet had been a figment from the get-go.

It felt like trying to walk on a giant, wobbly blob of jelly, utterly incapable of bearing any weight, squishing and deforming with every desperate shift. But Duke was no simple country bumpkin; his mind, even in this surreal state, was sharp as a goblin's wit. He almost instinctively thought of those audacious spacefarers, the astronauts, floating freely in the void.

This was the Emerald Dream, after all, a realm woven from the very essence of 'dreams' themselves. If that was the case... then Duke, with a sudden spark of mischievous brilliance, began to dream, or rather, to will his reality into being, right there, under the sleepy gaze of Ysera.

A gentle, almost playful breeze stirred through the Emerald Dream, and Ysera's massive eyelids, heavy as ancient stones, seemed to twitch. A flicker of genuine interest danced in her half-closed eyes, and she made no move to halt Duke's audacious little experiment.

Ysera, the ancient, the all-knowing, was genuinely, utterly flabbergasted. She watched as Duke, with a mental will as potent as a dwarven forge, solidified the very liquid-like substance she called the 'Dream of Origin' into a chair. It looked like a wisp of wind, but by all accounts, it was as solid as a rock! Duke, with a flourish, settled into his newly conjured throne, adjusting himself with a smug grin until his eyes were perfectly level with her own colossal dragon head, a mere ten meters separating the audacious mortal from the slumbering deity.

Duke, without missing a beat, offered a blunt, almost casual apology: "My deepest apologies, Your Verdant Majesty, I truly didn't mean to crash your party. But I was feeling a bit guilty about not being able to land, you see. A man needs his feet on the ground, even if the ground is made of dreams!" Ysera, with a soft chuckle that vibrated through the very air, simply replied, "It's quite alright, Duke. Consider it a housewarming gift."

"Much obliged, Ysera," Duke mumbled, still basking in the glow of his successful conjuration. The Green Dragon's face, if such a colossal visage could be said to 'smile,' certainly did, a faint, amused crinkle around her sleepy eyes. "So, my dear Duke," she purred, "what grand, universe-shattering crisis has prompted this rather… unconventional house call today? What's the big hullabaloo?"

Duke let out a long, exasperated sigh. He knew he didn't have time to play cat and mouse with Ysera. The Emerald Dream, a realm beyond the wildest imaginings of any mortal, was defined by its sheer, glorious unpredictability. And Ysera, as its ancient master and guardian, embodied that very essence. If he tried to beat around the bush with her, she could spin tales for a century without repeating a single word, leaving him stuck in a conversational loop until the cows came home!

"You, Ysera," Duke began, leaning forward conspiratorially, "are the epitome of grace and courtesy. You don't even bother to put on the typical dragon airs for a lowly mortal like myself. So why, pray tell, did you play deaf and blind to the desperate pleas of that great red dragon, Krasus – or rather, Koleostrasz – when he came knocking on your ethereal door?"

"Koleostrasz!" Ysera's sleepy eyes opened a fraction wider, a hint of genuine surprise flickering within their emerald depths. "Well, well, Duke, it seems you've been doing your homework." She offered no further comment. "Knowledge and history," Duke retorted, tapping his temple with a flourish, "are usually found between two covers, or in here, if you're lucky. Now, if you please, Your Dreaminess, can we get back to my very pressing question?"

Ysera's colossal form seemed to drift backwards, receding into the swirling emerald mists like a ship disappearing into a fog bank. The Green Dragon's image before him warped and twisted, her body shimmering with psychedelic ripples, as if she were submerged beneath a liquid surface while Duke stood on it. It was like a colossal drop of cosmic water falling into a perfectly still pond, the resulting ripples obscuring all vision between them. Her eyes, though still closed in their perpetual slumber, remained fixed, unblinking, on the audacious mortal who had dared to crash her ethereal sanctuary.