Chapter 7: Dreams of Burning Snow

The dream came again.

Crimson snow falling.

A child screaming.

Flames licking the edge of a stone village.

Cyrus stood frozen in the middle of it, hands stained with soot and blood. He turned toward the cry—but never saw the face.

Just grey hair, blowing in the wind.

He woke with a jolt, sweat soaking his collar, breath ragged.

For a long moment, he stared at the ceiling, fingers trembling.

---

“You’re not sleeping,” said Dr. Vale, the military psychiatrist, sliding a tablet across the desk.

Cyrus rubbed his temple. “It’s the same dream. Every night.”

“Crimson snow again?”

He nodded.

Vale tapped on the screen. “Your brain is likely processing buried trauma. You mentioned this… prisoner triggered it?”

“She’s familiar. Her voice, her stare. I know I’ve seen her before.”

“From Greywing?”

“I think so.”

“Have you reviewed the purge files?”

“They’re sealed. Above my clearance.”

Vale paused. “You’re high command.”

“Not high enough.”