Growing up, Alex never learned how to swim.

  He stared at the vast, silver expanse of the lake, his stomach twisting into a slow, uneasy knot. If anything happened out there, if the boat tipped, if something dragged him under, he was done for. The water would not simply be an obstacle. It would be a tomb.

  But protesting was pointless. He needed to reach the Archives. He needed to get back to Elenora. That alone mattered.

  The plan was simple: retrieve an old boat from Malach’s abandoned cabin deep in the woods. According to the woodsman, it only needed a few patches, and it would be sturdy enough to carry them across.

  The only problem?

  The cabin was half a day’s walk away.

  “I’ll go with Malach,” Roric said, tightening the strap of his sword belt. “We should be back by nightfall.”

  “I’ll go too,” Iris said immediately, her hand drifting toward her hook-blades as her stance shifted, alert and ready.

  “No. You and Alex stay here,” Roric countered. “Best we travel light. Malach knows the paths, and I move faster without… distractions.” He winked at her, though his eyes remained serious. “Besides, someone needs to guard the camp. Just a few hours. I’ll be back before you miss me.”

  Iris stared at him flatly, then lowered her hand.

  “Right. We’re off,” Roric said. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of pine and mountain air. “Let’s see what’s waiting for us.”

  “The barrier will keep you safe,” Malach added, nodding toward Alex and Iris. “Stay inside once the sun goes down. The forest… changes at night.”

  “Be safe,” Alex said, the words heavier than he expected.

  Roric gave a final wave. Then he and Malach vanished into the treeline, swallowed by the shadows.

  The silence that followed was enormous.

  With Roric’s booming presence gone and Malach’s steady calm fading, the clearing felt colder, smaller. The wind whispered through moss and rotting stumps, carrying secrets Alex didn’t want to hear.

  A chill crept along his spine. If something went wrong, it was just him and Iris. He swallowed hard and turned toward her.

  She stood, silent scanning the forest, eyes narrowed. The breeze tugged at her brown hair, her posture loose but ready. She looked capable. She looked Dangerous.

  And Alex, he just felt… exposed.

  After a while the two moved to the water’s edge, standing on the jagged stones where the lake kissed the shore. The only sounds were distant birds and the rhythmic lapping of gentle waves. Peaceful. Yet Fragile.

  “What should we do now?” Alex asked quietly.

  Iris hesitated, her gaze sweeping the lake before settling back on the distant mountains. “Prepare.” she said simply.

  Alex nodded slowly. The word struck deep. Prepare meant action. Control. It meant Survival.

  “What do we need?”

  “Food. Water.” She pointed across the lake toward the towering peaks. “And anything to help us climb.”

  “Climb?” He frowned.

  “After we cross, we ascend. The Sunken Archives are carved into the spire of that peak.”

  Alex exhaled slowly. A vast lake, then a near-vertical mountain. Of course.

  ‘I really miss my room.’

  Yet strangely, he didn’t feel overwhelmed. Looking at Iris’s calm resolve, remembering Roric’s reckless courage and Elenora’s quiet faith, the danger ahead felt… surmountable.

  Besides, he wasn't the Dormant Dreamer anymore. He was Awakened. The feeling was somewhat reverent.

  “Okay,” he said, turning toward the woods. “Let’s get to work.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  As the two prepared, the afternoon stretched long and lazy, betraying the urgency of their situation.

  Alex gathered firewood, snapping dry branches beneath his knee. The sharp cracks echoed faintly through the clearing. It reminded him of camping trips long ago, before life grew heavy, before dreams became trials.

  Near the cabin, Iris sat on a flat stone, Iris sat on a flat rock. She wasn't idle. She was checking their supplies, her movements rhythmic and precise. She counted dried rations, checked the leather jars, and sharpened a small dagger with a whetstone. The sound was hypnotic.

  Alex dropped an armful of wood near and dusted off his hands. He stood there for a moment, just watching her.

  She was lost in her own world. Her eyes were focused on the steel blade, but her gaze seemed to look through it. She wasn't seeing the knife; she was seeing something else. Maybe the village she had lost. Maybe the friends who hadn't made it. Perhaps Lady Elenora.

  Her expression wasn't sad, exactly. It was hollow. The look of someone who had learned to pack away their grief in small, tidy boxes so they could keep moving.

  Alex felt a pang of recognition. He knew that look. He saw it in the mirror on bad days, the days when the noise of the university felt too loud, the days when reality crushes dreams, the days when he felt like a ghost haunting his own life.

  He unsheathed his sword, studying the faint shimmer of its black surface.

  “Mnemosyne’s Silence.” The name still unsettled him, and the blade felt heavier than before.

  Sheathing it back he slowly turned to Iris, hesitating. ‘Should I disturb her?’

  He stepped forward pushing the doubt aside.

  “Hey.”

  Iris flinched, just barely. She looked up, her brown eyes snapping back to the present.

  “You’ve been sharpening that knife for a while,” he said, offering a small, tentative smile. “I think it’s sharp enough to cut time by now.”

  A flicker of amusement crossed her face. “One can never be too careful.”

  He lifted his sword. “No need to worry. I’m here. I’ll protect you.” The words left his mouth before he fully processed them.

  She stared at him, then slowly smiled. Soft. Surprised.

  “I’m counting on it,” she whispered.

  Warmth bloomed in Alex’s chest, followed immediately by embarrassment. He dropped onto a log, suddenly aware of just how awkward that sounded.

  ‘I can barely protect myself.’

  The silence lingered, but it was comfortable now as he watched the clouds drift overhead, lazy streaks of white against the blue. He let his mind wander, drifting back to his apartment. To the hum of his computer fans. To the smell of instant noodles.

  It felt like a lifetime ago.

  ‘I wonder if I’m sleeping right now,’ he thought. ‘Is my body lying in bed, tangled in sheets? Or is this the only reality that matters?’

  He glanced at Iris again. She gaze was fixed at the treeline, her small dagger held tight in hand.

  “Do you miss it?” Alex asked quietly, the question slipping out before he could filter it.

  “Miss what?”

  “Your home.”

  Iris went still. She looked down at the grass.

  “Every day,” she said. Her voice was barely audible over the rustle of leaves. “I miss the smell of the bakery in the morning. the sound of the river. I miss not knowing how to use a blade.”

  “I miss the smell of bread in the mornings. The sound of the river. I miss not knowing how to use a blade.”

  She looked at him then, her eyes unguarded for the first time.

  “Do you miss your home?”

  Alex paused. Did he? He missed the safety. He missed the Wi-Fi. But did he miss the life? The routine? The feeling of being a background character in his own story?

  “I miss the simplicity,” he said finally. “But… I think I was sleepwalking back there. Here, even with the monsters and the fear… I feel awake.”

  Iris studied him. Her lips curved gently. “Awake keeps you alive.”

  For a long moment the two sat quietly, with occasion talks. Soon the world began to quieten

  Iris grabbed her blades and stood up, dusting off her cloak. The moment passed, folded away back into its box. She was the Scout again.

  “The sun is getting low,” she said, looking at the sky. The golden light was deepening into orange and violet. Shadows stretched across the clearing, long and grasping.

  Alex stood up, feeling the shift in the air. The temperature was dropping. The birds had stopped singing.

  “We should go inside,” Alex said.

  “Yes,” Iris agreed. She moved.

  The two gathered what they needed and entered the cabin.

  By sunset, the air had grown cold. Mist crept low across the ground, coiling around roots and fallen branches. Shadows danced along the wooden walls as the last light bled from the sky.

  Alex sat near the hearth, watching the flames breathe. Iris settled a few steps beside him, close enough that he could feel her warmth.

  Outside, the fog thickened. The forest whispered.

  And at the very edge of the clearing, the mist shifted unnaturally, sliding between the trees as if guided by unseen hands. Leaves rattled. Branches trembled. And for a fleeting moment, something moved.