novelraw Chapter 86: The Dream That Wasn’t His
Chapter 86: The Dream That Wasn’t His
He blinked
And the world changed.
The bed was gone.
He stood in the forest again.
Only this time… it was wrong.
No stars above. No wind.
The trees stood frozen like statues, leaves unmoving, branches sharp as blades.
Everything was tinted in that sickly green hue—Vaeren’s hue.
The ground cracked beneath each step, echoing like glass under pressure.
He turned—
Eryndar stood before him, unmoving, half-shrouded in shadow.
“Why didn’t you stay?”
His voice wasn’t angry.
Just hollow.
Disappointed.
Towan opened his mouth to answer—
But no words came out.
Only blood.
He staggered backward.
Seriah was there now, lounging on a branch like a cat in a tree.
Blade resting on her shoulder. That same smile like a secret only she knew.
“Hi again,” she purred, eyes glowing with delightful malice.
“You ran. That was cute.”
She leapt—
He couldn’t move.
She didn’t strike.
She just walked through him—like a ghost. Like she belonged inside his skin.
Towan screamed—
But the sound warped around him, spiraling into whispers.
(You’re not ready.)
(You never were.)
(But something inside you is.)
He turned—
And Leon was there.
Bleeding.
Burning.
Vital Essentia veined through his skin in jagged, radiant fractures.
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He was tearing himself apart to protect them.
Beside him—Lytharos, unconscious.
Sylra on her knees, helpless, watching the man who stood in front of death with nothing left to give.
Then they all began to fade.
One by one, dissolving into shadows.
And then—
Fire.
He was back in Heartwood.
Everything on fire.
The houses. The trees. The sky.
A pile of corpses in the village square.
Familiar faces. Neighbors. Friends.
Everyone he’d ever known—gone
.Then—a heartbeat.
The forest exhaled.
And suddenly—
He wasn’t Towan anymore.
He stood taller. Older.
The world bent away from him—
Not because of fear.
But because of inevitability.
There were no enemies left.
No threats.
Only ruin.
His hands were stained—glowing with pure white Essentia.
Unstable. Unfamiliar.
Cracking at the edges like lightning trying to hold still.
And then—
Elliot.
Chained.
Bleeding.
Eyes wide.
And they didn’t recognize him.
“You’re not him,” Elliot whispered.
And Towan—
this other Towan—smiled.
But not kindly.
He gasped awake.
Chest heaving. Skin clammy.
Fingers twisted in the bedsheets like he was still trying to hold onto something that was falling apart.
The ring on his hand pulsed faintly.
Then dimmed.
Almost in apology.
Outside the window, Lockeheart stirred in its early-morning hush.
Inside, a boy sat in a borrowed bed.
Eyes wide.
Breath sharp.
And in the silence that followed—
He didn’t feel stronger.
He just felt watched.
“What was that?!” Towan gasped, eyes wide, chest rising and falling like he’d just outrun death. He glanced around in a panic.
Wooden walls. A nightstand. A soft bed beneath him.
He rubbed his temples, breath slowly settling.
“…Oh. Right. I got here last night…”
His voice cracked.
“That was… just a nightmare.”
A soft creak from the doorway.
Herb stepped inside, holding two cups of tea—one steaming, one already half-sipped. He didn’t say anything at first. Just scanned Towan’s face, his posture, the cold sweat still clinging to his skin.
“Good morning, kid,” he said.
The words were light, but his tone wasn’t.
He wasn’t trying to make it easy. He was acknowledging the weight without demanding it.
He pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed, placing one cup on the nightstand.
Towan didn’t touch it.
“How are you feeling?” Herb asked, voice even.
Towan looked up. His eyebags were deeper than usual—bruised shadows beneath haunted eyes. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his lips were chapped.
“…Better,” he lied.
Herb didn’t call him out. He just nodded once, slowly.
Then—
“Now…”
He leaned back slightly in the chair, arms resting loosely on his knees.
“…What happened?”