"Enough of the introductions! Our guests must be tired from their long journey—please, escort them to their rooms," Alexander declared, his voice deep and commanding as it rolled through the marble chamber of the Blackwood lobby. A maid appeared from the shadows, dressed in a crisp black uniform and moving with quiet precision. She bowed politely and gestured down the east corridor.
As the ornate doors to the lobby creaked closed behind them, Caspian cast one last glance over his shoulder—and found Layla looking back at him. Their eyes locked for a brief, weightless second. He gave her a small, courteous smile. Her expression didn't change. No reaction, no flicker of acknowledgment—just cold, uninterested silence before she turned away.
Camael, ever the observer, noticed. He hopped lightly onto Caspian's arm and gave his cheek a playful, almost mocking jab."Forget her, kid. She's probably allergic to smiling," he said with a crooked grin. "Now this—this is something worth seeing."
As they proceeded, the hallway unfolded like something out of a royal palace. Thick crimson velvet carpet muffled their footsteps as they walked beneath chandeliers of dark crystal and gold. The walls were covered in rare woods polished to a mirror finish, and gold trim snaked in elaborate patterns along the edges. Every few feet hung a grand portrait—stern men and elegant women, eyes full of quiet authority, staring down from gilded frames. Caspian didn't recognize a single face, yet the gravity of their presence was impossible to ignore.
"Here we are, your rooms," the maid said at last, her voice soft and precise as she opened an arched oak door with a brass key. The door swung inward to reveal a room so lavish it momentarily took Caspian's breath away.
The suite was enormous, blending old-world grandeur with cutting-edge modern design. A grand staircase curved up to a loft where a king-sized bed rested beneath a vaulted ceiling. The linens were satin, the pillows plush and abundant, and soft ambient lighting glowed from the edges of the ceiling. Downstairs, a spacious living area featured leather armchairs, a sleek black couch, and an obsidian fireplace flickering with artificial flame. The kitchen, lined with dark stone and equipped with top-tier appliances, centered around a polished marble island. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto a broad balcony, its transparent glass railing offering an unobstructed view of the city glittering below like a sea of stars.
"Whoa, this place is awesome!" Camael cried, springing off Caspian's arm. He bolted up the stairs, then flung himself onto the bed like a child into a pile of leaves. "Ohhh this mattress... this is luxury! You have to try this, kid!"
Caspian chuckled softly, though he remained rooted at the threshold, still absorbing the space. It felt unreal. Dreamlike.
"Your room is just across the hall," the maid added politely, gesturing with a light bow before departing with measured steps, disappearing down the hallway as silently as she had arrived.
"Aww, come on!" Camael groaned, his voice muffled as he buried himself in a mound of pillows. "Do we really need separate rooms? What happened to good old-fashioned sleepovers?"
"Let the kid rest. We've got business to take care of, remember?" Andrew said, stepping into the room and glancing once at the clock on the wall.
"Yeah, yeah…" Camael sighed, poking his head out from beneath the covers. "Fine. But this place better have breakfast in bed."
Caspian turned to the doorway. "Alright, I'll see you guys later," he said.
With that, Caspian stepped out, the door shutting softly behind him. The hallway was still and quiet, his footsteps muted on the velvet carpet as he crossed into his own room—ready, perhaps, to finally be alone with his thoughts.
Caspian's room
The door to Caspian's room opened with a gentle click, revealing a space nearly identical in grandeur to the one he'd just left. Warm amber light spilled from a chandelier above, reflecting off polished marble floors and soft beige walls adorned with intricate golden molding.
Caspian stepped outside onto the balcony, the quiet hum of the city far below offering a strange kind of comfort. As the door closed behind him, shutting out the luxury and noise of the Blackwood estate, he finally let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Everything around him screamed opulence. It was too perfect, too pristine. He didn't like it.
"Trust me, I know how you feel. Being around the rich makes my skin crawl," a voice said from behind.
Caspian spun around in alarm, his eyes locking onto Zach, who sat casually atop the balcony railing as though he'd been there the whole time.
"W-what are you doing here? You're real?" Caspian stammered, his voice laced with disbelief.
Zach answered without words—he launched forward and struck Caspian with a sudden punch. The blow sent him flying across the balcony, his body slamming into the glass railing with a resounding crack.
"Is that real enough for you?" Zach said with a smirk, hopping down from the railing. He crouched beside Caspian and extended a hand to help him up, the grin never leaving his face.
"I'm here to train you, kid. So let's get started."
Caspian groaned, dazed. "I thought… I thought you were a dream."
"Who cares what I am?" Zach replied, waving off the thought. "All you need to know is that I was sent to train you. That's it. Now get up."
Still breathless and shaken, Caspian narrowed his eyes. "I don't even know who you are. Why should I listen to you?"
Zach rolled his eyes. "First rule of training: shut up and do what I tell you."
He snapped his fingers. Instantly, an unseen force slammed into Caspian's chest, flinging him backward through the open balcony doors and into the living room. He crashed hard against the sleek black sofa, knocking over a lamp in the process.
"Lesson one," Zach called out, stepping into the room with unshaken calm. "Expect the unexpected."
Caspian groaned as he pushed himself upright, rubbing his shoulder where he'd hit the floor. The lamp lay shattered beside him, a reminder of the force that had thrown him there—not wind, not impact. It had been something else entirely. Something unseen.
Zach stood over him now, arms folded, that same crooked grin etched into his face.
"You're not going to survive five minutes if you can't even sense what's coming," he said flatly.
"What was that?" Caspian asked, breathing heavily. "What did you hit me with?"
Zach's smile widened. "I didn't hit you. The dream did."
"The...dream?"
Zach nodded. "You're standing in it. You just don't know how to see it yet."
Caspian blinked. "This is reality."
Zach knelt down and tapped Caspian's forehead. "Reality is what your mind lets you see. But dreams? Dreams bend beneath your thoughts. And if you learn to quiet your mind—truly quiet it—you can see what's underneath. The world behind the world."
Caspian stared at him, still unsure if this was real or madness. "And how do I do that?"
Zach rose to his feet and walked to the center of the room, gesturing for Caspian to follow. "You meditate."
Caspian raised a brow. "You just punched me across a balcony and now you want me to sit down and meditate?"
Zach smirked. "What, did you expect me to hand you a sword and shout until you got stronger? This isn't a game or some martial arts movie. If you want to use the invisible force—if you want to see it—you need to train your mind first. And that starts with silence."
Still sore, Caspian hesitated, then stood and followed him.
Zach sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room and gestured for Caspian to mirror him. With a sigh, Caspian sat down, imitating his posture.
"Close your eyes," Zach said. "Slow your breathing. Forget the room. Forget me. Forget your name. Let your thoughts pass like clouds. Don't chase them. Don't hold them. Let them go."
Caspian tried. He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. His shoulders ached. His mind spun with questions—about Zach, about Layla, about the weight in his chest that hadn't lifted since he'd passed out on Alfonse's floor.
"Quiet," Zach said gently, as if he could hear the storm inside Caspian's head.
He inhaled again. Exhaled.
Time slowed. The sharp edges of the world faded. For a moment, he felt nothing. No pain. No noise.
Then something stirred.
A current beneath the surface of his awareness. Faint, like a shadow moving just beyond a curtain.
"Good," Zach's voice echoed, though it sounded farther now, thinner somehow. "You're starting to feel it. The dream beneath the waking world."
Caspian's voice came out quiet. "What is it?"
"The invisible force," Zach said. "It's not just some magic trick. It's part of the Dream—it flows through everything. Not just the sleeping world, but the living one too. And anyone who can dream, can shape it."
Caspian opened one eye, unsure he'd heard that correctly. "Anyone?"
Zach met his gaze with unexpected seriousness. "Anyone. The force doesn't belong to one person. Not even to me. I'm just… more familiar with it."
"You said you were a dream."
"I am," Zach said without flinching. "But that doesn't make me powerless. Dreams are ideas—memories given shape. And sometimes, dreams learn to walk. Learn to think. Sometimes they're sent for a reason."
Caspian stared at him, astonished. "So you're not a person?"
"I was," Zach said, his tone hollow for the first time. "Once. Before I became this. Now, I exist between sleep and waking. But the force... it still answers me."
"Why me?" Caspian asked.
Zach leaned back slightly, looking toward the window where the last of twilight faded from the sky. "Because there's something coming. And whether you like it or not, you're caught in the middle of it. The Blackwoods. That girl. Even the city beneath your feet—it's all woven together. And you need to be ready."
Caspian closed his eyes again, unsure what to say.
"Don't think," Zach said. "Just breathe. Feel the force. It's not something you grab—it's something you notice. Like a whisper, just behind your heartbeat."
Caspian focused on his breathing again. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly, the silence returned. And beneath it, he felt the current once more—a ripple of something ancient and unseen. It moved through the room, through him, like a wind he couldn't feel on his skin but sensed in his bones.
Then suddenly, everything froze.
The air thickened. A strange hum filled his ears. His heart thudded once—twice—and then the world lit up behind his eyes.
He saw strands.
Faint, glowing threads in the air—like strings of light that danced and coiled around the room. One of them flickered around Zach's form, as if drawn to him. Another hovered near the chandelier. A third coiled like smoke around Caspian's own chest.
His eyes flew open, gasping.
"You saw them, didn't you?" Zach said, his voice low and proud.
Caspian nodded slowly. "What were they?"
"Connections," Zach said. "Ties between things. Emotions, memories, fears. That's the force. It doesn't obey logic—it obeys will. And now that you've seen it… you can start learning to use it."
Caspian looked down at his hands, unsure whether to feel awe or fear.
"You're not dreaming," Zach said. "Not exactly. But you are starting to see what most people never do."
He rose to his feet, brushing invisible dust from his pants.
"Tomorrow, I'll show you how to pull the threads. For now, sleep. You'll need it."
Zach turned and began walking toward the balcony again, fading with each step, the sound of his shoes clacking on the ornate marble weakening with every second.
"Wait," Caspian called out. "How can I contact you?"
Zach stopped at the railing and looked over his shoulder. "You'll see me whenever you dream. And soon enough, you'll learn how to dream even while you're awake."
And with that, he vanished into the wind.