Since that night, Nova kept having the same dream weekly. But as time passed, with the progressing attacks from the Ancients like the Akhlut growing fiercer, and the death toll increasing, the dreams that held so much mystery started returning nightly.
Her sleep became interrupted each time as she woke up in a cold sweat, that same warm sensation pulsing within her until it dulled again. The dream was always the same—floating inside that lake as the stars watched her. But she was sure, a lot more happened because at least half of the night had passed before she would wake from it.
The problem was, she couldn't remember. There were only fragments of the dream, glimpses into something else. But it didn't last long enough for her to gain any more information.
Now there was only one word now programmed into her mind:
Remember.
"Is Yoa not letting you rest, cutie?" Atia booped her nose from where he hung upside down from the balcony above her on the treehouse.
