The sun was high and proud in the sky, a golden sentinel casting its warm light over the world below. Its rays stretched wide, gently parting the scattered veil of clouds that roamed freely, unbound by any order. Through those soft breaks in the heavens, sunlight poured down—not just upon the towering spires of distant cities or the ancient silhouettes of the Kalarth mountain range, blackened and brooding in the far distance—but upon all things alive and breathing. The trees soaked in its warmth, their leaves shimmering like green-gold coins in the breeze. The soil, the stone, the walls of homes—everything basked in the touch of the divine sun.
But it wasn't only the land that welcomed the warmth. Life itself—sentient, loud, and messy—thrived in its presence.
Amidst the many souls that made up the bustling cities, one family gathered under the open sky. Their estate stood atop a sweeping grassland—vividly green, endlessly soft. In its heart stood a broad and elegant residence, tall and commanding yet warm in its presence. The grounds around it teemed with life. Children darted between the trees, laughter echoing like birdsong. Some were as small as toddlers, barely able to do more than cling to their mothers' dresses with curious eyes and clumsy hands. Others were old enough to chase butterflies through the trees or wrestle in the shade, their joy unburdened by responsibility.
A group of older family members sat beneath the cool shadow of a large tree, its branches wide and wise. Their conversations flowed effortlessly, laughter and old stories traded like cherished coins. They paid no mind to one particular young girl running across the grass—arms flailing, face lit with pure joy—as she chased a little puppy that zipped ahead of her in wild, excited sprints. The dog was white and blue, barely old enough to bark properly, its tail a blur as it darted just out of reach. The two of them, girl and pup, were mirrors of one another—both innocent, unburdened, utterly alive.
The wind was gentle and oddly crisp, as if it had travelled down from the peaks of Kalarth, blessing the family gathering with a cool caress despite the sun's firm presence overhead. It rustled the grass and tugged playfully at the fabric of the tablecloths, carrying with it the scent of fresh earth, wood, and something sweet being prepared nearby.
"Siara, be careful, and watch your step!" a voice called out from the grand entrance of the house. It belonged to a woman standing beneath the arched doorway, hands on her hips, watching the commotion unfold. Her tone was gentle but edged with a mother's concern.
The girl, Siara, ignored the voice at first, her focus locked on the chase. But something in the woman's voice must have registered. Siara's steps slowed just a little, her clumsy footing corrected as she glanced down, making sure her tiny companion didn't end up flattened under her exuberance.
From the doorway, the woman—likely Siara's mother—sighed with a half-smile and turned back into the house. When she emerged again, she carried a wide tray stacked with colourful snacks—golden spirals of fried dough, jewel-toned fruits sliced and dusted with sugar, and soft cakes cut into neat little cubes. She made her way across the field toward an open-air dining table surrounded by smaller trees clustered close together, casting delicate shadows that danced over the table.
Eight people were already seated around it—five men and three women—engaged in pleasant conversation. Their voices wove together with the rustling of leaves and the distant cries of playing children. When the new tray of treats appeared, eyes turned with interest. Laughter spilt once more as they shifted to make room for the new wave of snacks.
Siara, catching the scent of something sweet on the breeze, abandoned her chase immediately. Her eyes widened in that way only children's eyes can, and she spun mid-run, now sprinting toward her mother with outstretched arms. Behind her, the puppy hesitated for only a moment before following suit, tiny legs working overtime as it gave chase. The roles had reversed. Girl and pup now raced to the same destination, the same joy—each drawn by warmth, by family, by food, by something beautifully simple.
The wind picked up again, rustling the grass and the trees around them, as if nature itself had paused to watch this brief, fleeting moment of peace.
As laughter echoed and warm voices intertwined beneath the shade of clustered trees, the men and women gathered with their children, their joy bubbling up in shared conversations and familiar gestures. Their eyes sparkled with the light of old stories, their smiles unburdened by grief or absence. Yet amidst this idyllic gathering, none of them seemed to notice the presence of a figure standing alone in the distance, just a few dozen meters away, yet impossibly removed from their world.
He stood silent and still, wrapped in a pale hue so pure it surpassed even the whiteness of snow. His skin bore no blemish, his presence no warmth. His form shimmered faintly, ethereal like light reflected off still water, but unnaturally cold, releasing slow wisps of mist from his shoulders and arms—like the breath of winter made flesh. His eyes were otherworldly: each socket held not a single orb but two layered marbles, black and radiant, folding endlessly into each other like compact universes collapsed into a gaze.
He watched them—this family that laughed and lived, the table where they had all gathered just moments ago. Yet now, one seat sat empty. Someone was missing. A soul had vanished, not just from the gathering but from the minds of the rest. No one turned to look, no one asked where he had gone. His absence passed without disturbance, as if he had never drawn breath under that sun.
Not even a ripple in memory.
"It's all a dream," the pale figure said at last. His voice carried the finality of fact, yet it flowed with strange warmth, a comfort utterly at odds with the cold that clung to him like a second skin. His body remained motionless, but the mist thickened around his limbs, curling like gentle smoke, defying the breeze.
At first, nothing changed. The children still ran. The puppy still chased. The wind still whispered through the leaves.
But then, slowly, like dusk swallowing the edges of day, members of the family began to disappear. One by one, they faded. A laugh cut short. A gesture unfinished. A name half-spoken. Their smiles turned transparent, and then they were gone—consumed not by shadow, but by the very background itself. Faded into memory. Into nothing.
And still the others remained, unaffected, untouched, unbothered—until they too vanished, until there was no one left but the white figure and the silence. The silence of a dream falling apart.
The man turned his head slightly, observing the now-empty table, the grass swaying where children once played, the cool air where life had bloomed. He exhaled slowly, not out of fatigue, but quiet acceptance.
"A good dream indeed..." A second voice answered him, this one deeper, older, etched with command. It came from behind, blooming like thunder from the shadow's edge. "... but a dream nonetheless."