Night fell heavy upon the land. The cave fire burned low, its light a trembling heartbeat against the dark. The tribe slept in uneasy clusters, wrapped in furs, their bodies warmed by the blaze. For the first time, safety seemed possible.
But in dreams, safety is never certain.
Dream drifted among their slumber, watching their visions unfold. Some dreamed of the hunt, of prey that ran swiftly and fell beneath stone spears. Others dreamed of the fire itself, growing bright and eternal. Small flickers of hope.
Then he felt something new.
One of the hunters tossed restlessly, his brow furrowed, his breath ragged. Dream leaned close and entered the storm of his mind.
It was night within night. The hunter ran across endless plains, shadows rising tall behind him. Their shapes were wrong, twisted — beasts with too many eyes, too many teeth, predators that were not real but felt true in the marrow. The hunter screamed as they closed in, jaws snapping, darkness consuming.
Dream reached out but did not banish it. He only watched, thoughtful.
When the hunter woke, his body was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like a drum. He looked into the shadows beyond the fire and shivered.
In the morning, he warned the others. His words were broken, his voice harsh, but they understood enough: dangers waited in the dark. The tribe grew cautious. They kept the fire burning brighter. They posted watchers through the night.
Later that week, when real predators crept close — eyes glowing from the treeline — the tribe was ready. Stones flew, spears struck, fire drove the beasts back. The tribe survived.
Dream lingered above them, quiet and still.
So this, he thought, was the weight of nightmare. Not only terror, not only despair, but warning. A way for mortals to fear what had not yet come, and to prepare.
He drifted back into the hunter's dreams the next night. The nightmare returned, the same teeth and eyes in the dark. The man woke again, trembling, but not as helpless as before. Each time, he rose sharper, more aware, his body remembering what the dream had shown him.
Dream touched the edge of the vision and allowed it to remain. He could have unmade it with a thought, could have given the hunter peace. But peace would leave him blind, and blindness would end in death.
When the hunter slept again, Dream whispered into the storm of his mind:
"Fear is the shadow of fire. Keep it close. Let it teach you."
The words dissolved like smoke, yet the hunter stirred, curling nearer the flame.
From the cave mouth, Death appeared. She leaned against the stone, arms folded, eyes glimmering in the firelight.
"You let him suffer," she said softly.
Dream did not turn. "Not suffering. Preparing."
Her lips curved in a faint smile. "I suppose you would say that. You've given them hope, now fear. Balance, perhaps."
He glanced at her at last, his gaze steady. "Fear keeps them alive."
Death's expression gentled, her voice almost fond. "Until it doesn't."
They stood together in silence, watching the hunter toss in his restless sleep. Outside, the predators howled, driven back by fire and stone. Inside, nightmares sharpened instincts, etched warnings into mortal hearts.
Dream lowered his head slightly, thoughtful. "Every spark has its shadow. They cannot dream only of light."
Death touched his shoulder as she passed, her presence cool but not unkind. "And in the end, brother, they'll dream their last dream with me."
When she was gone, Dream returned to the hunter's side. He sat quietly as the man shivered, lost in visions of teeth and eyes, and smiled faintly.
For the first time, Dream understood: even nightmares were necessary.