Kael's hand kept itching.
It wasn't an annoying itch, but a subtle sensation — a lingering vibration that seemed to come from deep within his bones.
He returned to the hardware shop with the deliveries, his face twisted into a grimace that Uncle Borin took for fatigue.
"Long day, boy?" the man asked, his voice gravelly yet kind.
Kael nodded, avoiding his gaze. He didn't know how to explain what he'd experienced at the fountain. How could he describe an invisible spark, a flash of vision, and the scent of flowers that didn't exist — to a man who thought of dreams only as the tangled patterns of the night, not as real gardens that could be nurtured or destroyed?
For the next few days, Kael tried to ignore the incident. His practicality was a thick armor, forged by years of disappointment and the harsh reality of his neighborhood.
"It's just a coincidence… An illusion born from that girl's despair — and my own weary mind," he kept telling himself.
But the spark wouldn't leave him.
Every time he saw someone burdened with sorrow, or sensed the shadow of a sick dream, his palm tingled.
He began touching random objects — a splintered piece of wood, a rusted old key — hoping to recreate the feeling, but nothing happened. The fragments from the girl had been special. They had been real pieces of a broken dream.
At night, his dream garden remained a barren wasteland. Yet now, it was not entirely empty.
At its center, faint but persistent, glowed a pale light.
It was tiny — but it was there.
It wasn't the return of his memories of Elara, not yet, but it was a fragile promise, a crack in the hard crust of his apathy.
He began to sleep less — or at least, to wish he could — because facing that inner desolation was painful.
"Why is that light in my dream garden now? Ever since I touched that girl's dream fragments… that spark has returned."
That mystery kept his mind restless.
He decided to go back to the fountain.
It wasn't a place he visited often — too far from his usual route — but curiosity, that spark he'd believed long dead, was pushing him there.
He didn't find the girl.
But as he sat on the stone rim, an elderly woman with silver hair and wise eyes approached, clutching an amber pendant that seemed to hold a swirl of pale mist. Her face was lined with worry.
"Ah, a lonely young man," she murmured, sitting beside him. "What troubles you? I can sense a certain… emptiness within you."
Kael looked at her, startled by her insight.
"Just thoughts," he said, his voice measured.
"Heavy thoughts make dreams fragile," she replied, stroking her pendant.
The wrinkles beside her eyes deepened as she lifted it into her palm and stared at it, trying to focus.
Her head tilted slightly, a lock of gray hair falling across her face as she stared into the void for a few seconds.
Then she turned to Kael.
"This, for example. It was my dream — to see an old friend again, to travel south. Now it's… like this. Clouded by too many disappointments, too many years."
It was a damaged dream, not broken yet — but clearly on the verge of collapse.
Without thinking, Kael felt that familiar tingling in his hand. He reached out and brushed the pendant with a faint, hesitant touch.
A surge — stronger than before — shot up his arm.
This time, the vision was clearer, more vivid.
It wasn't a single image, but a rapid sequence:
A dusty road under a scorching sun, the outline of an ancient city on the horizon, and a smiling man reaching out his hand. The scent of myrtle and jasmine filled his senses.
It was the old woman's dream — a dream of travel and reunion.
It lasted only a heartbeat — then vanished.
But this time, Kael felt warmth spreading through the pendant, and the amber mist within it began to clear, revealing a faint glimmer.
The woman gasped. Her eyes widened.
"By the Flames of Dreams!" she exclaimed. "What have you done, boy? For a moment… I felt the southern air — I almost saw Marek's face!"
Her fingers trembled as she touched the pendant, and a tear rolled down her cheek. It was not a tear of sorrow, but of wonder.
Kael withdrew his hand, his heart pounding in his chest. This time, there was no doubt.
It hadn't been an illusion.
He had felt her dream — and he had done something.
Something small, almost insignificant — but it had moved an energy.
"I… I don't know," Kael stammered, feeling trapped.
The old woman looked at him with unexpected intensity.
"Are you a Keeper of the Sleeping Fire?" she asked, her voice low and reverent.
"It's a rare gift — a blessing. But also a burden."
Kael had never heard those words before: Keeper of the Sleeping Fire.
"I'm nothing like that," he said. "It was just a touch."
The woman smiled sadly.
"The touch of a few can reignite the dreams of many, young man. But beware — not everyone wishes for dreams to be mended, especially those who profit from their ruin."
Before Kael could ask what she meant, the old woman stood up.
"Seek the Academy of Shattered Dreams. They will know what to do with your gift. But be cautious — the Dark Wardens are everywhere. And sometimes, even those who seem like allies… hide their own purposes."
With those cryptic words, she vanished into the crowd, leaving Kael alone with the weight of new, unsettling questions.
He had heard legends of hidden places where dream magic was studied and protected.
It was said such a place existed — the Academy of Shattered Dreams — almost mythical, a sanctuary for those who had lost their dreams, or sought to guard them. It had always sounded like a children's tale, but the woman's words carried a truth he could no longer deny.
The following days were a whirlwind of thought. Kael kept working, but his mind drifted elsewhere, searching for signs and clues. His curiosity had become an obsession — a fire rekindled in the ashes of his dream garden.
For the first time in years, he felt a purpose — faint, but real.
The desire to understand his power, to learn what had happened to Elara… and maybe, somehow, to make amends.
He began asking questions, discreetly.
The daily market was his hunting ground — as were the nearby shops.
The name "Academy of Shattered Dreams" drew nervous looks or outright scorn.
Some called it a foolish legend, others a den of madmen lost who-knows-where, while a few whispered of a hidden, dangerous power.
But one name kept surfacing: "The Informers."
They were said to know how to find the Academy — for a steep price.
Kael remembered the old woman's warning: "Even those who seem like allies may hide their own motives."
Kael was a practical man.
He knew he couldn't just knock on a door and expect answers.
It would take money, influence, or a calculated risk.
He decided it was worth it.
He took his meager savings — the ones he had painstakingly gathered for years — money once meant for a future that now felt meaningless without his memories.
He tracked down an Informer named Lysander, a gaunt-faced man whose eyes seemed to have seen too many shadows. Lysander ran a small stall in a side market, selling forgotten trinkets and "emotional relics" — little objects that had absorbed their owners' dreams, now dull and lifeless.
Kael approached the counter.
"I'm looking for information," he said quietly.
Lysander gave him a bitter smile. "Everyone is. The valuable kind always comes with a price."
"The Academy of Shattered Dreams," Kael said, his voice low but firm.
Lysander's smile vanished. His eyes sharpened.
"That name isn't spoken lightly, boy. It could draw unwanted attention."
His gaze fell on Kael's palm, as if he could see the itch beneath the skin.
"You have the spark, don't you?"
Kael hesitated. "Maybe."
Lysander laughed — a dry, joyless sound.
"Then yes, you deserve the information. Or perhaps you're just signing up for a one-way trip."
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper.
"The Citadel — the Academy — isn't a place you can walk to. It lies between dreams, woven in the veil between waking and sleeping. The only way to reach it is through someone who can guide you across the Portals of Sleep.
And for that…" he said, gesturing toward a crystal vial filled with iridescent liquid, "…you'll need an Extract of Deep Lucidity. It'll keep your consciousness intact as you travel through dreams. But it's expensive."
Kael eyed the vial. He knew Lysander was overcharging, but he felt he had no choice.
"How much?"
Lysander paused, studying Kael's face, his squinting eyes full of calculation.
Then he tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the left corner of his mouth.
"All your savings, boy. And a small favor — once you've reached your goal," he said, voice laced with implicit threat. "If you ever do."
Kael hesitated only a moment, then pulled out his small leather pouch and spilled his coins onto the counter. It was nearly everything he owned. Lysander swept them up greedily, then handed over the vial.
"Drink this, and you'll fall into the deepest sleep. It will grant you clarity. But remember — the Portals of Sleep are not for the faint of heart. They'll show you your worst fears, your deepest regrets. And once you enter… you'll never be the same."
Kael took the vial, wrapped it in cloth, and slipped it into his bag. He looked up — Lysander tilted his head slightly to the right, still watching him, as if silently asking what he was waiting for.
The boy lowered his head slightly, met Lysander's eyes in a nod, then turned and walked away toward home. Every few steps, he checked that his bag didn't bump into anything, afraid to shatter the fragile vial.
That night, after Uncle Borin had gone to bed, Kael sat on his own.
The extract was cold and slightly viscous, tasting of metal and wilted flowers.
He drank it, then lay down, staring at the ceiling.
Drowsiness overtook him quickly — but it wasn't ordinary sleep.
It was dense, heavy, pulling him down into an abyss.
His dream garden unfolded. Still barren, beneath a gray sky.
But this time, something was different.
At the center of the faint glow — now slightly larger — a single dark fissure had opened in the ground, like a scar.
It pulsed faintly with violet light.
It was a Portal of Sleep.
A primal fear gripped him — this was the point of no return.
He could ignore it, wake up, and return to his empty life.
Or he could face the unknown.
The memory of Elara — faint and colorless — urged him on.
And hope, that small and reckless spark, pushed him forward.
He gathered his courage and stepped closer to the fissure.
The violet light brightened, drawing him in like a moth to flame.
With a deep breath, Kael threw himself into the abyss.
It wasn't falling.
It was being pulled through a vortex of distorted colors and sounds, a tunnel of sensation where time and space lost all meaning.
He felt his consciousness strain, almost threatened — but the Extract of Deep Lucidity kept his mind tethered.
He saw flashes — his childhood, Elara's laughing face, her final moments, the old woman's trembling hand, Lysander's eyes.
Each image was a test — a distraction.
Then, the vortex stilled.
Kael found himself in a place that defied all logic.
It wasn't a garden. It wasn't a city.
It was a crossroads of dreams.
Around him, dozens — perhaps hundreds — of dream corridors stretched in every direction, each glowing with a different light, each resonating with its own atmosphere: the scent of a forest, the crash of ocean waves, the hum of a crowded metropolis.
They were the dreams of others — an infinite labyrinth of minds.
Kael stood, disoriented.
How could he ever find the Citadel in this chaos?
It felt hopeless.
Then, a voice echoed in his mind — cold and metallic: "You are weak, Keeper of the Sleeping Fire. Your flame is but an ember. You are here only because of your pain."
Kael spun around — but saw no one.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice fading into the vastness.
"I am your truth," the voice replied.
And from one of the corridors, a dark figure emerged — vaguely human in shape, but with eyes burning bright red.
It was tall, imposing, radiating an icy aura that chilled Kael to the bone.
Those red eyes locked onto him, and he felt a cold claw close around his heart.
"You will never be worthy of the Academy. Your dream is broken beyond repair. And I have come to make sure of it."
The shadow advanced — and Kael understood.
These must be the Dark Wardens the old woman had spoken of.
And they weren't there to help him.
Their very presence drained the light from the surrounding corridors, leaving trails of darkness in their wake.
Kael was alone, in an unknown world.
And a terrifying being had found him.