Chapter 170: The Dream Unfolding

The stars above the Spire hadn’t looked this clear in years.

A fragile silence spread across the camp like dew, settling into bones that had forgotten peace. For a moment, the war felt far away.

But peace, Serena had learned, never came without a cost—and it never stayed long.

She stood alone at the edge of the platform, eyes on the horizon where the last light of the Gate had vanished. Her breath fogged faintly in the night chill, but her pulse was warm. Alive.

Behind her, the child sat cross-legged near the campfire, still watching, still unmoving.

Its presence unsettled even the wind.

Mira approached from behind, tossing Serena a strip of dried meat. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You didn’t eat last night either.”

Serena glanced at her. “You’re starting to sound like Lyra.”

“Don’t insult me,” Mira muttered, sitting beside her. “Where is she, anyway?”

“North wall. Making Kael nervous with her sword twirling.”

A beat of silence.

Then Mira asked, “You ever wonder if it’s really over?”

Serena didn’t answer right away.

She reached into her tunic and pulled out the smooth stone pendant she had worn since before the first battle—the one she’d always thought was from her mother. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

It pulsed faintly now.

And when she held it to the firelight—it shimmered like the Gate.

“I think we closed one door,” she said finally. “But there are others. Waiting.”

By morning, a scout arrived.

The rider was gaunt, his horse caked in sweat and dust. His armor bore the insignia of Elder Veylan’s court—a Spire outpost long thought destroyed.

Kael helped him down as Mira summoned the others.

Caine arrived first, followed by Lyra and Elias, then Serena, cloak billowing behind her.

“What happened?” she asked.

The rider coughed violently before rasping, “Elder Veylan lives. But the western rift has cracked.”

Mira stiffened. “There were no other Gates.”

“There weren’t,” the rider said. “But something’s changed. Something deep.”

He handed Serena a sealed scroll, written in the elder’s hand.

She opened it slowly.

Her eyes scanned the text—and with every line, her pulse quickened.

To General Serena Halros, Keeper of the Flame, Gate-Breaker, and Heir of the Ash Line,

The world stirs. While you have silenced the eastern Gate, another breathes in the west.

It is not the Gate you knew. This one is not a wound—it is a scar. It does not cry. It remembers.

And it is calling you by name.

Come quickly. Or don’t come at all.

—Veylan of the First Circle

Serena lowered the scroll.

Mira asked quietly, “What does it say?”

“There’s another Gate.”

Lyra swore under her breath. “Tell me you're joking.”

Serena’s voice was even. “It remembers me.”

That night, the child finally spoke again.

It wandered close to the fire, silver eyes reflecting flame, and stared directly at Serena as she finished packing supplies.

“You dream of the red forest,” it said.

Serena froze.

She turned, slowly. “What did you say?”

The child didn’t blink. “The trees burn. The sky cries. And the voices whisper your name.”

Elias stood nearby, eyes narrowing. “You’ve seen her dreams?”

“I was born from them.”

Silence.

Then Serena whispered, “That’s not possible.”

The child stepped forward, tilting its head. “You made me.”

The camp broke into motion the next morning.

Serena gave the order to prepare a scouting party for the western ridge. She would go herself—she had to—but she wouldn't risk another full deployment until they knew what they were facing.

Caine pulled her aside as she mounted her horse.

“The child,” he said, “is tethered to you.”

“I noticed.”

“No, I mean… it’s more than that. It’s tied to something you haven’t remembered yet.”

She frowned. “What are you saying?”

“That memory the child spoke of—the red forest? That wasn’t a dream. That was real.”

Serena’s breath caught.

“Before the Gate ever opened,” Caine said gently, “there was a tear in the realm. A flicker. One that chose you.”

“And I don’t remember it?”

“You buried it. To protect yourself. Or someone else.”

Serena closed her eyes.

And suddenly, just for a flicker of a heartbeat—she did remember.

The red trees.

A scream.

Hands reaching for her.

And a promise, whispered in the dark:

“One day, you’ll bring fire to a world that forgot how to burn.”

The western path was colder.

As they crossed the ridge, Serena, Elias, Lyra, and two scouts pushed through frost-bitten woods, the trees bending toward them like watchers.

Everything felt older here. Untouched.

Serena’s pendant pulsed again.

Elias noticed. “Is it reacting to the new rift?”

“No,” she said, voice tight. “It’s reacting to me.”

The forest opened into a wide basin.

And in the center of it—sleeping, humming, and perfectly still—was a ring of obsidian stones surrounding a field of grass that didn’t move in the wind.

Serena dismounted.

The closer she walked, the louder the whispers became.

They didn’t belong to the Gate.

They belonged to her.

She stepped into the circle—and time stilled.

The air grew thick. The pendant around her neck burst with light.

And in a swirl of memory, she was transported back to the red forest.

She was twelve.

Running.

Fire licking the trees behind her.

And a figure—cloaked in gold and smoke—reaching toward her.

“You cannot stay here,” the figure said.

“I want to go back.”

“No. The world needs you forward.”

Then the forest erupted—and the dream vanished.

Serena fell to her knees in the circle, gasping.

Elias rushed in, grabbing her shoulders. “Serena—what did you see?”

She looked up at him, eyes shimmering with something more than fear.

“I didn’t just dream the Gate,” she said. “I called it.”

“What?”

“I was chosen… before I was born. Something planted inside me. A spark. A crack.”

She pressed her palm to the earth.

And the grass beneath her turned silver.