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The sounds of the erupting volcano and fleeing creatures faded into the background, overshadowed by the desperate gasps and choked sobs of a child fighting for survival.
And then, just when hope seemed lost, young Fleth managed to free his head from the suffocating cloth.
Coughing and sputtering, he clawed his way to the shore.
Every breath he took sounded like a sweet symphony, a testament to his will to live.
He lay there, exhausted and shaken but alive.
The scene began to fade, the vivid colors and intense sensations dulling as the dream ended.
The weight of what we had witnessed pressed heavily on my heart.
We were back in the cold, dim corridor outside Fleth’s cell, but the echoes of his past still resonated within me.
Tix’s grip on my hand tightened reassuringly. “Are you okay?” he asked, genuine concern in his eyes.
I nodded slowly. “That was… intense.”
“It always is,” Tix admitted. “Now we have an insight into what makes Fleth tick. We just have to figure out how to use it.”
It was a stark reminder that everyone, no matter how formidable, had vulnerabilities lurking in the shadows of their memories.
* * *
The stillness of the prison corridor was disrupted by the labored breaths of Fleth, whose hulking form was now contorted with restless movements.
His once-imposing presence, so threatening in the light of day, was barely believable with the vulnerability he displayed in his sleep.
His thick, scaled skin glistened with sweat as the cold, sterile light of the prison cell flickered and cast eerie shadows on his face.
I stood rooted to the spot, my eyes fixed on his, watching his eyelids twitch with every tortured dream.
I focused on the soft, plaintive whimpers that escaped his lips.
The words were few, but they conveyed more emotion than any articulate speech ever could. “Momma…”
I could almost feel the heat of the lava, the desperate yearning of a child, the terror of a world gone awry.
A soft, gentle touch on my arm broke my trance.
Tix’s face, illuminated by the soft glow from the prison cells, bore an expression of understanding mixed with caution. “Grace,” he began, his voice low and calming, “It’s hard, I know. But remember why we’re here.”
I sighed, taking in a deep breath, the sharp smell of the prison’s disinfectant stinging my nostrils. “I just wish we could’ve done something, you know? To ease his pain, even for a moment.”
Tix nodded, his thumb caressing my hand in a reassuring manner, the slight roughness of his skin evident. “We could’ve,” he admitted. “We can manipulate dreams, even turn nightmares into pleasant memories. Doing so would change his fears, reshaping the very essence of what torments him. It wouldn’t work to our advantage in the pit.”
I took a moment to process his words, letting them settle in.
The constant hum of the prison’s ventilation system provided a gentle backdrop to our hushed conversation. “So, we just leave him like this? Suffering?”
Tix’s eyes met mine, a glint of determination evident. “For now,” he said slowly, weighing each word, “remember, Grace, this isn’t just a passing whim for him. This fear, this trauma, has shaped him his entire life. A few more days won’t change that. And when we’re free from this place,” his voice grew softer, filled with promise, “we can change his dreams. We can give him peace.”
The idea was comforting, a balm to my troubled soul.
As I looked into Tix’s eyes, I could sense the sincerity in his words.
The promise wasn’t just for Fleth — it was for both of us.
