Page 115 of May: Bloom & Bane

The dream realm does not have a door. It is a feeling you follow before it yields and accepts you inside. I walk through miles of glittering sand before I am sucked into a portal.

Stars drift past like snow, falling in lazy arcs around me. Here, the world is inverted. There is no sky above me, only a vast, violet infinity. The ground is thick with a sea of fluffy clouds that glow like trapped moonlight, swirling around my boots as I wade through, nuzzling my ankles like playful little creatures. A lilac cloud, no larger than a kitten, twirls around my knee, venting a soft puff of cotton-candy scented air before drifting off to rejoin its siblings.

My wings twitch under my skin, longing to burst free into the violet ether. Another particularly bold cloudlet attempts to nestle in between my hair and elauvhe. I have to suppress the undignified urge to shiver.

“Remavau,” I call out into the vastness. “I know you are here. Stop your cloud-children from grooming me and show yourself.”

A soft chuckle echoes from the stars above—or below; it is impossible to tell.

“You are too tense, Therael,” a soothing voice drifts through the air. “The clouds only want to show you the dreams you have been denying yourself.”

“I do not have time for dreams,” I mutter, gently extracting the persistent cloudlet from my halo. It chirps indignantly before floating off.

“No,” Remavau agrees, and suddenly he is standing before me. “You never do.”

His white hair falls in a familiar, loose braid over his shoulder, woven with dangling gold charms shaped like crescent moons and tiny stars. He looks at me through a thick fringe of impossibly white eyelashes, his lavender irises glowing behind thin, round glasses perched on his nose. His warm, bronze skin is mapped in drifting constellations, every major star represented by a small pulsing light. He is built like a fortress—broad shoulders, devastating height—yet standing in his presence feels like falling asleep somewhere you know you are loved.

Iridescent dust clings to his fingertips. I must have interrupted his work.

“The pediatric ward?” I ask quietly.

“Mm.” He adjusts his glasses with a single, elegant finger. “There’s a six-year-old girl with leukemia. Her parents have not visited her in six weeks.” His voice does not shift. It stays soft and even, but I do not miss the way his jaw tightens.

“I conjured her a dream about flying on a baby dragon named Pip. She giggled in her sleep for a full minute.”

The clouds surrounding us pulse brighter at his words. I do not ask what will happen if she is not healed. I already know she will join the others here, happy, loved, and forever safe in Remavau’s twilight.

“As much as I love talking about my shaeveni‡,” he says softly. (Fading ones) “I know that is not why you are here. What is wrong, old friend?”

“Sage’s flashbacks have started.”

Remavau’s gentle smile drops, and the playful clouds pause their drifting.

“Already?” He reaches up, adjusting his glasses, a nervous habit I have seen him repeat a thousand times over the centuries. “I did not think the bleed-through would start this early. She has been awake just over a week.”

“I know.” I drag both hands down my face, my halo flickering with distress. “This morning he had a migraine, and he saw a vision of Lumi, running through Andrik’s forest.”

“Does he know it was him she was running from?”

“No. He saw enough that he felt she belonged to him. Not enough to understand why.”

Remavau turns away, looking out across the infinite expanse of his realm.

“He’s mated with Eden,” he finally says.

“Yes. I could scent it on him.”

“And it didn’t affect the bond at all?”

“No. It is still not sealed. I hoped at least the immortality thread would take, but it did not.”

A small blue cloud bumps against my knee, letting out a soft trill of concern.

“I do not know how to fix this,” I admit quietly. “I can only stand by and watch it happen.”

Remavau tilts his head. “What do you need from me?”

“Blur the flashbacks.” The words tumble out of me. “Make them fragmented enough that he does not realize who she is. Buy us time—buy him time.”