Alex followed Roric through the grim hallway, his mind racing.

  ‘The Council?’

  From what he knew of fantasy tropes, councils were usually filled with old men in robes arguing about politics while the world burned. Why were they interested in him? And what questions did they need answered?

  ‘Wait…’ Alex nearly stumbled. ‘Is this part of the trial?’

  Alex quickly summoned the shimmering screen.

  [Dream Trial: The Crying Spire]

  The objective was to find the spire and silence a stone. It said nothing about interrogation by a military council.

  Nothing made sense. One moment he’s standing on a glassy void, the next he was fighting faceless monsters, and then he was naked in a medieval bedroom, and now he was being escorted through a fortress.

  ‘Those soul-eaters,’ Alex thought, shivering in his new boots. The memory of the battlefield was a cold weight in his gut. If this was a dream, it was a cruel one.

  “Maybe I’ll see dragons,” he muttered, trying to lighten the mood.

  Roric didn't react, his stride purposeful and long.

  ‘Enough thinking,’ Alex. ‘Focus.’

  The hallway was oppressive. The walls and floor were cut from the same rough stone as his room, smelling strongly of wet rock and old smoke. Torches gripped by iron clamps cast a dancing, restless glow that deepened the shadows.

  The corridor eventually fed into a vast, open courtyard.

  Alex froze. His breath caught in his throat.

  After the claustrophobic interior, the sheer scale of the palace was staggering. The fortress rose around him, carved straight from the mountain itself. Its gray stone walls blended seamlessly with the cliffs, as if the structure had been grown from the rock rather than built. Towering battlements crowned the upper levels, their silhouettes sharp against the rolling mist curling down from the peaks.

  Two massive towers framed the main gate like stone guards. High above, a banner fluttered weakly in the cold wind. Every archway, every carved emblem spoke of an ancient craftsmanship preserved with reverence.

  “First time seeing a proper stronghold?” Roric asked, slowing just enough to let Alex take it in.

  “It’s… not what I expected,” Alex managed.

  His gaze swept over the organized chaos of the courtyard. Soldiers drilled in precise formations. Blacksmiths hammered glowing steel. Cloaked figures moved silently across stone paths.

  The place felt alive. Not with noise, but with weight. With history. It was a sanctuary for some, a prison for others. To Alex, it felt like both.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  “It feels less like a castle and more like a machine built for war,” Alex muttered.

  Roric let out a short, appreciative laugh. “That’s because it is. This isn’t a king's summer palace. This is Dawn’s Bastion. That,” he pointed a casual finger to a central tower built directly into the cliff face, “is where the decisions that keep us alive are made.”

  He glanced at Alex, his earth-tone eyes missing nothing. “Quite the step up from wherever you’re from, I’d wager.”

  Alex flinched. The idea of anyone here knowing where he came from was absurd.

  ‘A dream. It’s just a dream.’

  He tried to force the logic. They were constructs of his imagination. He shouldn't fear them. However, the cold wind biting his cheeks felt real. The smell of forge smoke felt real. And the warning from Morpheus. [Death in Dreams results in death in the waking world] lingered like a curse.

  ‘Alternate realities… is that really possible?’

  A small screen flickered in the corner of his vision:

  [Dream Resonance: +10]

  Then, the synthesized voice whispered in his mind, carrying a subtle hint of approval:

  [Insight recognized. You begin to perceive the underlying architecture.]

  “What?” Alex whispered.

  “Focus, lad,” Roric said, steering them toward the base of the central tower. “The Council’s chambers are at the summit. A good place to pass judgment, don’t you think? Lets them look down on everyone. Literally.”

  They entered the tower. The noise of the courtyard died instantly, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence.

  The guards here were different. Their armor was polished to a mirror shine, their swords sharp and deadly. They stood like statues, watching Alex from behind dark visors. Their stares were cold, making his skin prickle. Walking this hallway felt like walking into a cage.

  Even Roric changed. His easy-going walk straightened into a march. His playful smirk vanished, replaced by a tight, serious line.

  They stopped at the bottom of a massive, winding staircase that disappeared into the shadows above.

  “Listen,” Roric said, his voice low. “In there, you’ll see four main faces. Lord Commander Valerius, the grizzled old geezer in charge. He carries the weight of every soul here. Don’t waste his time. Lady Ana, Master of Scouts. She sees everything, so assume she already knows you shouldn’t be here. General Korbin… thinks in numbers and fortifications. He’ll see you as a variable… likely a negative one.”

  “And the fourth?” Alex asked, his throat dry.

  A faint smile touched Roric’s lips. “The Shard-Maiden, Elenora. She doesn’t speak much. But when she does, even Valerius listens. She's the reason you’re still breathing.”

  Before Alex could process that, Roric gave him a nudge.

  “Up we go. Stick close to the script. Let me do the talking.”

  “Huh… wait, what script?” Alex panicked.

  “No time, lad. Up we go.”

  The staircase was a world apart from the grim halls below. Wide marble steps infused with silver spiraled upward. A thick, expensive carpet swallowed the sound of their boots. The air grew colder, carrying a sharp, sterile scent that reminded Alex of a museum.

  They stopped before a pair of doors twice the height of any man. Dark oak, carved with a sprawling, unsmiling sun whose rays stretched to the edges.

  From the other side, Alex heard the sharp tones of a heated debate. It cut off abruptly as the guards flanking the entrance snapped to attention.

  Roric took a slow, steadying breath. "Ready or not," he murmured. "It's time."

  The doors swung inward without a sound. A cavernous, torch-lit hall revealed itself. A dozen pairs of eyes turned from a large central round table to lock onto him.

  In that moment, with the weight of their gazes pressing down, the last of Alex's doubt vanished.

  This was no dream. It was a nightmare.