Demoa couldn’t hide her disappointment. Rad, Sars, and Olver had been trying, ever since the Nightmares appeared, to find out how many had actually made it into their Realm. Once or twice Rad had talked about witnessing one of the dark beings, but never enough to worry her. She admired the three of them for it, although it meant she saw even less of Rad.

  “Tomorrow!” he promised, pulling her into another comforting hug. “I’m so sorry, Demoa. I’m afraid they’ll overwhelm us if we don’t prepare, that they’ll slip in and destroy us from where we least expect it…”

  He let out a hollow laugh. Demoa felt the frustrated tremor in his body and knew she would never sway him from his quest. All she could do was hold him, wishing his warmth would settle into her soul the way it had for Ray or Ormir. But once more, she couldn’t let him in.

  For a few more precious moments they held one another. Then Rad slowly withdrew, giving her a last, sorrowful look before retreating toward the bushes, turning back again and again with a strained smile.

  Demoa watched him go and, once he had vanished, finally walked alone to the tree where she would have liked to spend more time with him. She leaned her back against the black trunk, which pressed hard into her, and stared up at the velvety, fragrant leaves swaying like countless wind-driven waves. She was unsure what to do with her hands or the hollow weight settling in her chest. The warmth of his hug faded far too quickly.

  Why can’t I feel him? Why can’t I ever let him in?

  She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to breathe past the small tremor gathering beneath her ribs. She ran her fingers over the barkskin for support, letting her eyes flutter shut in an attempt to calm herself…

  “Do you think there really is a Nightmare nearby? Oof, that would certainly be unpleasant,” said an amused voice.

  Demoa flinched and looked around in a panic, though there was no one around. For a heartbeat she thought it had been just in her head, but as her eyes darted across the tree, she barely contained a shriek: right beside her, a body slid sideways out of the tree trunk as if breaking through the surface of water. With a graceful step, Stirleo stepped out of the tree and let himself fall back so he was now leaning next to her against the trunk, now once again solid to him. The abbot wore his usual suit and shoes, and his glowing eyes didn’t even look at her but instead studied the Monastery rising above them on the hillsides.

  Demoa let out another cry and scrambled away from the tree, her face flushing red and her arms breaking out in goosebumps.

  “Oh, sorry, did I startle you? Interrupt anything?” Stirleo asked, still not looking at her, though a wide grin spread across his face.

  Damn it! He was definitely already… here. How much… did he see Rad? Us? Damn it, damn it! Demoa screamed inwardly as she began to shake.

  It was forbidden to meet with someone while staying at the Monastery.

  Forbidden! Are they gonna kick me out? Let me go? Will I have to leave this shielded place and venture into the Dream? Damn it! I need to lie, but there is no point, is there?

  “No, Abbot Stirleo, I…”

  He slightly squinted his eyes, only barely noticeable, but enough to understand lying was indeed pointless.

  “Yes. How much did you… well, listen in on?” she asked, shivering.

  Stirleo continued to ignore her, gazing out over the plantations.

  “Enough.”

  Demoa swallowed. “So, what are you going to do? Chase me away? Punish me? I can tell you I’m already past the whole self-search thing you’ve got going here. I’m only staying because we… I… decided that preparing for battle is the most sensible thing to do! You see, in the end, it doesn’t matter what you do! So…”

  As the words broke from her lips, shame and anger slid across her back, sweat dripping from her forehead.

  Finally, after what felt like another eternity, Stirleo turned and looked at her, an amused smile on his lips. “Ah, you seem to think I care? About your little adventures?”

  “What? You don’t?” Demoa asked, twisting her hands in confusion.

  The abbot just shrugged, his eyes now almost confused, though something else joined in… worry?

  “No, not really, Demoa. The rule is clear: ‘Be on your own; others will distract you.’ You’re supposed to do your best to minimize time spent together here while still being Disciples, at least in theory. Friendships happen, of course. And bonds forged here can last a long time, sometimes even beyond the borders of this realm. Love, however, is such a bright beacon that it can lead you astray quite easily during your stay here and beyond. Still, in the end, following that beacon or your training is your own choice. All I can do is tell you the rules. You have to trust them. If you don’t, I won’t stop you.”

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  He kept looking at her, and Demoa started to shiver again.

  “So… why are you here then?”

  “Enjoying your talent. Your Lucidity. I feel it every time you train and dance. This domain is mine, after all; I’m woven into it and my Lucidity is everywhere. I let your power spread, of course! It’s refreshing to experience a Light which is this developed already. You’re indeed very in line with yourself considering you are a Disciple! I wonder how that happened?”

  Demoa thought about it. “I was close to the birth of the Sun. And I was there when the Radiant Circle was brought here. I have no other explanation.”

  Stirleo smirked and put his hands in his pockets. “Intriguing. As is your Lucidity, I must say. I haven’t seen such a dense output since… well, let’s say it’s been a while.”

  “Really? There are so many Disciples here as well as… Scholars, aren’t there? How can mine be so… special? I cannot be the most powerful here!”

  “True, not the most powerful, but your talent is almost unheard of. The Scholars and Monks might have had time to develop their skills, but they are simply not of your talent, at least not the ones here. I think things are changing, though. Ray has a great deal of potential, and so does Nobea. The Sun, the worldchange, it all affects things: the Realm, the people, Lucidity itself. If there even is a difference between those. Nonetheless, seeing that change unfold firsthand is, naturally, intriguing to me.”

  Demoa looked away, her gaze following a plainhopper drinking from the lake.

  “You really think we’re special? Me, Ray and… Nobea?”

  Stirleo shook his head.

  “Different. ‘Special’ is a word you shouldn’t use lightly. It can lead you astray as easily as love.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Experience.”

  For a moment, Stirleo’s smile cracked and his eyes went distant, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Demoa studied him more carefully now. He looked young, yet everything about him radiated an aura of ages long gone. His body was relaxed, yet an invisible burden still showed on his shoulders from time to time.

  A thought slid into her mind, and she asked very hesitantly, “How long have you been here? Why are you woven into… this Monastery?”

  Stirleo’s grin widened once more. “Ah, the spicy stuff! I knew you’d ask! Everyone does, especially after my… effectiveness in destroying the Nightmares. It is hard to say why. I guess I just liked this place so much I became part of it. I’ve been here forever, you know. When Eri and I built this, the Realm was so much younger, so much duller, only a few embers here and there. It’s a faint memory now, almost gone like the stuff from… before the Dream… you know? There was a time before the Monastery, but it is now just a dying echo. Yet there was the time when I woke up in these hills and delighted in their wonder. When I met Eri, who had already been here in the Dream far longer. I wonder where he arrived and when? He never told me, but I think he’d already been walking for ages… and farther than anyone I’ve ever met. Just hunches, though. As I said, he never talked about it.”

  “What? Are you sure? That’s… ridiculous!”

  For a brief moment, Stirleo’s smile faltered again and he seemed to drift into thought. “Why? If this is forever, there must be old things around. Ancient remains of other times. Even though this Realm feels young, it’s still existed for a long time, I think… and there are others as well, of course...”

  Demoa didn’t like the distance in his eyes. “Excuse me, not to be rude, but now you’re losing yourself in your own fantasies, Abbot…”

  He snapped out of it and scratched his nose with his index finger. “In hypotheses, you mean… though of course you’re right. Let’s not dwell on those questions for now. Let’s not get sidetracked with me but talk about your talent instead. I quite enjoy it; a marvelous piece of Light with a flavor of something new. What do you want to do with it?”

  His question caught Demoa off guard, and for a moment the ground beneath her feet felt wobbly as guilt crept into her chest.

  I need to fend off the Nightmares, correct? That is what my duty is!

  Yet those words did not come over her lips. A silent voice stopped her from speaking them, and the more they sat in her thoughts the more hollow they sounded. As Demoa looked into Stirleo’s eyes once more, she once again decided to tell him the truth.

  “I… nothing. It’s a lucky coincidence I have it… I do not want to do anything, just dance and bring some calm to this place. And its inhabitants, be it plainhopper, Disciple, or even Abbot. I think mostly about the things I have, not the ones I want: a great place to stay, animals to care for, a… lover to hold me…”

  “Oh really? That sounds remarkable. And your… lover… how is he?” His voice didn’t change, nor did his posture or facial expression, yet Demoa sensed that, for the first time, he was being genuinely serious. Maybe his eyes had narrowed a little more…

  “Great, of course!” she replied quickly, and the hollowness of her words now made her throat feel dry.

  Stirleo scanned her and continued, seemingly ignoring her answer. “I have learned a great many things during my time in the Dream, things I happily share with everyone who wants to hear them. Some I learned myself, some others told me. There is a realization that most people here have, though, and it might be one of the most important ones: connections matter. I only have one strong one myself, but many small ones. Still, even I can tell you that it hurts when they break, and some will eventually, so be careful that yours don’t.”

  Demoa shifted uneasily in the grass.

  “How do the connections form?” she asked, hoping for a hint about forming one with Rad.

  Stirleo stepped away from the tree, now lost in his mind once more before he answered.

  “Resonance, I think. Though I’m not sure. A very complicated topic indeed. I’m still trying to figure it out, and so are the Scholars…” Stirleo admitted.

  “Resonance?”

  “Of ideas, thoughts, traits, feelings, complements… all of those, or none. It’s only a hunch. Again, a topic not easily explored. I know some people on their Pilgrimages searched for answers. I assume some found them, although none ever made it back here…” he sighed.

  “So why don’t you… leave? You could look for those answers yourself, if they’re that interesting to you…” Demoa suggested.