"Why do you not go to her? You could simply leave... not that I want you to, yet... Dio, why do you not go to her?"

  "I cannot. I want to stay with you and Brela. And I am waiting for her, right here. I told her to find me when she reached the end of her journey toward the Light. So I wait. She is probably somewhere cultivating now, not thinking of me. She will set her eyes on what truly matters, becoming Lucid so that in the end she can help people, people who must suffer fates like Brela’s."

  Des snorted. "Oh, Dio, you goofball. If you are connected, go to her! Why not support her in person? Why waste away with a silly old hobby gardener in a village no one cares about?"

  "I don't know. A part of me wants to go, although it feels wrong. As if I... I don't truly know. Daw is simply my home. Yes, there is an urge to go to her, to run to her and hold her and never let her go. Yet I have to fight that urge, Des. I must. Believe me, I must. I would only stand in her way and distract her, I am sure of it. So I wait, as I promised."

  With that, Dio looked down at the ground, his hands trembling. The late light caught on his fingers and made them appear even more unsteady, as though the weight of his promise pressed directly into his skin. His breath thinned, and a faint shiver went through him. The air around them grew still for a moment, no rustling grass, no distant insects, only the quiet strain of a man holding himself together.

  His mind seemed to drift to some distant place and to a young woman he should have been with (or at least that was how it appeared to Des). Something in Dio’s posture made the space between them feel colder. Des wondered what had happened for Dio to choose not to pursue her, not to search for her like all the other connected before. And why he remained, even though she could find him anywhere if they truly were linked. He himself had formed connections since the sunrise, to the people of Daw and especially to Dio and Brela, yet none of his bonds felt as fraught as the one Dio refused to act upon.

  Then, in the silence, a question came. It left Dio’s lips like a gasp, nearly inaudible, yet Des heard it. It cut through his thoughts. "Des... is there something you want? Something other than being a farmer? Something other than tending your garden? Is there something you wish for, something you want to see or do?"

  The words struck through him so quickly that his breath caught. A sudden warmth spread across his face. Even the air seemed to change, cooling around his shoulders while the sounds of the world softened, as if waiting for his answer. "There actually is... something. I have never really thought about it. Sometimes, when I meditate, it slips into my mind, although rarely, and it is not important anyway."

  To his surprise, Dio seemed to have shed his sadness, and joy spread across his face, framed by a broad, warm smile. "Incredible! I would never have known. Yet of course, everyone wants something, I think? Tell me, what is it? What do you imagine? What would you... oh, I am sorry."

  A shiver went through Dio and he looked away, his face flushed. "I should not have asked. It is personal, after all."

  "It is all right, my friend," said Des.

  Only happiness filled him as he looked at the young man beside him. He was truly glad to have met him. For a brief moment he could forget the worries about Brela, although he knew they would return soon enough.

  "I have a vision, only one. I want to plant a tree more beautiful and more abundant than any other. A tree that blooms in every color and bears fruit of every shape. A tree that can grow high enough to cover the sky above this village, ensuring we never know hunger or sadness again. To grow life itself. A tree..." Des paused.

  Dio's question echoed in his mind.

  What do you imagine?

  His throat tightened as the words lingered. He had never truly considered it. Never had his urge grown so strong that it shaped anything beyond vague images. His fingers pressed lightly into the bark of the fallen log below him, grounding him as his heart began to ache with yearning. Images of small sprouts, of Markyu and Oyana trees flickered through his memory. The tree he longed for had never shown its beauty ,though now it slowly took shape.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  What do you imagine? Dios words once more guided him and his thoughts swriled.

  Des felt tears run down his face as a clearer image of a branching structure with indescribable colors formed in his thoughts. The hues were blurred yet unmistakably present. A faint warmth stirred behind his ribs, growing brighter and steadier as though a new feeling had just taken root in his heart.

  "A tree... beautiful... abundant... colors... fruit..." he murmured.

  He looked at the last rays of sunlight sinking beyond the horizon. The fields glowed faintly in its passing, as if listening.

  "A tree that grows from the Light. From the Light of life. Dio, would that not be wonderful?"

  Smiling, Des turned back to Dio and saw that he too was grinning as he watched the setting Sun. "Indeed, that sounds lovely. I wonder how such a tree would grow. Perhaps somewhere in the farthest corners of the Dream there is a seed that will grow into the tree you imagine."

  They both laughed, yet Dio’s words echoed once more in Des’s mind and it felt as if his thoughts joined their sound, getting fuller and more colorful.

  I wonder how such a tree would grow... A seed... How...

  Dio’s face seemed to fade, as did the fallen log they sat on and the nearby forest. It felt like meditation, although deeper and heavier, as though something beneath his skin was shifting. The evening air cooled along his neck while the world around him dulled its sounds until even the wind quieted. His world reduced itself to the blurred image of the shimmering tree in his mind and heart. A basin of life, of growth, of health, blooming under the Light of the moon and the Sun.

  The Sun... a circle... Perhaps somewhere there is a seed that will grow into the tree...

  What would a seed for a tree like the one he imagined look like? Des had barely begun to wonder when the answer formed within him. A soft vibration rippled through his fingertips. The earth beneath his feet seemed to steady itself. He should have known earlier.

  He should have known since the first Sunrise, since the day he, Dio, Brela, and the others had stood on the central square of Daw and watched the orb of Light rise into the sky for the first time.

  He should have known since Dio had told him about the circle the young woman named Ray had seen in the crystal: That vision had marked the beginning of her journey toward the Light and toward Lucidity.

  He should have known what the source of the tree and his urges looked like, what it was: a golden seed, perfectly round and beautiful, small and unassuming yet full of vigor, almost pulsing like a beating heart. Full of the promise of fertility and hope. A golden seed that would sprout into a sapling, then grow into a tree, tall and lush and wonderful.

  A tree that would cover the sky over the village, offering shade during the midday heat, giving fruit when one was hungry, granting new strength to the exhausted, or healing when one was sick from some wound or illness in body and soul. A tree with round, large fruits, golden and silver, red, blue, and purple.

  Although the tree in his mind grew clearer, Des began to realize that more important than the tree was the seed from which it sprouted. A small seed, golden and perfect, round and shimmering with Light and promise. He could almost grasp it, cup it in his hands, right in front of him. His palms tingled with a faint heat. The sensation felt warm and welcome and pleasant.

  "DES!" a voice called nearby, pulling him out of his trance.

  He surfaced from his thoughts, somewhat dazed. The world rushed back all at once, the early night air cool against his face and the faint scent of lush dew settling over the grass. Beside him still sat Dio, in shock and awe.

  "What is wrong, Dio?" Des asked.

  Yet his friend did not need to answer. Even though it was already dark, a pulsing, joyful light illuminated Dio’s surprised and excited face. When Des looked down, he let out a cry. Without realizing it, he had cupped his frail hands together in front of him. They looked old and worn, although they glowed brightly and he imagined some wrinnkles smoothing out. Above his palms floated a point of light, beautiful and brilliant.

  The glow warmed his skin with a soft, radiant pulse. He could feel it, he could see it, and he could hardly believe it.

  Still, intuitively, Des sensed that this Light belonged to him.

  Despite all he had heard, that only gifted, extraordinary people who set out to change the world and trained themselves could create things from Light with Lucidity, that they could manipulate small parts of the Dream itself... He, Des, a farmer from Daw, had altered the Dream and shaped something from Light. He had used the rays of hope, the warmth of the Sun, to summon this small patch of white. It felt like a part of him, and Des let it sink until it rested in his palms.

  And there it was, the seed.

  Perfectly round like the holy circle of the Sun. Embodying Light and hope and wonder, life and growth. It was small, yet it felt soothing. It carried the faint scent of blooming meadows and secret glades full of bloom.

  When he touched it, a gentle tingling ran through his fingers. His hands changed slightly, the wrinkles fading even more and the skin suddenly looking healthier and cleaner, as though the seed’s glow revitalized his body, turned it back into a state it should have remembered.