Chapter 31: The Nightmare

What is this burning sensation

Emeric moved to soothe his chest but he couldn’t.

Where was he anyway?

The world had suddenly opened up before him into something he didn’t realize was there.

Was this another one of the system’s tricks again?

One moment he had been existing in a void, the next, he was standing in a room he didn’t recognize.

He tried to think back to the last thing he remembered.

His head was pounding and his eyes were burning.

Yes!

He defeated Kylian Voss. He did that all by himself.

He tried to strain his mind, tracing his thoughts but for the life of him, he couldn’t gather them.

He needed to get out of wherever this was.

The cheers faded in his mind as his senses felt dull.

Then, dim light filtered through the curtains. It was as if it was calling to him.

He needed to find out where he was.

He pushed past the curtain, bursting into the room

And there she was.

Isolde was in the bed.

She was lying on her back, her dark hair spread across the pillow, her face turned toward him. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was shallow.

Too shallow.

He crossed the room in a brief stride, kneeling by her bedside. His feet made no sound but he could feel the floor, cold beneath him. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew he had to reach her.

"Isolde."

She didn’t respond.

He crouched beside the bed. Reached for her hand.

And stopped.

Dark veins ran across her skin. They pulsed beneath the surface, branching like roots, spreading from her chest to her neck to her face. They were moving. Growing. Taking her over.

"No—"

He grabbed her hand. Her skin was cold. Too cold.

"No, no, no—"

He pressed his palm to her cheek. The veins pulsed beneath his fingers. He could feel them. Like they were taking over her body.

"Isolde. Wake up. Please. Wake up."

Her eyes fluttered open.

They were too distant. The irises were clouded. Something dark swam behind them.

"I thought we had more time," he said, his voice breaking. "I thought—"

Her hand shot up. Gripped his wrist.

The grip was too strong. Too cold. It wasn’t her.

A voice came from her lips. But it wasn’t hers.

"You will fail."

The words scraped against his ears like broken glass. He stared at her in shock, but Isolde was no longer behind those eyes.

"You cannot save her."

He tried to pull back but her grip tightened against his forearm. Her fingers dug into his skin like claws.

"You are weak. Too slow. Too late."

"Let her go—"

"She is already gone. You just don’t know it yet."

Her eyes locked onto his. The darkness behind them swirled.

And then she released him, falling back helplessly into the bed.

The world shifted again.

---

He was standing in front of the house. Their house. The one with white walls and blue roof tiles. The one that had become home.

It was burning.

Flames devoured the roof as smoke poured from the windows. The walls groaned, buckling inward. Heat washed over him in waves.

"Isolde—"

He stood there, stunned as he stared at the flames consuming all that they owned.

He looked downward and for the first time, he noticed he had a torch in his hand.

Did he do this?

How could he do this?

He tossed the torch aside, as he ran forward.

The door was gone. Replaced by a wall of fire.

He tried to push through. The flames pushed back. They were too hot. Too strong.

"Isolde!"

No answer.

He tried again. His hands burned. His skin blistered.

"Isolde!"

The roof collapsed. As the fire exploded outward, he was thrown back.

He hit the ground. Hard. The flames roared. The house crumbled. And he could do nothing but watch.

On the ground, something caught his eye. A piece of cloth. Blue. Familiar.

Isolde’s dress.

He reached for it. His fingers closed around the fabric. It was wet. Sticky.

He looked at his hand.

It was covered in blood.

He stared at it. The blood was fresh and warm, he’d noticed as it dripped between his fingers.

And then—

---

Emeric woke up.

His eyes snapped open, his chest heaving from fright. His heart was threatening to escape as it pounded violently against his ribs.

He was in his own room, his own bed. The ceiling was familiar. The walls were familiar. The darkness was familiar.

He was soaked in sweat and his hands were shaking.

He turned his head, observing Isolde beside him, sleeping peacefully. Her hair was a dark tangle on the pillow. Her face was relaxed. Untroubled.

She was alive.

She was fine.

He reached out, his hand hovering over her shoulder. He was afraid to touch her. Afraid she would wake up.

He watched her breathe. Counted each rise and fall. Thirty. Fifty. A hundred.

She was still there.

He let out a long breath. His hands were still shaking.

It was just a dream. Right?

He looked at his hands and there was no blood.

Then why did everything feel so real?

He could remember the fear he felt in his bones. How terrified and helpless he felt.

It wasn’t real, he assured himself. It was not real.

He looked at his hands. The image of blood on his palm flashed back to his mind, causing him to grit his teeth in the dimly lit room.

What did all that mean?

It had to have been just a nightmare.

Yes. That’s what it was. He was scared of losing her to the point that his mind was playing tricks on him.

That’s what that was, he thought, trying his hardest to convince himself.

But it felt so real. So — life like.

That thing was inside of her. It was her — he thought, his mind trailing off.

No.

He couldn’t think this way. He just had to find a way to cure her. There had to be a way to break this curse and make her walk again.

She had so much left to give to the world. It couldn’t end like this.

Emeric lay back down, trying to steady his mind from the barrage of thoughts that attacked him.

He closed his eyes, willing his body to slow his heart beating so tremendously. He tried to push the images away.

But no matter how hard he tried, it kept coming back to him. The dark veins. The way her eyes looked at him if he could even call those her eyes.

They were empty and devoid of Isolde. Something else had been inside of her.

She is already gone. You just don’t know it yet.

His eyes jolted open, staring at the ceiling.

It didn’t matter if it was not real, she was going to die in a little over a year if he did not undo whatever damage had been done to her.

He was restless now.

He didn’t sleep again that night.