Erias ate quickly, still half–in disbelief at the warm food, the polished table, the soft bed he had woken from. Every bite felt unreal. Every moment felt borrowed.
Dream, wearing the name Varos, watched him with quiet patience.
When the boy finally pushed his plate away, he looked up with wide, earnest eyes.
"Varos," Erias asked, "how… how are we supposed to get to the city? It's weeks away. And what happens to this house once we leave? Will someone else live in it?"
Dream blinked once.
Then he laughed.
Not loudly.Not mockingly.A soft, warm laugh unexpected even to him.
Erias stared at him as if the sun had laughed.
"I ask a real question," the boy muttered, embarrassed, "and you laugh at me?"
Dream shook his head.
"No," he said. "Not laughing at you. Only at the idea that anything I build for you will be lost when you walk away. The house will remain. It will always remain. It is yours, Erias. It will stay here as long as you wish it."
The boy's mouth fell open slightly.
"My house," he whispered to himself.
Dream rose from his chair.
"As for the capital…" He motioned toward the hallway. "You cannot travel in what you are wearing."
Erias looked down at his tattered shirt, worn boots, and frayed trousers.
"Yeah…" he admitted. "Good point."
"Clothes are waiting in your room," Dream said. "Something fitting for travel and for arriving in a city where people watch everything."
Erias frowned. "What does that mean?"
Dream only smiled faintly.
"You will understand once you see them."
The boy ran upstairs, nearly tripping with excitement.
Dream remained below for a moment, listening to the creak of floorboards, the rustle of cloth, the boy's soft gasp when he opened the wardrobe.
Erias's voice floated down the stairs in a whisper:
"…These are mine?"
Dream closed his eyes briefly.
Yes, he thought. They are yours. All of this is yours, boy-who-was-left-alone.
And more, if you survive what is coming.
Erias descended the stairs more slowly this time.
He wore a dark travelling coat lined with fine fabric, a crisp shirt that fit him perfectly, trousers made of cloth no villager could afford, and boots soft enough to make him feel taller.
He looked… different.
Stronger.Cleaner.Almost noble.
He stood awkwardly at the bottom of the staircase.
"Varos," he muttered, "these clothes… they're…"He swallowed."…they're worth more than my whole village."
Dream shrugged lightly.
"Then it is fortunate you are wearing them and not your village."
Erias huffed in surprise at the dry humour but couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Are you sure I can wear this?" the boy asked. "I feel like someone important."
Dream turned toward the front door.
"In some ways," he said softly, "you are."
Outside, morning sun washed the village in pale gold.
Birds moved in the distance.
Wind rustled the trees.
Dream stepped onto the empty patch of ground beside the house, the same place he had shaped the home into existence, and lifted one hand.
Reality bent.
The air shimmered.
And then it appeared:
A large, powerful horse, the colour of deep night, mane flowing like liquid ink. Its eyes were intelligent, calm, steady. Behind it stood a carriage crafted of polished wood, reinforced with metal bands, elegant but sturdy perfect for long-distance travel.
Not royal.Not gaudy.But undeniably fine.
Erias burst out the door, nearly dropping his coat in shock.
"What how VAROS?"
He ran toward the carriage, circling it twice in awe.
"Where did this COME from? It looks like the kind of thing nobles ride in! Did you steal it?!"
Dream gave him a look.
Erias immediately regretted the question.
"…Right," he muttered. "I forgot who I was talking to."
Dream approached the horse, placing a hand on its neck. The creature bowed its head respectfully.
"It will carry us swiftly," Dream said. "And quietly."
Erias climbed into the carriage, his fingers brushing the polished wood. The interior was lined with fine cushions and fabric dyed in deep colours. It smelled faintly of cedar and mint.
When Dream stepped inside and closed the door, Erias stared at him for a long moment.
Finally, he said:
"Varos… you're peculiar."
Dream blinked. "Peculiar?"
"Yeah." Erias gestured vaguely at the carriage, the clothes, the house. "You have all this fancy stuff, like you're some kind of noble or royal or something… but you dress like…"He hesitated, looking Dream over."…like a travelling scribe."
Dream looked down at his simple robe.
Then back at the boy.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"Appearances mean very little where I come from," he said.
Erias leaned back, still staring at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
"…Are you sure you're not a noble from the capital?"
Dream said nothing.
The carriage began to move, the horse pulling them with smooth, powerful strides down the dirt road leading away from the village.
Erias kept watching him.
"Varos," he said finally, "you're hiding something."
Dream's expression remained calm.
"We all are," he answered.
The boy murmured a thoughtful "hmph."
Dream turned his gaze toward the horizon.
The traitor waited in the city of Aramoor. The Fallen whispered beneath its foundations. Seros searched the dream-realm for the name of the betrayal.
And the boy beside him, unaware, untrained, unwanted by his own people, had been brushed by a force that now threatened Dream's kingdom.
This journey would not be easy.
But it had begun.
I watched their carriage roll toward the distant gleaming heart of Vvralis.
Toward the city.
Toward danger.
Toward truth.
Toward the traitor who thought Dream would never follow this far.
They were wrong.
Dream rarely pursued. But when he did
nothing escaped him.