The dream-sea shimmered beneath a pale moon that never waned.
Each wave broke without sound, scattering droplets that drifted upward like tiny stars. The air was soft, the horizon endless. Yet Seloria knew — it was not the world. It was what remained of it.
Lyrielle stood beside her, their hands barely touching. The warmth between them was fragile, a single heartbeat away from fading.
"Every time I wake," Lyrielle said softly, "a little more of this world unravels."
Seloria's chest tightened. "Then we must keep it alive."
Lyrielle turned to her, eyes gentle but weary. "Dreams aren't meant to be lived in, Seloria. They're echoes — beautiful, but fleeting."
Seloria took a step closer, her voice trembling with fierce conviction. "And yet it's all that's left of us. You gave yourself to the sea to end its sorrow, and now it's forgotten you. If this is the only place where you exist, then I'll keep the dream alive — for both of us."
Lyrielle's lips parted as if to protest, but her voice faltered. She looked out over the quiet waves and whispered, "You would defy peace itself."
"I would defy forgetting," Seloria said. "There's a difference."
That night — or whatever the dream's night was — Seloria wandered beyond the shore while Lyrielle slept, her hair spread across the sand like moonlight made flesh.
The landscape of the dream shifted with her thoughts. Fields of glass, rivers of light, cliffs made of music. The world responded to her will — soft, pliable, unreal.
It was then she began to understand: this dream was not static. It lived because she remembered it.
And if she could shape it, perhaps she could bridge it.
The idea consumed her.
Each night she built something new — weaving together fragments of memory and longing, threading them with sound and light. She spoke to the sea itself, calling upon the whispers of forgotten tides.
Her voice became song, her thoughts became current.
From the mist and moonlight, a structure began to form — delicate, luminous, spanning from the shore of the dream into the darkness beyond. It shimmered like spun glass, fragile but growing stronger with every word she spoke.
When Lyrielle awoke, she found Seloria standing at its edge, eyes bright with determination.
"What have you done?" she asked, awe and fear mingling in her voice.
Seloria turned to her. "I'm building a bridge — between the dream and the waking sea. If I can reach the world that forgot you, I can bring you back."
Lyrielle's face paled. "That's impossible. The dream is born of memory — it can't cross into the living world."
Seloria smiled faintly. "Then we'll make the living world remember."
She took Lyrielle's hand and placed it upon the bridge. The moment their skin touched, the structure pulsed with light, humming softly — the sound of waves meeting shore, of heart meeting heart.
Lyrielle gasped. "It's alive."
"It's made of us," Seloria said. "Every vow, every tear, every dream."
The bridge extended farther into the dark, a ribbon of radiance threading through eternity. But the farther it reached, the more the dream began to tremble. The stars flickered; the waves faltered.
Lyrielle pulled her hand away. "Stop — you're tearing it apart!"
Seloria shook her head, her eyes burning with tears. "If the dream must break to bring you back, then let it shatter."
The sea roared.
The sky cracked open, spilling light too bright to bear. Lyrielle fell to her knees, clutching her chest as her body flickered, caught between light and shadow.
"Seloria!" she cried. "If you do this, you'll lose the dream — and me with it!"
Seloria knelt before her, her face wet with tears that turned to light. "Then I'll build another — again and again — until one of them holds you."
She pressed her forehead against Lyrielle's. "You once gave yourself to the sea. Let me give myself to the dream."
And with those words, she stepped forward.
The bridge flared — a torrent of light, carrying both women upward, through the breaking world. The dream fractured behind them, scattering into a million shimmering fragments that rose like petals in a storm.
Seloria opened her eyes to sunlight.
She was kneeling on a shore — real, solid, warm beneath her hands. The waves rolled gently against her legs, glittering beneath a clear sky.
She gasped for breath, her body trembling.
Then — a shadow moved in the surf.
Lyrielle stood at the water's edge, her hair tangled with salt, her gown clinging to her like foam. She blinked at the sky as though seeing it for the first time, her expression one of wonder and disbelief.
Seloria rose slowly, her voice breaking. "You're here."
Lyrielle turned, and when her eyes met Seloria's, they were filled with tears — and life.
"I remember," she whispered. "All of it. The sea, the sorrow… and you."
Seloria ran to her, laughing through tears, and the two embraced beneath the morning light, their shadows mingling upon the sand.
For the first time since the sea had learned to mourn, it wept — not with sorrow, but with joy.