"Kael. Anya's reserves are nearly full. The time of the truce is short. Soon you will have to return to us."
Elian's voice echoed in his head as he lifted a crate of nails, clearer than usual. Kael set it on the shelf and stood still for a moment, his palm pressed against the wood.
The days in Aris had slipped by, full of a regained normality. He moved through the town like a more solid shadow, part of everyone's life, yet keenly aware of what the others could not see. The mental contact with Elian, faint but constant, was a reassurance and a summons at once. He knew he was suspended between two worlds. Soon he would have to choose one.
Elian had taught him to heal in dreams, never while awake. Nobody had told him not to, and nobody knew enough to tell him. It was uncharted territory, and Kael knew it. All it took to forget was remembering the eyes of the little girl at the fountain.
Borin was counting bolts in the back room.
"Uncle. Elian says I have to go back."
Borin did not look up right away. He scratched his beard.
"Again? You've only just recovered, boy." His face darkened. "And how do we explain it to Aris? We can't say you're still asleep. People would start to really worry."
Kael had already discussed it with Elian, in the brief contacts of the night. "My body will stay here, upstairs, like last time. But you'll tell the people of Aris I've had an opportunity: an apprenticeship far away, for as long as it takes. I'll come back when I've learned everything I must."
Borin nodded slowly. "An apprenticeship. I'll say you have a talent for the craft and that an old friend asked me to send you to him, in a nearby city." He looked at him. "And you'll be upstairs, with the door shut."
"With the door shut. Nobody must see me."
"Nobody will come in. Not even Mara." A sad smile creased his lips. "I'll miss you, son. But if it's for this strange purpose of yours, then very well."
Borin wiped his hands on his apron, once, then again, and looked at him for a long time. "Don't play the hero," he said. "Come back in one piece."
"I'll try."
"It isn't enough for me, but I'll take it."
It was a half truth, necessary for the peace of the town and the protection of the mission. Kael hugged him, and for a moment neither of them said anything.
In the afternoon he met Lia by the well. He felt the need to do something right before leaving the real world again, a good trace to leave behind.
"The girl from the fountain," said Lia, when he asked. "She doesn't come to the square anymore. She stays by the stream, on the edge of town. Always alone."
Lia walked him to the last bend of the path and stopped. "I'll wait here," she whispered. "She doesn't talk to me."
The stream ran low between the stones, and the evening light slid across it in scales. The girl was there, curled up, and she did not raise her head when Kael's footsteps reached her feet. He slowed. He had healed dreams in places where time did not matter. Here every breath counted.
He found her where Lia had said, sitting on a rock with her knees to her chest. She was no longer crying. His eyes went to her hands: they clutched a withered flower, so tightly that the petals were crumbling. Her dream was not yet fully mended. The Ash had left a deep splinter in her innocence.
Kael sat down beside her. "Hello, little one. Do you remember me?"
The girl raised her eyes, large and dull. "The dream man." She looked at the flower. "My flower is dead."
"May I see it?"
She hesitated, then handed it over. Kael turned it between his fingers and picked off a dry petal with his fingernail. Underneath, hidden in the heart of the flower, was a tiny seed, black and hard.
"Look in here," he said softly. "The next one is already there."
The girl leaned over the seed. For a moment, something moved in her gaze.
Kael took her hand, lightly. The contact anchored him to the moment and erased every strategic thought. He only wanted to give the light back to those eyes.
It was the same tingle he had felt at the fountain, the day it all began. The warmth rose to his palm on its own, the way water finds the slope. He visualized his Dream Garden, the peace he had found after the Distraction, the hope, the resilience, the joy of discovery. He shaped a small sphere of pure dream light and laid it on the girl's chest.
The girl's eyes lit up, warm and vibrant, like a candle suddenly kindled. Her face melted into a true smile. The splinters of her dream knitted back together. The horror the Ash had tried to instill drew back, and in its place came green meadows stretching to infinity and playful laughter. The stream beside them seemed to shine brighter. The girl's small resonance spread, a gentle melody of healing, like a distant bell in the silence, and a wave of pure gratitude washed over Kael and left him, for an instant, in ecstasy.
When he withdrew his hand, his fingers were numb and a slight emptiness opened beneath his sternum: the usual price.
The girl did not say thank you. She closed her hand around the black seed, pressed it to her chest and looked at the stream as if seeing it for the first time. Then she laughed, a small crooked sound, instantly surprised at itself.
Kael smiled. Behind his sternum the emptiness still weighed, but for once he did not mind.
Kael drew his hand away completely. Unfortunately, it was already too late.
Elsewhere, in the lower Dream Realm, the Whisperer sensed a new beat.
It was not the great beacon of a sleeping body, nor Anya's deception. It was a small, steady point: an active healing, performed by a Keeper in the waking world. The same flame it had already felt go out and flare again elsewhere, now in a single place. One clear localization, cutting through the background noise like a knife.
An instant was enough.
The Silents, still wandering at the edge of the forest after losing the Guardian's signal, received a new command, a clear and precise direction. Their hooded heads snapped around. Their empty eyes fixed.
The march resumed, inexorable. This time the destination was real.
It was the town of Aris.
In the Deep Foundations, Lyra stopped in the middle of a gesture. Her fingers, which never stayed still, froze on the edge of the table. A slight delay passed through her hand, a thin haze that was not hers.
"Anya," she said softly.
She raised her palm and tasted the air. Inside that air there was something new, and it did not yet have a name.