The world was green.
Not the dry, dusty olive of the Texas scrub brush, but a deep, vibrating emerald that tasted of water and ancient sunlight. Marcus was running, but his boots made no sound. The ground beneath him was a thick carpet of springy moss, soft enough to swallow his footsteps but firm enough to push off of with incredible speed.
The air was heavy, saturated with humidity and the scent of crushed ferns and ozone. He wasn't in the diner anymore. He knew, on some level, that his physical body was lying on a cot in a back office in Weedfield, but his consciousness was miles away—or perhaps worlds away.
He moved through the jungle with a fluidity that he hadn't possessed since his peak in the Corps, perhaps not even then. The aches in his joints were gone. The weight of his tactical gear was absent. He felt light, lethal, and purely elemental.
He was hunting. But he wasn't hunting a target for a mission. There was no dossier, no Rules of Engagement. This was a game.
Find me, the whisper came on the wind. It wasn't spoken; it was felt, a vibration against his skin like the brush of a leaf.
Marcus grinned. He banked hard around the trunk of a massive tree that spiraled up into the canopy like a twisted stone pillar. He scrambled up the bark, his fingers finding purchase in wood that felt as hard as iron. He launched himself from a high branch, clearing a gap of thirty feet without a second thought, landing in a roll that brought him up instantly into a sprint.
He could sense her. It wasn't a visual track—no broken twigs or boot prints. It was a magnetic pull in the center of his chest, a compass needle spinning wildly, locking onto True North.
He dove through a curtain of hanging vines, bursting into a small clearing bathed in dappled sunlight.
She was there.
Liri stood in the center of the mossy glade, but she didn't look like the Liri of the diner. Here, in the dreamscape, she was radiant. Her skin seemed to hold the light, glowing with a soft, lunar luminescence. Her ears were longer, sharper, twitching toward the sound of his arrival. She wore nothing but the shadows of the canopy, yet she looked armored in confidence.
She laughed, a sound like water over stones, and bolted.
"Too slow, Marine," she teased, her voice echoing from everywhere at once.
The chase was on. They wove through the impossible jungle, trading roles in a fluid dance of predator and prey. One moment, Marcus was the pursuer, cutting angles, using his knowledge of intercept geometry to close the distance. The next, Liri would vanish into the foliage, only to drop from the canopy above him, tagging his shoulder before darting away again.
It was exhilarating. It was a communication purely through motion. They were testing each other, learning the limits of the other's stamina, agility, and instincts. There was no need for words. The bond between them was a live wire, transmitting intent before the muscles even fired.
Then, the atmosphere shifted.
The playful, golden light of the clearing darkened. The air grew still. The birdsong that had filled the canopy silenced abruptly. Marcus skidded to a halt, his boots digging into the loam. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The instinct was sharp and cold. Threat.
Liri landed beside him, no longer laughing. She crouched low, her hand resting on the hilt of a phantom blade that shimmered at her hip. Her eyes, bright green and cat-like, scanned the dense undergrowth.
"Something is here," she whispered, her voice tight. "Something old."
The brush ahead of them exploded.
A beast charged into the clearing. It was a boar, but like everything in this place, it was amplified. It was the size of a compact car, a mountain of coarse black fur and roped muscle. Its tusks were curved scimitars of yellowed ivory, and its eyes burned with a mindless, red rage.
It wasn't just an animal. It was a manifestation. It was the Fever. It was the violence of the world, the chaos of the Sphere, the raw, uncontrolled energy they had been fighting all night.
It lowered its head, pawing the ground, tearing up great clods of earth.
Marcus didn't flinch. He didn't reach for a rifle that wasn't there. Instead, he felt a surge of power flow from Liri into him—a stabilizing, cool energy that sharpened his focus to a razor's edge.
"Together," Marcus said. "As one," Liri answered.
The boar charged.
They moved in perfect synchronization, a split-second harmony that would have taken a human fireteam years to drill. Marcus broke left, drawing the beast's gaze, shouting a challenge that vibrated in his own chest. The boar swerved, its tusks slashing the air inches from his ribs.
As the beast overcommitted to the turn, Liri struck from the right. She didn't use a weapon. She used her momentum, vaulting off a tree root, flipping over the beast's massive shoulders, and landing squarely on its back.
The boar roared, bucking wildly, crashing through the ferns. Marcus was there. He slid underneath the thrashing animal, ignoring the danger, and grabbed its front legs. With a roar of effort that merged with the beast's, he used the boar's own momentum against it, twisting hard.
The massive creature stumbled, tipped, and crashed onto its side with an earth-shaking thud. Before it could scramble up, Marcus was on its neck, pinning it down. Liri was at its head, her hand pressed against its snout.
The boar snarled, snapping its jaws, fighting them with the desperation of a trapped storm. Marcus looked at Liri. He saw the adrenaline coursing through her, the wildness in her eyes. He felt the urge—the primal, violent urge—to end it. To snap the neck. To kill the threat.
But then, he felt something else. He felt the calm under the storm.
"No," Marcus said, his voice echoing with authority. "We don't need to kill it. We've beaten it."
Liri looked at him, her chest heaving. Slowly, the wild light in her eyes softened. She nodded. "Domination," she whispered. "Not destruction."
She pressed her palm harder against the beast's forehead. "Be still."
The command carried the weight of the High Elves, a compulsion that bypassed the animal brain and spoke to the spirit. The boar stopped thrashing. The red fire in its eyes dimmed, replaced by a confused, submissive wariness. It let out a huffing breath, acknowledging defeat.
They held it there, masters of the jungle, masters of the hunt, and finally, masters of themselves.
The jungle began to dissolve. The green canopy faded into a wash of golden light. The mossy ground beneath Marcus became softer, warmer, turning into cotton sheets and a thin mattress. The scent of ozone and rain blended with the smell of lemon polish and musk.
But the rhythm remained.
Marcus floated up toward consciousness, but he didn't wake up alone. He was moving. His body was rocking in a slow, hypnotic cadence that matched the fading adrenaline of the dream hunt. He realized, with a drowsy, heavy satisfaction, that he was wrapped around Liri.
They were tangled together on the office cot, limbs woven into a complex knot. Liri's back was pressed against his chest, her head resting in the crook of his neck. They weren't just sleeping. They were waking up in motion.
As the dream of the hunt faded, the physical reality took over. Marcus felt the heat of her skin burning through his clothes—no, there were no clothes. Skin against skin. The "hunt" had become this—a mutual, rhythmic affirmation that they were alive, they were together, and they had survived the night.
Liri turned her head, burying her face in the pillow, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"The beast..." she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and pleasure. "We... caught it."
"We caught it," Marcus whispered against her ear, his voice rough. He tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her flush against him. "We let it go."
The room seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. The dust motes dancing in the slat of sunlight froze. There was only the heat, the friction, and the profound, absolute silence of a connection that went deeper than bone.
Eventually, the tremors in Liri's body began to subside. Marcus exhaled a long, shuddering breath, resting his forehead against her shoulder. Liri went limp in his arms, her body melting into the mattress. She reached down, interlacing her fingers with his where they rested on her stomach.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't awkward; it was heavy with meaning.
"You walk loudly in the Dream," she whispered, a small, tired smile touching her lips. "For a human."
Marcus chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I didn't know I was walking anywhere. I thought I was just sleeping."
"The Sky-Bond does not sleep," Liri corrected him softly. "When the bodies rest, the minds seek alignment. The jungle... that was your construct? Or mine?"
"I don't know," Marcus admitted. He brushed a stray lock of blonde hair out of her eyes. "It felt like... both. A neutral ground."
"A hunting ground," Liri nodded. "Appropriate. We are both hunters, Marcus Hale. That is why the Bond accepted you."
She stretched, her back cracking audibly, cat-like and graceful.
"The Fever is gone," she announced, her voice sounding clearer, more like her usual, imperious self. "The biological imperative has been satisfied. My temperature has stabilized."
Marcus placed a hand on her forehead. It was warm, but the burning, radiating heat of the previous night was gone.
"Good," Marcus said. "Because I don't think the diner can handle another night like that. I'm pretty sure we melted the ice machine just by being in the building."
Liri snorted. "The diner will survive. But I..."
She paused, her stomach giving a loud, ferocious growl that seemed loud enough to rattle the windows.
"I require sustenance," she stated gravely. "The Dream Walk consumes significant caloric resources."
Marcus laughed, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the cot. The cool air of the office hit his skin, a sharp contrast to the furnace-like heat of the bed.
"Brisket?" he suggested.
Liri sat up, pulling the sheet around her with regal dignity. "The entire cow, Marcus. If you have it."
Thirty minutes later, the smell of searing brisket fat and onions filled the diner kitchen, a heavy, grounding scent that fought against the lingering weirdness of the morning.
Marcus flipped the massive omelet, the spatula scraping against the cast iron with a familiar shhhk sound. He slid the plate onto the stainless steel prep table where Liri was already waiting, fork in hand, looking at the food with the intensity of a starving wolf.
"Eat," Marcus said, sliding a mug of black coffee next to the plate.
Liri didn't need to be told twice. She attacked the food with a speed that was both elegant and terrifying. For a long moment, the only sound was the clinking of silverware.
Marcus leaned back against the cold counter, sipping his own coffee, watching her. The image of the jungle—the moss, the boar, the electric feeling of her mind touching his—was still vivid behind his eyes.
"So," Marcus started, keeping his voice casual. "That thing we did. The jungle."
Liri paused, a piece of brisket halfway to her mouth. She swallowed before answering. "The Hunt. Yes."
"On Earth, we have names for that," Marcus said, testing the waters. "Most people call it a shared dream or a mutual dream. But usually, it's just... folklore. Or something for the psych wards."
Liri raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. "Your scientists think it is a hallucination?"
"Mostly," Marcus admitted. "Neuroscience usually writes it off as coincidence. Suggestion. Two people sleeping in the same room, smelling the same air, their brains aligning patterns. They call it 'post-dream memory alignment.' Basically, we both wake up and think we saw the same thing, but we really just rewrite our memories to match each other."
Liri let out a sharp, derisive snort. "Your science is adorable. It tries so hard to explain the ocean by studying a cup of water."
She pointed her fork at him.
"That was not 'memory alignment,' Marcus. That was intersubjective dreaming. We occupied the same non-physical space. It is a known discipline among my people, though usually reserved for... intimate partners or squad leaders."
"Squad leaders?" Marcus asked, his interest piqued.
"Tactical efficiency," Liri said, returning to her omelet. "In the lucid dreaming communities of your world, they attempt what they call 'co-dreaming'—trying to meet up in the astral to talk or explore. But for High Elves, it is combat doctrine. If I can hunt with you while our bodies rest, I can learn your reflexes. I can learn your fear triggers. I can learn how you move before we ever step onto a battlefield together."
Marcus processed that. He thought about the seamless way they had taken down the boar. He hadn't needed to shout orders; she had just known he was going low, so she went high .
"So it's dream telepathy," Marcus said. "Real-time comms."
"Telepathy is a weak word for it," Liri corrected. "Telepathy is just hearing a voice in your head. This is... resonance. Collective dreaming. We didn't just talk; we shared the intent. If you had hesitated in the dream, I would have felt the hesitation as if it were my own muscle locking up."
She looked him dead in the eye, her gaze intense.
"There is no 'official scientific category' for this on Earth, Marcus, because your species stopped looking for the door. But you walked through one this morning. You didn't just dream of a boar. You helped me suppress a manifestation of the Fever inside a construct we built together."
Marcus looked down at his coffee. The dark liquid swirled in the mug. He felt a phantom ache in his shoulder—the exact spot where he had rolled against the tree root in the dream.
"So," he said quietly. "If we do this... 'co-dreaming' often..."
"We will become a single unit," Liri finished for him. "In waking life, you will know where I am without looking. In a firefight, you will know who I am targeting before I draw my blade."
She smirked, a wicked, playful expression that reminded him of the woman who had chased him through the ferns. "It is very efficient," she added. "And it saves on ammo."
Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Efficient. Right." He pushed off the counter. "Well, if we're going to be sharing headspace, I should warn you. My dreams aren't usually cool jungle hunts. They're mostly paperwork and sand."
"I know," Liri said softly, her voice losing its teasing edge. "I saw the sand, Marcus. In the corner of the dream. We... pushed it back. For now."
Marcus froze. He looked at her, realizing just how deep the connection had gone. She hadn't just seen the boar; she had seen the ghosts he carried .
"Eat your eggs, Liri," he said, his voice thick.
"Yes, Sergeant," she replied, but her eyes were warm.