Vyren woke up to the silence of his sterile, perfectly organized apartment. The cold light from the walls painted everything in a harsh, clinical glow, almost as if the world itself was too perfect, too clean. The first thing he noticed was the absence of the ache in his chest the one he had woken up with so many times now. The phantom sensation of a hug. The warmth of Chandrel's presence. Gone.
Vyren rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the dream off, but it was still there, lingering like the taste of something sweet that had just slipped away.
His fingers hovered over the console, the sterile interface flashing before him with all the usual data: a list of medical tasks, hospital updates, messages from his colleagues. It was all so mundane. So real. But nothing could drown out the feeling of being pulled back into that other world. Chandrel. The forest. The hut. That warmth.
He sighed, setting his cup of nutrient paste aside. Vyren had never felt so disconnected from his work, from this world. The touch of a real hand, the brush of someone's presence those things mattered now. Not the medical charts. Not the long hours spent in a cold, artificial lab.
Vyren tried to push those thoughts aside. It was just a dream, he told himself, over and over. Just a file interaction, something to distract me.
But even as he went through the motions of his daily routine checking data, drinking paste, reviewing more hospital assignments his mind couldn't stop drifting back. What was this connection? How real was it? Was it only the 'Lingering Apart' file making him feel like this? Or was there something more? I'm a scientist, Vyren thought. I should be focusing on logic. Not on…this.
He finished his work, then slipped into the next part of his routine preparing to sleep. With a heavy heart, he grabbed the Dream Tier 1 Headset and slipped it on.
Just one more time, he thought. Just to see if that pull is as strong as it felt last time. And then he would be done.
He consciously selected the 'Lingering Apart' file, pressing the button to connect. The soft hum of the headset filled his ears, and the world of 2521 slowly began to fade away. Vyren closed his eyes, slipping back into the dream. I have to know if this is real.
Vyren was jolted awake well, as awake as one could be in a dream. He was back in the hut. The forest air was thick with the smell of wet earth and greenery. The sounds of distant birds and rustling leaves reached his ears. The soft golden glow of the morning sun poured through the window. Vyren blinked, momentarily disoriented.
So real. But it was only for a moment.
He barely had time to breathe in the serene, peaceful air before the door of the hut slammed open, and Chandrel walked in with the same sharp, tense expression that Vyren hadn't seen before.
There was no smile. No teasing. Just pure, cold purpose.
"Vyren," Chandrel's voice was low, urgent, almost military in its precision. "The King has summoned the Historian."
Vyren felt the weight of those words immediately. His stomach churned. His mind raced. The King?
Chandrel didn't wait for Vyren to process, instead moving swiftly through the hut and gathering his things. There was no room for hesitation.
"The King?" Vyren repeated, barely managing to catch his breath. "What does he want with me?"
"You will find out soon enough," Chandrel replied, his tone flat. "Come. We have little time."
Vyren's heart skipped a beat. He had known this moment would come—the moment his role as the Historian would be revealed. But something about the urgency in Chandrel's tone made it feel more real than ever.
Chandrel led the way without another word, and Vyren, now fully awake, scrambled to follow. His pulse quickened with every step they took, until they emerged from the hut and into the foggy woods.
The castle loomed large, its dark stone walls imposing and grim. The entrance, flanked by tall bronze gates, felt like an entrance to a different world one of authority, power, and cold military precision. Vyren felt small in the shadow of it all. He had never been in a place so full of history, so filled with power.
Chandrel moved beside him with a calmness that made Vyren feel like an amateur. As they walked through the high halls, the scent of iron and stone filled the air, adding to the heavy atmosphere. Guards stood at attention, their expressions unreadable.
When they reached the King's court, Vyren was struck by the sheer majesty of it. The King sat high upon his throne, his eyes cold and appraising as they locked onto Vyren.
"Historian," the King's voice rang out, low and commanding. "You stand before me now, and you will serve."
Vyren felt the weight of those words settle in his chest like a stone. His purpose had finally arrived.
The King raised a small, intricately designed coin before him. "Take the coin," he commanded. "Place it in your hand and let it guide you."
Vyren hesitated, his mind racing. Was this a test? Was this the moment that would define his fate? He reached forward, fingers trembling, and picked up the coin. The moment his fingers closed around it, he felt a shift in the air. A strange pressure in his mind, like the whisper of a thousand voices.
And then, there it was: a whisper in the dark, cold and foreboding. Betrayal and deep earth.
Vyren's heart pounded. He swallowed hard. What did that mean?
The King's eyes never left him. "Speak," he said, voice commanding. "What do you sense?"
Vyren stood, frozen. His mind worked quickly. Betrayal and deep earth. The Northern Clans? Their movements? The future? It was all a blur.
"The future rests on the bones of the earth," Vyren said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "The kingdom is teetering on the brink of destruction."
The King nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied with his response. Vyren felt relief flood his chest, but it was short-lived. The weight of the situation was too much.
"The Vow of Eternal Service," the King declared.
Vyren's heart skipped a beat. He was prepared for this moment, but now that it was here, he couldn't shake the chill running through his veins.
Vyren stared down at the parchment. The quill was in his hand, his fingers trembling as he dipped it into the ink. The weight of the words on the page felt like a sentence. A binding promise. There was no turning back now.
The King's gaze was unwavering, cold, assessing. Vyren had no choice. His heart was heavy, but his fate was sealed with this signature.
As he signed his name, the words felt like they were carving into his soul, making him part of this world.
Vyren stood, his legs trembling beneath him. The Vow had been made. There was no undoing it.
"I have signed," Vyren whispered, barely audible.
The King gave a curt nod, dismissing him with a gesture. "You belong to us now. You are bound by the Vow of Eternal Service. Fail us, and you will never escape."
Vyren stood still, staring at the King's throne. A prisoner. He was no longer just a traveler or a liar. He was bound to the king, to the kingdom, and to the endless cycle of service.
Chandrel's eyes met his, silent as ever. But Vyren saw something in his gaze an understanding. A quiet weight. As if Chandrel too knew this was only the beginning.