Jett had slept in some truly, truly awful places in the past.
Muddy ditches, demolished huts, rumbling shacks.
In retrospect, the cold floor of an inn should have been a non-issue.
But as he curled into a ball and chattered his teeth, Jett couldn't help but be peeved.
Such degradation was past him. He could only reiterate it so much, convincing himself that he had changed for the better.
Because he had.
Jett's hands held his arms, slowly imbuing warmth into the frigid outskirts of his skin.
Covering himself with his dirty leather armor as a blanket, he slowly entered the thralls of rest.
…
…
…
That night, the nightmares returned.
He slowly roamed a cold kingdom of snow and rubble.
White flame mixed with an ice storm rampaged through the streets as buildings of stone shattered and tumbled.
Though, Jett had grown numb to numb to the cold; it didn't hurt him as it did in the real world.
Or perhaps because it was
Crumbling flakes of snow and ash touched his outstretched hand. Ice and fire.
'This is… too vivid.'
Jett knew he was in a dream. He could think independently, yet he felt like a passenger in his own body.
His neck tilted down, his hands drenched in blood.
His body traversed piles of debris.
Corpses were crushed under the stone as blood poured from the mounds of carnage, slowly coming to a frozen halt.
'An odd nightmare. Nothing too out of the ordinary for me, but I haven't had one in quite some time.'
Jett racked his mind to make meaning; a never-ending search for answers to the vague and unknowing.
'Future sight? Symbolization of his fate? Perhaps a distant vision?'
It could be his boogeyman of a guardian deity if the allusions of the Cartographer were to be interpreted in such a way.
Or it could equally be nothing at all. Simply the images of his present, melded and fabricated into some nonsensical story that his mind wove.
Dreams were the ideals of man, but real dreams shown by the subconscious were the antithesis; a reality which no man in hindsight would truly wish to exist upon.
What Jett truly yearned for, what he dreamed of, was a future in which he could find happiness.
His answer was power. With power, he would be free of the bondage of higher forces.
Jett would have the agency to choose his own destiny and experience things of his own doing.
And this dream only solidified such an idea.
As his body traversed a dying kingdom, his mind was shackled to the eyes of something outside of his control.
He had no agency. He had no way to pursue happiness.
Jett was nothing more than an observer to the powers of others. A bystander to their decisions and actions taken of their free will.
Someone had to destroy this kingdom, right?
One with great power.
Though such an antithetical dream would not follow such logic, Jett wished it as such.
There was no real point to any of this anyway.
The dream would end soon, and he would awaken to reality.
His reality had now begun to align with his true dreams.
In the Lower City, Jett had finally been allowed to make choices.
When he entered Terell's tavern, he had chosen to abide by his wishes and leave as opposed to slaughtering his opposition.
He had chosen to shakedown the kid for information.
He had chosen to seek out the Cartographer's troupe.
He had chosen to cut off Toze's excerpts of wisdom.
He had chosen the jet-black talisman.
And the biggest of all, he made the decision to cut Terell loose to save himself.
On his random excursion, he had made many decisions, though higher beings had no doubt impacted them in a way.
But in reality, Jett had the power and choice to impact the lives of those around him. The choice to change his own direction.
In a way, he had only transitioned from one master to another.
Maros to the Cartographer.
Yet, it was different.
Jett felt that he had obtained one part of the equation to his dream: choice.
Now power was all that remained.
…
'Will this dream end?'
…
Jett's body had slowly walked through the entire kingdom.
It was like Strata, but different in a way.
'My mind must have built a new kingdom for me. How kind.'
…
But the dream never ended.
He was now wandering the Valley.
A flat plain of short grass. A place he had never seen before with his own eyes.
It was fascinating how the mind could fabricate such vivid images.
'I've walked so far for so long. When am I going to wake up?'
…
A Soul Storm had arrived in the Valley.
Jett witnessed as the wind swirled, white Soul built and coalesced throughout the darkening whirls.
It did not affect his body as it should.
'Dreams don't confine to reality.'
…
He walked through the eye of the storm, surrounded by darkness.
It had felt like hours since he had first stepped foot in the storm, let alone the Valley.
'Is this even a dream?'
Jett had began to suspect this was the work of something must greater.
…
Hours passed inside the Soul Storm.
The ferocity of it had began to die, turning the total darkness into a grey surrounding sphere .
His body had perfectly matched the Soul Storm, always moving in perfect unison to stay within the eye.
…
Spurring out of existence, the Soul Storm died.
But it birthed another.
The outline of a figure appeared, far off into the distance of the vast plane of torn dirt.
An army followed behind him.
The man was tall, with a sharp cloak and a long stick in hand for which he used to walk.
…
Hours passed.
His army was just a large herd of sheep.
'A shepherd in the storm?'
…
More hours passed.
…
Then more.
…
'I give up.'
***
…
…
…
A boot nudged Jett's body.
Again.
And again.
Then…
WHAM.
In response to a boot to the stomach, the curled-up Jett awoke with a pained and exaggerated groan.
"Come on," Valeria whispered. "We have to make it to the mansion before dawn."
'It's not even dawn yet?'
Jett was just as tired as he was before sleeping.
His day's worth of lucid, incoherent dreams were all for naught.
Valeria turned on the lantern as Jett slowly rose to his feet.
The light illuminated his drained face.
"Wow, you look like shit."
All Jett did in response was tiredly roll his eyes, but the mere action almost lulled him to sleep once more.
"I'll be waiting outside, get dressed," Valeria said in a low voice before exiting the room.