Beneath the vast expanse of the starry sky, nestled within a grand palace somewhere in the boundless universe, two figures sat close to one another, basking in the warmth of each other's presence. The palace was a masterpiece of elegance—golden chandeliers cast a soft, ethereal glow, illuminating the opulent hall adorned with delicate tapestries and ornate decorations. Yet, none of this splendor seemed to matter to the pair, for their focus was entirely on one another.
At a long, lavish table brimming with all manner of delicacies, the two shared a simple, intimate moment that transcended the grandiosity surrounding them. The first figure—a person of quiet grace, with an aura of serenity—smiled tenderly, picking up a small piece of food and gently holding it out to their partner. The other, with an affectionate gaze, leaned forward, closing the distance between them to take the offered bite.
Their fingers brushed ever so slightly as they exchanged bites of food, laughter bubbling up between them as they took turns feeding one another. Each offering was more than just a meal; it was a gesture of trust, love, and quiet companionship. They were lost in the joy of the moment, eyes meeting in silent communication, the world around them fading into irrelevance.
"Here, taste this," one of them whispered softly, their voice filled with affection, as they held a delicate piece of fruit to their partner's lips. Their partner smiled, leaning in to take the offered bite, their eyes never leaving the other's gaze.
As the sweet taste filled their mouth, they couldn't help but smile wider. "It tastes so good. Is this the new recipe you told me about?" they asked, their voice warm with curiosity and delight.
The other nodded, their eyes twinkling with pride. "Yes, it is. Do you like it?"
"It's super delicious," came the enthusiastic reply, their tone filled with genuine admiration. "You really outdid yourself this time."
The one who had prepared the meal, Elara, smiled even brighter. "I'm glad you like it. This dish is made from a combination of ingredients harvested from hollows and planets, and it's called Hollowple."
Their partner's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Hollows and planets? I should've guessed you'd come up with something so unique," they said with a chuckle. "You really are amazing at cooking, Elara."
A soft hum escaped Elara's lips, almost like a gentle acknowledgment of the praise. She didn't need to say much, the subtle curve of her smile and the gentle light in her eyes was enough.
As they continued to enjoy the meal together, something suddenly shifted in Astaroth's vision. One moment, Elara—her beauty as radiant as polished jade—was sitting across from him, laughing softly, her presence a warm comfort. But in the blink of an eye, the world around him twisted.
Elara was no longer sitting at the table. Instead, she lay on the ground before him, her eyes closed, her pale skin marred by a deep, crimson gash across her neck. Blood flowed in dark rivulets, staining the floor beneath her. His heart pounded in his chest, a cold panic seizing him. The image of her lifeless body paralyzed him, horror creeping into his soul.
But just as quickly as the vision had appeared, it vanished. Astaroth blinked, his breath catching in his throat, and the blood—along with the terrible sight—was gone. Elara was back in her chair, alive and well, looking at him with a concerned frown. She was calling out to him, her voice breaking through the haze.
"Astaroth, can you hear me?" Her voice held a note of urgency, her eyes scanning his face with worry.
He blinked again, struggling to pull himself out of the nightmare-like vision. His breath hitched as the intensity of his own magic surged around him, wild and untamed, without his control. He hadn't even noticed it at first—the dark, crackling energy humming in the air. The temperature in the room began to rise as his power spilled out, leaking into the atmosphere like an invisible storm.
And yet, not a single piece of the palace was disturbed.
Despite the raw, volatile energy Astaroth was unconsciously releasing, the grandeur of the palace remained untouched. The walls, pillars, and intricate decor stood resilient, impervious to the storm of power swirling around him. Not even the smallest crack marred the polished stone, no chandeliers shook, no delicate ornaments fell.
This palace was no ordinary structure—it was a palace for the gods. A place built to withstand the unimaginable forces of beings like Astaroth. Even though he had barely used it over the centuries, its divine craftsmanship held firm, designed to weather the storms of even the most powerful of deities. And in this moment of chaos, its presence was a silent reminder of the power he possessed, but also of the restraint he needed to master.
Astaroth clenched his fists, reigning in the torrent of dark energy that surrounded him. The air cooled as his magic subsided, slowly drawn back into the depths of his control. His gaze flickered toward Elara, who remained composed but concerned, her eyes never leaving him.
"Yes, yes, I can hear you," Astaroth responded, his voice a bit shaky as he snapped out of the strange vision.
Elara's brows furrowed as she crossed her arms, her concern still evident. "Then why are you releasing your darkness like that?" she asked, her eyes flickering with both worry and curiosity as the traces of dark magic began to fade from the air.
Astaroth let out a breath, leaning back slightly in his chair, trying to ease the tension in his body. He offered her a half-hearted smile, though the vision still haunted the back of his mind. "Nothing, really. I just… felt like relaxing my body a bit. But I guess by mistake, it came out without me noticing."
But even as he said it, he couldn't shake the lingering image of Elara's blood on the floor, her lifeless body etched into his mind. Something was off—he just didn't know what yet.
It's been 500 years since I came into existence, and in all that time, not once had I ever experienced a dream. My nights, if you could call them that, were always silent—void of the images and chaos that others often spoke of. I didn't even know what dreaming felt like. My mind was always sharp, always awake, even when my body rested.
But now, it's started. Dreams—no, nightmares—plague me. They appeared unannounced, vivid and real from the past 1 month, as if trying to break through the barrier I had never known existed within me.
The most confusing part isn't that I've started dreaming after centuries of nothing. It's that the dream always shows one thing—Elara, the person I trust more than anyone else in this universe, lying on the brink of death. Every time, it's the same. Blood pools around her, her lifeless body lying motionless, her eyes closed as though the life force that once burned so brightly within her had been extinguished.
Why? Why now? Why her? The questions swirl in my mind, each one more unsettling than the last. It makes no sense. Elara, who has stood by my side for centuries, powerful and unwavering, reduced to something so fragile in these dreams. It's as if the universe is showing me a cruel vision of what I could lose—but I don't understand why.
I can't help but wonder: are these dreams a warning? A glimpse into a possible future? Or just the manifestations of something darker within me? Something I've failed to see until now?
And why is she, of all people, on the brink of death?
The confusion gnaws at me, creeping into every quiet moment, haunting me with every glance I steal at her. It's as if I can't escape the growing fear that what I see in those dreams might come to pass. And for the first time in 500 years, I find myself truly afraid.