The forest at night was like a dark beast, swallowing all sound in its depths. Kairon lay on the worn mattress in his modest cabin, his body heavy and his eyes closed, but his mind refused to rest. The dream had returned, the one that had haunted him for weeks, interrupted again by that mysterious voice.
"Kairon... Kairon..."
The voice was deep, resonating as if it came from the earth itself, or perhaps from somewhere far beyond the stars. Whenever this voice appeared, his dreams shifted, transforming into a vast wasteland where golden dust floated in the air, catching the faintest glimmers of light. And tonight was no different.
He stood in that familiar desert, the sky above swirling with ominous clouds, their patterns strange and unnatural. The air carried a suffocating weight, like the calm before a storm. He had wandered this dreamscape many times before, and always, his feet would draw him toward the shimmering golden point on the horizon — The Breath of Destiny.
"Come closer," the voice whispered again, ancient and powerful, calling him forward.
Kairon's feet moved of their own accord, drawn irresistibly toward the light. With every step, the weight on his chest grew heavier, his heartbeat quickened, his breath short. As he neared the golden light, it suddenly exploded outward, stretching into countless golden tendrils that wrapped around him like vines.
He was trapped.
"You are chosen by fate," the voice echoed louder now, more insistent. "There is no escape."
Kairon struggled to break free, but the golden light tightened around him, its warmth growing unbearable as it seeped into his skin. He clenched his teeth, fighting the surge of heat until the world around him collapsed into blackness.
He awoke with a jolt, his body drenched in sweat. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding in his chest.
"That dream again," Kairon muttered under his breath.
The first light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the window, casting long, thin beams of light across the room. Kairon sat up, running a hand through his damp hair, trying to shake off the lingering dread.
"It's just a dream... it can't be real," he told himself.
But deep down, a gnawing unease had begun to take root. The dream felt too vivid, too real — as though it was trying to tell him something, something he wasn't ready to hear.