The Forgotten Dreamer
The Archive had gone quiet again—but not with peace.
It was the kind of silence that listens.
The kind that breathes.
The kind that waits.
Cuco's hand still shimmered faintly, the light now no more than an afterthought—
A dying ember in the vast dark.
Around him, the others watched—quiet, cautious—as if unsure whether he might rise with new power or crumble into ash.
He broke the silence with the question that had been coiled in his chest since the mist receded.
"Who were they?" he asked.
"The Hollow Ones. Where did they come from?"
Nox said nothing at first. She crossed the room to a shadowed corner of the Archive and pulled a thick, dust-covered tome from the shelves. It was wrapped in black cloth, bound with string that looked more ceremonial than practical.
She placed it in Cuco's hands.
"They're not from here," she said at last.
"Not really. They're what's left of people who lost themselves between the worlds. When the boundary between dream and waking breaks… this is what remains."
Tariq stepped forward, his voice quieter than usual.
"Some of them were like us once. Chosen. Called. But not all Keys stay whole."
Cuco opened the book carefully.
Its pages were thick and yellowed with age, filled with names, ink-sketched portraits, and notes written in trembling script. Some of the faces had their eyes scratched out. Others were marked with runes that pulsed faintly, as if resisting being seen.
And all of them…
Looked eerily familiar.
Like teachers long retired.
Friends he couldn't name but somehow remembered.
Shadows pulled from forgotten dreams.
Then he turned a page.
And froze.
A girl stared back at him from the worn parchment.
Her features were soft, but sharp with quiet resolve.
A faint birthmark curved above her brow.
And her eyes seemed to follow him.
Isabela Reyes
Beneath her picture, the words read:
> Last seen near Hollow Creek. Dreamer-Class Initiate. Status: Unknown.
Cuco's mouth went dry.
"She was one of us?"
Nox nodded. Slowly.
"The last Key before you. Ten years ago."
"She vanished," Tariq said.
"On the longest night of the year. No sound. No trace. Just... gone. But some of us still hear her. In dreams. Calling for help."
Cuco's fingers lingered on the page.
Hollow Creek.
The name rang inside him like a bell struck too close.
"That's near where I live."
Nox's eyes narrowed.
"The gate's moving. The veil is shifting. Like something—or someone—is drawing it closer."
Cuco stood, still holding the book.
"I'm going there. Tonight."
Tariq caught his arm, gaze sharp.
"You don't just walk into Hollow Creek, Cuco. It's a mirror. A lure. Whatever took her might still be waiting."
Cuco shook him off.
"Then I'll see what she saw. Maybe... she's still alive."
The room stilled again.
Then Nox gave a single, grim nod.
"Fine. But we go together. And we go ready."
---
Later That Night
The moon loomed low over Hollow Creek, casting silver across the forest canopy. The trees leaned too far inward, as if listening.
The air was colder here—colder than it should've been—and every breath felt stolen from a dream not meant to be remembered.
Cuco stepped forward.
The mark on his hand ignited with a faint, pulsing glow.
And the path appeared.
A thread of pale light unfurled before them, weaving between gnarled roots and hanging branches, drawing them into the forest's breathless heart.
"Once we cross," Tariq murmured, "we leave our world behind."
Cuco didn't hesitate.
He stepped into the light.
Each footfall warped the world.
Sound bent sideways.
Shadows grew teeth.
The forest whispered in languages not spoken since the first dreamer closed their eyes.
Memories clung to the air—half-formed, aching to be seen.
Then—a sound.
A voice.
Faint. Floating. "...Hello?"
Cuco froze.
He knew that voice.
Not from visions.
Not from the Archive.
But from here.
From years ago.
From the day he got lost in these woods as a child.
"Cuco… is that you?"
He turned.
And there she was.
Standing at the edge of the glowing path.
A girl his age.
Same face. Same soft determination.
Same birthmark.
Isabela.
Unchanged.
Untouched by time.
Still dreaming.
---
Chapter 0: Isabela — Ten Years Ago
Isabela Reyes was thirteen when the mark burned itself into her skin.
It came in the middle of the night—searing into her palm like a brand from ancient fire.
She jolted awake with a cry, just as the lightbulb above her shattered, raining glass and sparks across her bedroom floor.
Her parents came running, frightened and confused.
She told them it was just a bad dream.
They believed her.
But the mark didn't fade.
And the dreams only deepened.
Every night, she returned to the same forest—twisted and unreal, stitched together with memory and nightmare. She heard laughter that didn't belong. Saw children running barefoot through the trees.
And something else.
Something hunting them.
A beast made of shadow and smoke.
Every night, she got closer.
By the time the Circle found her, Isabela was no longer an ordinary girl. She was stronger. Quicker. Something inside her had begun to lean toward the dark—like a flower bending toward a black sun.
Nox had been the first to approach her—only sixteen then, but already worn by secrets.
Tariq came after—curious, younger, full of quiet questions he never asked aloud.
Together, they trained her.
They taught her how to listen for the Hollow Ones.
How to draw sigils that burned in the air.
How to silence the voices calling from behind the veil.
But no lesson prepared her for the day the seal broke.
It happened in winter.
Snow fell soft as ash.
The streets were too quiet.
She was walking home alone, breath misting in the cold—
When the world simply… stopped.
Time unraveled.
Cars froze mid-turn. Leaves hung motionless in the air. Even the snowflakes halted, suspended like daggers in a frozen sky.
Then the earth cracked.
And something rose.
A Hollow One—tall, terrible, woven from memory and fear. Its voice didn't speak aloud. It entered her—cold, smooth, sliding behind her ribs.
> "You are the door," it whispered.
"And it is time to open."
Isabela didn't run.
She fought.
The mark ignited. A column of white fire surged from her palm, splitting the sky. She screamed, raw power tearing through her veins, and the Hollow One shrieked as it dissolved into static and rot.
But as it fell—
Something else emerged.
A mirror.
Old. Floating. Fractured.
And inside it—her.
But not as she was.
This Isabela was older. Pale. Eyes endless and black. A future twisted into a shadow.
And the reflection spoke:
> "You don't defeat it by fighting,"
"You defeat it by becoming."
Her voice.
But not hers.
Then the mirror reached out—
And touched the mark.
Pain bloomed behind her eyes like stars dying in reverse.
Her scream fractured the air.
She collapsed.
And in that moment—she saw it.
The First Dreamer.
Sleeping far beneath the world.
Now… beginning to wake.
---
She awoke hours later.
In the heart of Hollow Creek.
Alone.
Her hands were blistered. Her veins glowed faintly beneath the skin.
When the Circle found her, she didn't speak.
Didn't cry.
She only whispered, voice ragged and far away:
> "The gate isn't closed anymore."
Then the mark turned black.
And she vanished.