Come With Me

On this night, we enter into the strange, wide maw of the Dreamlands, and we stay inside it. We pan over the doldrums, over the slumbering forests, over the mysterious city of Dylath-Leen, into the dreams of a mortal.

The screen goes black for an instant, and then we fade into light, looking through another man’s eyes.

We see Abelina Tremont, perhaps a month or so past, before the battle on the Forge. She stands over Mist’s unconscious form, looks up...

Abelina: “Can we trust you?”
Chamas: “No.”
Abelina: “No?”
Chamas: “I don’t trust me.”

A white static covers the camera, and we are now looking at Abelina from afar, as she works on the Access Beacon with her grandfather. More static, as Abelina is now in the kitchen, cleaning a piece of rice off of her face. More static, as Abelina changes Mist’s bandages, even though the two hardly know each other. More static.

Overwhelming static.

And then Abelina’s eyes, face a little too close, perfume overwhelming.

Abelina: "What if Mist isn't around? He gets knocked out more than any of us."

A pause, heartbeats pounding.

Chamas: “Then I’ll take care of you.”

The vision glitches, still in the same place, but Abelina changes. Her eyes are all dark, her expression blank.

Abelina: “Come with me.”

Abelina’s face and position remains static in the camera’s view, like an overlay, but the background behind her changes.

We see Abelina without her clothes, as a scarred, masculine arm braces itself above her shoulder.

Another cut, and Abelina is staring up at Chamas, eating breakfast across the table.

Another cut, as Chamas hesitates, and Abelina fades into a nexus of portals.

Another cut, as Abelina stares across the battlefield in Caliria, robed in black vines, her mental aching slamming into Chamas’ psychic senses.

Abelina: “Come with me.”

We feel pain, and hatred, and refusal, and betrayal, and then Abelina vanishes. The screen goes black.

Chamas snaps up out of bed, covered in sweat. We’re on the Material Plane now, in his chambers on the Aga Jain. The Lashunta looks at the clock -- 7am. Usually an hour before his companions wake up.

Chamas rolls out of bed, stopping at a mirror. His skin is lightly burned from yesterday’s activities, his hair and beard in tatters. He hesitates, and then reaches into the trunk below his sink, pulling out a pair of clippers. As the little device clicks on, we zoom away, fading through the walls, catching a brief glimpse of the surrounding Idari, and then the dream ends.

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