Fractured Dreams
Emma’s world was an endless, shifting void. There was no ground beneath her feet, no sky above her, no sense of time. Just a swirling expanse of light and shadow, a dreamscape where nothing stayed still for long.
She didn’t know how she had gotten here—or why she couldn’t leave. Her memories came in flashes: the battlefield, Regina’s voice calling her name, the unbearable pain in her chest as the shadow brute struck her down.
And then, nothing.
Now, she drifted. Sometimes she felt light, as if she were floating through water, her body weightless and untethered. Other times, she felt heavy, as if she were being pulled downward into a pit she couldn’t see.
But there was always the voice.
You’re not ready yet.
Emma tried to respond, but her mouth wouldn’t move. She could think, but she couldn’t speak. She could feel, but her body wouldn’t obey.
She hated it. Hated the helplessness, the silence, the endless waiting.
You have to hold on.
The voice was soft but firm, almost familiar. She wanted to ask it questions—who it was, what it wanted from her—but the words wouldn’t come.
In the waking world, Emma’s body lay on a hospital bed in a small, dimly lit room. The machines were the only things making the monotonous sounds in the otherwise silent room. Her chest rose and fell steadily, her breathing slow and even, but her face was pale, her features slack.
The room smelled sterile and nothing to what the other world held. Long gone are the jars of dried plants and strange powders lined the shelves, and a cauldron bubbled softly over a low flame. However, a figure sat in a chair beside the bed, their silhouette sharp against the flickering lamp.
The figure leaned forward, brushing a strand of Emma’s golden hair away from her face. “You’re a fighter, I’ll give you that,” they murmured, their voice low and melodic.
The woman—if she was even human—was unlike anyone Emma had ever encountered. Her hair was silver-white, cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight, and her skin was a deep, shimmering bronze. Her eyes glowed faintly, like embers, and her fingers moved with practiced precision as she adjusted the bandages on Emma’s torso.
“You shouldn’t even be alive,” the woman said softly, almost to herself. “But I suppose you’ve got someone waiting for you.”
Her hands lingered for a moment on Emma’s chest, where the wound had once been. The shadow’s strike had left a jagged scar, dark and angry against her pale skin, but the flesh beneath had healed surprisingly fast. Faster than it should have.
The woman’s lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. “Who are you?” she whispered.
Emma could hear the voice again, faint and distant. She wanted to scream, to force her eyes open, to fight her way back to the surface, but she couldn’t.
Instead, the void shifted again, and she was no longer floating.
She was standing on the battlefield.
The scene was frozen, like a painting brought to life in excruciating detail. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, their faces twisted in pain and terror. The sky was dark, and the air was thick with the stench of blood and smoke.
Emma’s eyes were drawn to the center of the carnage, where Regina knelt, her face buried in her hands.
“Regina?” Emma tried to call out, but her voice was little more than a whisper.
Regina didn’t move.
Emma took a step forward, her heart pounding. “Regina, I’m here!”
But as she reached out, the ground crumbled beneath her, and she fell into darkness once more.
The woman watching over Emma leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. She reached for a small vial on the table beside her, swirling its contents—a shimmering, silver liquid—before pouring a few drops into a wooden bowl.
“Let’s see what you’re hiding,” she murmured, dipping her fingers into the liquid.
She pressed her hand gently against Emma’s forehead, her glowing eyes flickering as she focused. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the room was filled with a soft hum, and the air grew heavy with energy.
The woman’s mind connected with Emma’s, and she caught glimpses of the knight’s memories:
A campfire under the stars. Regina’s laughter ringing out as she teased Emma about her terrible cooking. The two of them locked in a fierce sparring match, their blades clashing as they danced across the training ground. The warmth of Regina’s arms around her in the dead of night, her breath hot against Emma’s ear as she whispered promises they both knew they couldn’t keep.
The woman pulled back abruptly, her breath hitching.
“Well,” she said softly, her voice tinged with both amusement and sorrow. “No wonder you’re fighting so hard to come back.”
She stood and began pacing the room, her long hair swaying with each step. Her glowing eyes darted to the window, where the pale, gray light of this strange world filtered through the blinds covering the windows.
“If she’s out there, she’ll come for you,” the woman said, glancing back at Emma. “But the question is… will she make it in time?”
Back in the void, Emma felt the presence again. It wasn’t the same voice that had been guiding her. This one was darker, colder, and it sent a chill down her spine.
“You can’t save her,” it hissed, the words slithering through her mind like poison.
Emma spun around, but there was no one there. Just the endless void, stretching out in all directions.
“She’s already lost,” the voice continued. “And you’re nothing without her.”
Emma clenched her fists, her jaw tightening. “Shut up.”
The void seemed to ripple around her, the shadows twisting into vague shapes that hovered just out of reach.
“You failed her,” the voice said, mocking. “Just like you failed your kingdom. Just like you failed everyone.”
Emma’s chest tightened, the weight of the words pressing down on her like a physical force.
“No,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I didn’t—”
The shadows lunged toward her, and Emma screamed.
The silver-haired woman flinched as Emma’s body jerked violently on the bed, her breathing quickening. She moved to her side immediately, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her.
“Easy,” the woman murmured, her voice soothing. “You’re safe. No one can hurt you here.”
Emma’s body relaxed under her touch, her breathing slowing once more.
The woman sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. “Whoever you are, you’ve got a hell of a fight ahead of you.”
She glanced toward the window again, her gaze hardening. In the distance, she could feel it—a dark, malevolent presence, growing stronger with each passing day.
“And so do I,” she added softly.
She returned to her chair, her eyes never leaving Emma’s face.
“Rest while you can, knight,” she said. “Because when you wake up, the real battle begins.”