The Rift Beyond Dreams: Dreams of Dranah, #1

Chapter 1

F inally, sighed Neirin . He couldn’t even think straight after the seemingly infinite lecture full of sleazy puns and hypocrisy he had just suffered through. The lecturer was none other than Mr. Zuzka, regional manager of the Imperial postal service, his boss.

His head hurt, throbbed really, as he stepped out to breathe in some fresh late morning air. Without the slightest thought, he walked east. He had very carefully thought of a routine for his deliveries. The only things that changed daily were the names of the people he delivered the parcels to and those he had met on his route. His days were so bleak that they almost merged, separated only by different thoughts, good books, and occasional chat with some kindred spirits.

The third anniversary of starting this temporary measure of a job was nearing rapidly, and he wasn’t anywhere near where he wanted to be. Where he planned to be. He was overqualified and underpaid, yet he could barely do this job without burning out again.

He didn’t vent that out loud or complain; he just gritted his teeth and did it. Food and bed were better than hunger and homelessness was his only motto lately. Far from the grand aspirations and dreams he had while he was younger. At least he had enough free time, he thought. All of which was devoted to self-improvement of any kind.

His goal was clearly set—overcoming the obstacle that flipped his once glorious life upside down. A dream gate—his own dream gate—yet it wasn’t that simple. He tried everything he could think of. Without opening it, his advancement to the fourth tier wasn’t possible. And along with it, the access to all dreams ever dreamt—the great Expanse dreams. A mark of status and power that divided Dreamers in society, providing them with the ability to travel the infinite Expanse of Dreams.

Neirin dreamt about exploring ancient sites, unwrapping long-forgotten mysteries, and unveiling stories long lost to time. It was his subject of study since he was a child: myths and history. One that found him on its own. But the local branch of Legends Guild rejected his application more times than he could count, more than he wished to. Blaming it on his incompatibility with them, probably because of his status as abandoned: lacking his inner guardian that was supposed to guide him through the process of opening his dream gate.

From what he had heard, they did not accept anyone below the fourth tier of Dreaming, at least not without bribes or nepotism. Unfortunately, neither was an option for him.

He didn’t know why he was like this. His guardian just wasn’t there ever since the beginning. He was broken. Maybe he didn’t have his inner self, thus, its reflection couldn’t manifest, or it was beaten out of him throughout his life. Lost during all the abuse he endured before he was strong enough to leave. Without it, he was a talented enough Dreamer without a future. A pitiable creature.

He pushed himself daily, trying to shift his fate to his favor, transcend himself. Reading everything he could get his hands on, thinking of new ways to open the gate. Grow his soul and inner world stronger as it couldn’t hurt. But he was as close to opening the gate as the day he unveiled it under his soul palace.

Cold autumn winds drew him out of his self-pity, which had become somewhat of a habit lately. He walked mindlessly, like an empty shell, pushing small parcels into the mailboxes almost automatically. He used to panic occasionally about whether he had put the right parcels into the right mailboxes, but nobody ever complained, so he was probably doing it right.

Suddenly noticing a freshly finished house renovation on one street, Neirin forced a smile as he looked around, breathing in the chilly air and admiring the city of Ardiernon around him. The smooth cobblestones under his bare feet. The yellowing leaves on the trees around. The smell of freshly baked bread and pastries.

He pondered how much it could remember. How many feet had stepped on the cobblestone, and how many sun rays nourished the trees throughout their lives?

Ardiernon’s history was vast, stretching as far as chronicles went. Old houses were said to remember things; why couldn’t the cobblestone beneath his feet? Maybe the whole thing was a little overblown to lure more tourists into old cities—not that houses couldn’t remember things. No, it was just that they mostly didn’t. Sometimes they projected certain scenes and memories in dreams of their occupants, but nothing too complex. Far from the tales he used to eat up as a little boy.

During the first year in his current apartment, Neirin repeatedly saw a beautiful woman. Remnant images of her mostly. She just sat there, reading books almost every night. Then the images stopped and he wasn’t sure why. He liked her company, just her being there, even if they never interacted.

After he passed through the gates of the Old Town, his thoughts shifted to the history of the massive walls full of towers and ramparts. How useless they were. Ardiernon had a noble purpose for a long time now. A front line of defense against beasts wandering in from the mountains, though luckily, the fabled beast migration hadn’t occurred for several epochs. It used to be a military fortress, then it gradually turned into a city, prospering from mining the ores of the mountains around mostly.

Several fortresses, all connected, had every defense available. The vigilant eye of the south. Ardin Eshkwal, Stronghold of the Great Wall. It had many names. Guarding and overlooking Karalamin Valley with its grand wall of stone. A pass from the beast lands of Eshkwall. A vast, cloud-piercing mountain range where beasts and trees roamed unhinged. The dreamless mountains. It was a forbidden land for Dreamers—even those with permits rarely returned from there.

The lands there were inhospitable for humans. People were said to go crazy just from venturing too far. Their minds were supposed to degrade, and their souls would twist into something wicked and bloodthirsty. A self-induced fear of wilderness, supported by countless bloody legends, Neirin chuckled skeptically. Yet he kept a healthy amount of respect toward it.

Humans were just never strong enough to push the beasts out of there and claim the land. Not because of a lack of trying. There have been several very unsuccessful attempts recorded throughout history. All of them had one thing in common: Nobody returned. Hence, it became a legendary land of death over time. A grand forbidden land of Northern Beldon, just beyond his doorstep.

Neirin pulled a sealed wooden box out of his bag, checked the name on the wall and box almost without thinking and pushed it inside without hesitation. Through a small metal door, he saw the box slide down to a designated area for mail. Then he continued, returning to his contemplations.

There were several valleys like Karalamin. It was almost a wonder there were only so few, though, about a dozen. Significant mountain passes from the Eshkwall Mountains; otherwise, it was cut off by an impenetrable wall of mountains along its periphery.

The guarding wall of Ardiernon was high and sturdy, blocking the valley for epochs now. A masterful piece of architecture garrisoned with soldiers all year around, preventing beasts from infiltrating the cultivated lands of the Bansorul Empire. But was it really the wall holding them in?

Neirin stepped into the heart of the Old Town, the center of Ardiernon. It was busy with people as droves of them prowled the streets, enjoying myriad stores and tea shops; a place for business and leisure alike. A relaxed atmosphere always prevailed and people seemed happy and carefree, or they looked like that, at least. They went on with their businesses, mostly looking into display windows full of everything imaginable.

Flowers hung from balconies; trees lined the streets. Old Town had an archaic breath of ancient masters about it: statues, mosaics, reliefs, memorial stones, any and all art.

Houses were tall with steep roofs, supported by elaborate systems of columns and ornamental supports. All of them were decorated even to the tiniest details, perfectly symmetrical and balanced. No walls and spaces were left empty. Neirin always envied this place a little; it was all fitting, so perfectly together—yet there he was, a free radical in the grand scheme of things.

He walked briskly with a slight smile on his face. His hair reached just below his shoulders, as did his scraggly beard. Days when he had to be presentable every time he stepped out of his door were long over. It seemed almost foolish now, how much time he used to waste on such pointless things.

His thigh-long black coat was faded and patched too many times. A bag with a tattered strap hung over his shoulder, a favor of the Imperial Postal Service, bearing its faded logo somewhere. His pants were in a similar state to his coat. Their original color was debatable, but nobody ever brought it up. His feet were bare, covered in dust and dirt from the streets, sanded down by the cobblestone.

He was trying to finish his deliveries in good time, but he’d had a late start. He hoped to go to the lake in the afternoon, while the sun was still up. It was his favorite spot to ruminate, meditate, procrastinate, and do everything that required a quiet environment.

His face suddenly twisted, and his thoughts halted like they hit an iron wall. His instincts screamed for him to hide—but that would be ridiculous, he thought. He was no coward, and he forcefully moved his frozen legs.

A group of people in uniforms of Kartu Ardiernon walked the street, opposite him. Students at his former university. Seeing them brought up some shame and regret, but that was irrelevant. He recognized the man leading them.

He was a little older than the rest of the group, his eyes keen and his jaw sharp. He carried himself proudly as his long blond hair billowed in the wind behind him, giving him a tiny bit of a heroic air.

To think the day could get even worse. Neirin cursed his luck, thinking about the unexpected morning lecture. It wasn’t that bad, retrospectively.

He walked to the side of the street, as far from them as he could, keeping close to the wall full of displays with various on sale signs and posters. He would go inside, but he didn’t have money to spend. Instead, he moved to merge with people around him, but the droves of them were now nowhere to be found, as if they had all disappeared when he needed them the most.

Neirin tried to look as carefree as possible, focusing on the displayed items. Secretly, he was checking their reflection in the glass. His palms started to sweat as they passed him. He didn’t want to be spotted by Inbur—they didn’t part ways on very good terms.

He felt Inbur’s eyes running past him, but there was no recognition. Luckily. Neirin was ready to celebrate his minor victory, as he had already walked past the group of students without being noticed—

BANG!

Neirin stumbled on a wooden sign from the local butchery while looking over his shoulder. Suddenly, he could feel every single pair of eyes glaring at him. Without thinking, he lowered his head and hastened his steps. He pushed through the embarrassment and shame, but the strap of his bag was caught on the wooden sign, dragging it behind him.

The wooden sign grinding against cobblestone and the pressure on the bag’s strap forced him to stop even though he didn’t want to. He struggled to loosen it from the decorative curves, but his fingers were too shaky. He tried to do it as quickly as possible, but his hands were too clumsy and didn’t listen to him. He wanted it to be over; he did not have enough strength to encounter a bully like Inbur.

Neirin?

The thing he wanted to avoid the most had just happened. His heart raced, and a certain lightness flooded his head. The last thing I needed today, or any other day at that. He gritted his teeth, still focusing on the damn strap, hoping it was just a fluke. An audible manifestation of his fears, perhaps.

He had apologized to Inbur a long time ago—it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t take it well. He did not even mean to betray him, but when it came to Alica, Inbur was crazy. Completely inconsolable.

Maybe he got over it? Neirin thought hopefully but quickly dismissed the idea as a wave of pure anger radiated toward him.

Stop, you fogwit! Give it back! You disgraceful vandal! a man in a white apron yelled, running out of the butchery and waving a big knife angrily.

Neirin finally managed to lose the sign.

My apologies— he quickly said to the butcher and turned to continue his route.

It is you, isn’t it? Who else would be embarrassment enough to pull a stunt like this and cringe up the whole street. Inbur smirked, his voice echoing for everyone to hear. The smug, self-righteous smile and rage burning in his eyes sent shivers down Neirin’s spine as he turned back. He couldn’t possibly ignore him now.

Oh—Inbur—didn’t recognize you, Neirin said almost nonchalantly.

Neirin knew well that he was not at fault and would do what he did again. Even though it ended up disastrously, he had no regrets. Yet some part of him felt guilty about losing his friend. Disappointing him. Inbur wasn’t a very good friend to begin with, but Neirin didn’t know any better then. He was always drawn toward such people, but he was very mindful to avoid those types as of late. It was hard, like his past just had to haunt him still. He deserved kind people in his life.

The butcher’s cursing ceased as soon as he recognized Inbur—or, more precisely, his status as he was covered in his family insignias: two eels in a circle connected with seven lightning bolts. The butcher collected his sign hastily and scattered away, almost apologetically.

Stealing signs now. A thief and a backstabber. Inbur chuckled viciously.

Why don’t you visit the university anymore? You are—after all—a legend of sorts, Inbur said. Several students’ eyes twinkled as they looked at Neirin with interest.

Then Inbur continued to speak, more to the students around him than Neirin himself.

The famous prodigy, youngest student to reach third tier in the last decade. Silver boy and pride of the FORMER principal. Standing here—right in front of you. Inbur gestured, and some students stared at Neirin with their eyes wide. There were looks of doubt, disbelief, and confusion amongst them, making Neirin shudder.

Yet there will never be a fourth tier of Dreaming for him—he took some nasty shortcut and killed his own inner guardian, abandoning his future in the process. He sealed his fate of never being able to open the gate of dreams nor wield any real power.

Neirin’s face twisted, feeling overwhelmed. Rage mixed with sadness flooded his heart. It was his sore spot, and Inbur had just viciously sucker-punched it without a shred of mercy. Even though they were only his assumptions and not really correct, it hadn’t changed the fact: Neirin lacked his inner guardian. Also, Inbur called him publicly for everyone to hear, revealing one of his deepest pains.

Inbur continued with wicked joy: After severing his own path, he went completely batshit. Crying and sulking to professors. Drinking through the days—shaming the name of our university. Even Alica finally saw him for who he really was and left his sorry ass.

Several of the students looked oddly at both Neirin and Inbur. They probably weren’t expecting weird personal drama from their aloof junior warden. But some seemed to be almost enjoying themselves, already immersed in it.

He couldn’t possibly be in the third tier—right? asked one of the students doubtfully, looking Neirin up and down.

Why does he have such a lousy job? asked a freckled blonde girl standing very close to Inbur. Several students around her nodded, staring suspiciously at haggardly, sour-faced Neirin.

What a waste, said one student, shaking his head.

Even people walking along the street started to glance. Some even stopped and watched their little gathering, curious about the lively happening.

Oh yes, waste indeed. After being thrown out of university, his parents wouldn’t take him back. An infinite source of shame for them. Inbur smirked, closely eyeing Neirin and his blank face.

Several students laughed, but most remained silent, staring at him like he was contagious with ravepox or shitonic plague. Disgusted, as a living personification of failure stood in front of them. Some showed pity or bafflement, yet Neirin didn’t want to care about any of them. He told himself he didn’t care, but the disgust written all over their faces still hurt.

But he got Alica, right? the freckled girl half-whispered.

Neirin’s face was expressionless, but Inbur’s last words made it so much easier for him. Putting his worries about former camaraderie aside, he took a deep breath.

I feel bad for you, spreading lies and rumors like a—a filthy degenerate. You are the shame of all men, implicating your family in your petty schemes. Oh wait, did you learn how to be mean from your father? Is that the actual legacy of an old and noble heroic house? Truth is, you are disgusting. Just a spoiled brat. Always waiting for others to do everything for you. Alica was never interested in you, yet you couldn’t take it. Pestering her and sulking. But it seems like your daddy has secured you a warm, cushy job where you can run around and pester the new students. Neirin blurted out everything in a single breath.

He had been holding a lot of anger, not only at Inbur but at himself, yet it didn’t mean Inbur didn’t deserve those words. He may have gone a little overboard, at least for his standards, but he wasn’t the one who started this fight. He could also play dirty and defend himself. It felt strangely invigorating. Freeing, almost.

Most of the students now looked at Inbur with wide eyes, and several females closest to him took a step back. Yet, few of them remained standing close, looking at him even more eagerly than before.

What a lusty weasel, whispered someone from the crowd a little too loudly, breaking the awkward moment of silence.

Will you really take the words of a beggar? the freckled girl mocked Inbur.

Oh, did you run out of words? Neirin sneered, riding the momentum. Too often had the imaginary arguments kept him awake at night, and now it finally yielded some actual use.

Inbur opened and closed his mouth a few times. The veins on his forehead bulged, and his cheeks turned scarlet. He pointed his finger at Neirin and started yelling. How dare you! You filthy son of a bitch! You dirty coinless fuck! You are the sulker!

No wonder about Alira, some girl said to the girl beside her.

Inbur’s face was completely red, and he cursed some more without being overly creative, repeating the same insults and waving his hands wildly while his saliva spattered everywhere. Some people even had to take a step back to avoid it.

Neirin tried to keep his face devoid of emotions—not giving him any satisfaction—but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. People in the crowd shook their heads, sighing at the barbarity of the Kartu students. Whoever wore the uniform of an institution represented it, and this was an embarrassment.

Neirin subconsciously expected punishment or something, which made him very vigilant—but even if it came, it would’ve been worth it. Nothing happened to him, though. Nobody even said anything to him. He had seen Inbur’s tantrums a few times before, but never like this. Once he ran into him with Alica whilst holding hands and it wasn’t pretty, but that was still far from the madness he was spouting now.

Alica, Neirin smiled. A plethora of mixed feelings welled up in him. It wasn’t always good, but he remembered her positively; he tried to. It was he who broke things off with her. He liked her but hadn’t wanted to be with her. It was too draining on him then.

Seeing Neirin’s smile amid all the dirty glares pulled the last straw of Inbur’s sanity. Sharp cackles reverberated through the air around him, silencing the gossiping crowd.

With a raging roar, the air around Inbur shuddered. Everybody instinctively took a step back. Space between Inbur’s fingers flashed brightly as an aura of yellow light flooded out of him. A faint shadow formed behind his back. It bore Inbur’s features, yet it was woven by sublime light. Countless tiny arcs of lightning flickered between his fingers as he quickly approached Neirin.

Die, you filthy beggar! Inbur’s hand was aiming for Neirin’s face. The hand flew in a strange arc, blinding people around him temporarily. People shouted and screamed in the background, but Neirin heard nothing except his heartbeat.

He knew Inbur to be spoiled, somewhat unstable, but he didn’t expect him to suddenly turn to violence. Especially not in front of so many witnesses while wearing a university uniform.

Neirin’s own energy seeped out of his pores, forming a layer of dark violet aura around himself. It came as an instinct. He wasn’t a fan of violence and confrontations, but that didn’t mean the world would be gentle to him. And he was prepared; he wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. Not anymore, not when he could defend himself.

Neirin watched in slow motion as Inbur’s fist flew toward him, calm and devoid of any distractions. He even caught himself admiring the beauty of tiny arcs swirling around Inbur’s fist for a moment before it all became too real.

BOOM!

A deafening explosion of light temporarily blinded Neirin, followed by thunderous screeches bellowing between buildings.

Neirin opened his eyes, checking himself. He didn’t even realize he raised his hands in defense. He was unhurt and somewhat happy his panic shield held up against the attack. Countless tiny streaks of yellow energy scattered through the air, roiling around Inbur as he staggered back.

Inbur’s energy couldn’t penetrate Neirin’s shields; it lacked a resolution, yet something was smoldering.

You! Inbur spat as he stumbled back. Embarrassment on his face mixed with pain as he held his hand.

There was a reason why very few Dreamers used fists as the medium for their energy. Without vigorous training that transformed and refined their bodies, it would always take a toll. Neirin grinned proudly at the scene. He’d stood his ground successfully.

Clashes between two energies were highly unpredictable. Creating an explosion could never be ruled out and backlash was a certainty. Luckily for Inbur, the clash didn’t obliterate his hand completely. Just a few broken bones, maybe.

Neirin’s energy retracted back into his body, but the sharp smell of something burning was getting more intense. It stung his nose when he finally noticed the source. It was too late. He hastily doused his beard with several swift pats, but the damage was already done.

NOO! You mad brute! Neirin roared. Not only did you attack me in broad daylight, but you also had to ruin my beard!? he yelled angrily, not knowing whether his eyes burned as a reaction from smoke or if it was rage at his beard being mutilated. I have grown it for months now! Neirin ranted. He had to hold himself back to avoid striking Inbur. It would bring a lot of trouble, and he was above such pointless violence. He only regretted never even considering his beard to be included in his panic shield. He may not care too much about his appearance, but he liked that beard. He felt more sagely and wise just by having it.

Warden? What a loser, someone from the crowd whispered viciously.

Meanwhile, Inbur fumed like an incarnation of teenage madness. Venom seeped out of his eyes. He was in pain, yet he ignored it enough and growled: She should’ve been mine. With the malice of a vengeful loser, he shot toward Neirin again.

Is he still talking about Alica? Neirin tilted his head. For him, it was over for a long time now.

This time, he took a step back. Dark violet energy poured from him again, and dark green energy spread out of his ring, covering him in two layers mutually supporting each other. He was about to lock his feet onto the ground when something touched his heel.

Instinctively, he shifted his feet away. Losing a grip on the ground and even with his shields up, he knew what was coming. He realized his mistake, but it was too late. Inbur was already too close. Neirin smiled wryly at his misgiving and raised his arms in defense.

The lightning-covered punch of Inbur’s good hand squarely struck his chest, just below Neirin’s hands covering his head. Their energies clashed again, creating an even more resounding boom. Sharp cracks echoed between the buildings.

Without a steady grip of his feet on the ground, Neirin was blasted back. The power of Inbur’s semi-augmented energy wasn’t that great, but Neirin had one foot in the air. As he flew, he noticed a familiar bag on the ground with its strap snapped in two, exactly where he’d been before.

This job will actually kill me. Neirin smirked before his back made contact with the sturdy wall. He was fortified like a tortoise; his shields were up and strong. Mostly his pride and confidence suffered as he found himself sitting on the pavement.

His shield disappeared as Neirin tried to catch his breath. The wind had been knocked directly out of him.

Then he spotted a shadow of Inbur approaching him again. Inbur didn’t let him rest even for a second and was upon him once more.

What the fuck is wrong with him? Neirin thought as the world turned silent. Neirin’s heart drummed wildly, yet his mind was lucid. Reluctant to lose, he rolled clumsily, dodging to the side. A split second longer and it could’ve cost him more than just his dignity.

Streams and streams of violet energy swirled around him in much greater volume than before, inflating around like a thousand tiny bubbles, clumping together into a shield different from the shields before, resembling a puffy, feather-filled winter overall.

Neirin was only blown back earlier due to a lack of proper grounding. He had no firm grasp on it again, but it didn’t matter. His best course of action was going down a different path. Instead of returning the physical momentum back to Inbur, paying him back, he would reduce it and disperse rest into the whole surface of his body. Like an overly complicated cushion of sorts.

The shield was barely inflated when Inbur’s kick landed on Neirin. Having all the initiative, he didn’t hold back. Neirin flew back by the impact, but there wasn’t any pain. Even the air stayed in his lungs this time.

Nice. It works. Neirin smirked. He’d never gotten to use this shield in an actual confrontation before, unsure