Ahcehera stirred in her sleep, her breath shallow and uneven, a fine sheen of sweat clinging to her forehead. Her body remained still beneath the silken covers of her chamber, but her soul, her consciousness, was somewhere else entirely, pulled into a realm where darkness had no end and monsters had no name.
In the nightmare, she stood alone on a battlefield swallowed by black fog, her bare feet sinking into soil wet with blood. The skies above were torn asunder, streaked with veins of crimson lightning, and the air itself felt poisoned by something cruel. No stars shone. No moon was watched. There was only the void and the cacophony of whispers clawing at her ears.
