Noah watched the two of them, and something about it felt odd.
He had pulled that dream out of the weave of existence with his own hands. He had reached back across Cycles for it, strained his whole existence to grasp it, and given it form from his own blue-gold seas. By every rule he knew, it should have been his.
Poona was his. He could feel her even now, far away in another region of THE Chrysalis, a warm thread running straight into the center of him. The Risen Dreams had been his, every one of them, bound to his will the moment he spoke the word. Aurvald knelt in the ruined Heart because the bond between them ran deeper than any order. Everything that rose out of his Dream carried that bond. It had always simply been there.
He looked for it now.
And he found nothing.
