Morning returned to Solmire softly.
Sunlight spilled across white towers.
Shopkeepers opened shutters.
Bread ovens warmed.
Fountains glittered beneath clear skies.
From a distance—
the kingdom still looked untouched.
Up close—
something had changed.
People spoke quieter.
Doors opened slower.
Eyes lingered too long on sleeping loved ones.
The city had not panicked.
Not yet.
But it had begun to listen for danger in silence.
The first victim from the lower district still lay motionless.
Breathing steady.
Heart calm.
Eyes closed as if enjoying peaceful rest.
Yet no voice could reach him.
No pain could stir him.
No light could call him back.
By dawn—
ten more had joined him.
Different streets.
Different homes.
Different ages.
No wounds.
No sign of struggle.
Only sleep.
A baker was found beside flour still drifting through the air.
A guard remained seated upright at his post, head bowed as if praying.
An old woman slept in a chair beside untouched tea.
A child could not wake his mother no matter how hard he shook her arm.
The kingdom continued moving around them.
But now every passerby stared.
And hurried away.
The central clinic overflowed before noon.
Beds lined the walls.
Cots filled the halls.
Curtains were hung where no rooms remained.
Healers in ivory robes moved constantly between the sleeping.
Hands glowing.
Voices strained.
Hope thinning.
Captain Seraphine Liora stood beside the first victim.
White petals circled her hands as she placed them over the man's chest.
Warm healing light flowed through his body.
His breathing deepened.
Then steadied again.
No more.
No less.
She tried again.
Purification.
Mind restoration.
Aether stimulation.
Nothing changed.
Vice-Captain Noel Harten lowered a barrier around another patient to isolate outside influence.
The barrier shimmered bright—
then dimmed.
The woman inside did not move.
"…It's not poison," Noel said quietly.
"…Nor curse decay," Seraphine replied.
Her gaze moved across the rows of sleeping citizens.
"…They are somewhere."
Noel looked up.
"Somewhere?"
Seraphine's expression darkened.
"…And I do not know how to reach them."
For one of Solmire's strongest captains to say those words—
the room felt colder.
In a smaller strategy chamber beneath the palace, Rein stood before a circular table of light.
No ceremony.
No banners.
Only maps, reports, and worried faces.
Present were:
Leonhart of the Golden Lions.
Darius of Silver Fang.
Seraphine of Ivory Veil.
Orion of the Star Scribes.
Rose beside the king.
Floating cards spun above the table.
Each marked a district where victims had fallen.
They formed no clean pattern.
No border.
No class.
No single target.
Leonhart crossed his arms.
"Then we sweep the city block by block."
Darius shook his head.
"Sweep what? There's no attacker."
"There's always an attacker."
"Then find me footprints made of nightmares."
The room tightened.
Rein raised a hand.
Silence followed immediately.
He touched the glowing map.
Ten cards of light sank into ten different streets.
"No public announcement."
Several heads turned.
"If fear spreads faster than the sickness, we lose before the enemy appears."
He looked to Darius.
"Increase night patrols."
To Seraphine.
"Expand clinics. Quietly."
To Orion.
"I want every known record of dream-based aether, mind intrusion, and sleep anomalies."
Orion's eyes sharpened with interest.
"At once."
Rein's final glance fell to Rose.
A moment longer than the others.
"And you…"
She already knew.
"…I'll investigate the victims personally."
He didn't like it.
She knew that too.
But neither argued in front of captains.
Rose entered the clinic alone later that afternoon.
The curtains stirred softly in warm air.
Outside, children still played in distant courtyards.
Inside, mothers cried quietly beside unmoving beds.
Rose approached a sleeping girl no older than twelve.
She placed two fingers gently against the child's wrist.
Closed her eyes.
Released her aether.
Golden threads of perception moved into the girl's body.
Through pulse.
Through breath.
Through mind.
Then—
something touched back.
Rose's eyes snapped open.
A violent pain shot through her arm.
Dark veins surged beneath her skin, racing from wrist to shoulder.
The curse mark across her collarbone bloomed like black petals.
She staggered away from the bed.
Nearly fell.
The sleeping girl smiled.
Eyes still closed.
Then the smile vanished.
Rose covered her mouth before blood could fall on the sheets.
"…It reacted to me."
Not illness.
Not random sleep.
Something aware.
Something watching from the other side.
Evening returned with orange skies and crowded markets.
People forced normal laughter.
Forced routine.
Forced confidence.
At a fruit stall, a hooded traveler paused beside stacked oranges and hanging herbs.
He watched two guards speak nervously.
Watched a woman pull her son closer.
Watched merchants close earlier than usual.
Then he looked down.
At the dust near the road.
Scuff marks.
Foot traffic.
Paused footsteps near a narrow alley.
Too many people had stopped there recently.
For no visible reason.
He turned toward the alley and walked without haste.
Sword tapping lightly against his side.
Blue cloth moving in the breeze.
At the alley wall—
he touched the stone.
His fingers came away cold.
Though the evening was warm.
Beneath the hood, his gaze sharpened.
Night deepened.
Lanterns glowed across balconies and bridges.
Families locked doors.
Prayers were spoken earlier than usual.
Many chose not to sleep alone.
In a modest home near the eastern gate, a mother hummed softly while brushing her daughter's hair.
The child yawned.
Smiled.
Curled beneath blankets.
The mother kissed her forehead.
Rose from the bed.
Took one step toward the door.
And froze.
The song died in her throat.
Her brush slipped from numb fingers.
She swayed once—
then collapsed beside the bedside lamp.
The child sat upright.
Eyes wide.
"…Mama?"
No answer came.
Only the warm lantern light.
And the sound of wind outside the window.
By morning—
there would be eleven.