Chapter 15
THE DREAM WALKER
Nesilhan
I jolt awake, gasping for air as I claw my way out of the nightmare. Shadows cling to me, phantom sensations of drowning in suffocating darkness. My heart races beneath my palm as I press a shaking hand to my chest, forcing myself to take deep, slow breaths.
The dream crashes over me, vivid as a memory.
Shadows filling my lungs. A woman wreathed in moonlight - Lysandra, a Dream Walker from the Forgotten Grove.
Banu, trapped and suffering in a realm between worlds called the Veil Between.
An impossible prison of shadow and illusion that can only be breached during the Twilight Eclipse, now a mere three weeks away.
"Three weeks," I whisper, tasting dread on my tongue and I need an anchor, someone I trust.
It seems an impossible task, but resolve hardens in my chest. Dream or not, I cannot ignore this dire warning. I will not abandon Banu to such a fate.
Three weeks to find someone I absolutely trust.
The bitter laugh that escapes me sounds hollow in the empty room.
Trust. Kaan, who I understand made an impossible choice but still can't fully open my heart to?
Yasar, whose binding wraps tighter around my soul every day?
Zoran, my brother who betrayed me once already?
Elcin, my cousin who's proven her loyalty but whom I've only known for months, not years?
I'm surrounded by people, and I'm utterly alone.
My light magic flickers beneath my skin, responding to emotional turmoil.
It sparks and dies like a dying flame, and I realize that I haven't used it properly in weeks.
Ever since Yasar arrived, ever since the binding activated, my power feels.
.. muted. Drained. As if something siphons it away faster than I can replenish it.
I press my palm flat against my abdomen, feeling the scars beneath my nightgown. The physical marks of what I lost. What we all lost when the shapeshifter's blade tore through flesh and possibility.
I rise from bed, pulling on a silk robe against the morning chill. My chambers overlook the eastern gardens, where dawn is just beginning to paint the sky in shades of violet and rose. It should be beautiful. Instead, it reminds me of Yasar's eyes.
"You're awake early."
I spin, light magic flaring defensively before I recognize the voice. Elcin stands in my doorway, already dressed for training in leather and steel. Her storm-grey eyes take in my disheveled state with the practiced assessment of someone who's seen too much.
"Couldn't sleep," I manage, forcing my magic to settle. "Nightmares."
"About?" She steps inside, closing the door with careful quiet.
I consider lying. But Elcin has earned my trust in the months since she found me in that village, memory-less and broken. She's seen me piece myself back together after the loss—the grief, the rage, the nights I couldn't sleep.
"Banu's alive," I say. "Trapped somewhere called the Veil Between. There's a Dream Walker who can help me reach her, but..." I trail off, because how do I explain the impossible requirements? The trust I can't give?
Elcin's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in her eyes. Recognition, maybe. Or concern. "The Veil Between is dangerous, cousin. Even in stories."
"It's the only chance she has. The only chance we have is to bring her home."
"At what cost?" Elcin moves closer, her warrior's grace making no sound on the marble floor. "Entering the Veil requires an anchor. Someone to tether you to reality. If you can't find that person—"
"Then I go alone and probably die trying." The words come out flat, matter-of-fact. "Better than doing nothing while Banu suffers in a place designed to consume her."
"Nesilhan—"
"Don't." I hold up a hand, cutting off whatever protest she's preparing. "Don't tell me it's not my fault. Don't remind me that I couldn't have known the shapeshifter would attack. I'm tired of absolution I don't deserve." My voice cracks despite my best efforts.
"Banu is there because of me. Because I was too blind to see the deception, too weak to protect her. So yes, I'm going into the Veil. But I need an anchor and I already know who that will be.”
Kaan. It has to be Kaan. I need to try and repair what we lost.
Elcin studies me for a long moment. Then, impossibly, she smiles—small and sad but genuine. "You sound like Kaan when he's being particularly stubborn and self-destructive."
"Careful," I warn. "That's the worst insult you could possibly deliver."
"Is it?" She crosses her arms, leaning against the wall with deceptive casualness. "Because from where I'm standing, you're both brilliant, broken creatures who'd rather die than admit you need help."
I start to get dressed. Elcin turns around to give me privacy.
“I’m going to fix that. I’m going to cook him a meal.”
When I turn, Elcin is smiling. “You mean you are going to actually cook?”
“Well, I will give instructions on what to cook to the staff.”
Elcin laughs but it’s soft. “Just as thoughtful.”
I light the last candle and step back, surveying the table like it’s a fragile altar that might collapse if I so much as breathe wrong.
The room looks… intentional.
Warm. Gold-tinted.
The long dining table is bare except for two plates, polished cutlery, and an unopened bottle of deep-red wine positioned between our seats.
Soft amber light pours from sconces along the walls, catching the carved shadows on the ceiling.
The drapes are drawn, keeping the world out—and maybe, if the gods show mercy, keeping us in.
I chose my dress carefully. Dark green silk that falls off my shoulders, fitted at the waist, loose at the skirt. Slightly daring for a dinner that might end in disaster, but then again, everything about tonight is daring.
My palms are damp. My heart beats too hard.
This was my idea. My plan to repair what has splintered between Kaan and me.
To save Banu. To break the binding between me and Yasar before it suffocates us all.
I smooth my skirt one more time when the door opens.
Kaan steps inside.
And for a moment, I can’t breathe.
He’s dressed simply—black trousers, black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
It’s understated, but somehow that makes him look even more dangerous: like a man who doesn’t need embellishment to dominate a room.
His hair is slightly damp, as if he washed up before coming here.
His jaw is shadowed with stubble. His eyes… gods.
Suspicion sharpens every line of him.
His gaze skims the table, the candles, the wine, and finally lands on me.
“…Dinner?” he asks, voice low and cautious.
“Yes.” I gesture stiffly. Too stiff. “Well—the idea is dinner. The food will be brought in later. This is… wine.”
Very smooth, Neslihan. Astounding eloquence.
He raises a brow, amused despite himself. “I can see that.”
I gesture again, because apparently my hands have revolted against me and are now doing interpretive dance. “Please. Sit.”
He does, sliding into the high-backed chair, watching me with the quiet wariness of a predator trying to decide whether the trap is worth stepping into.
I take my seat across from him, uncork the wine, and try not to look like someone that never does this themselves.
He accepts his glass. I cling to mine like it’s emotional support stemware.
“So,” I say brightly, grasping for anything to fill the air, “the weather was nice today.”
He gives me a slow blink. “We live in magically regulated territory.”
“Yes. But that means the weather is… consistently nice.”
His mouth twitches—not in irritation, but in a laugh he refuses to let escape.
I take a sip of wine to stop myself from speaking any more rubbish. Why is this so hard?
“So…”I try again. “How was your day?”
He takes a thoughtful sip, then sets the glass down. “Busy.”
“You helped the refugees,” I say before I can stop myself.
His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t look away.
“I saw you, from the window.”
Something shifts in his posture—not embarrassment, not pride, something more complicated. More raw.
“You gave them shelter,” I continue, softer. “Made sure each family had a place to sleep. You promised them food —and actually stayed to speak with them. Learn who they lost. Who they still had. You calmed them, Kaan.”
He exhales slowly. “They needed stability.”
“Shadow Lords don’t do that.” My voice cracks on the truth of it. “They rule from a distance. They stay untouchable. They command fear.”
He looks away, jaw tight.
“You didn’t command fear today,” I whisper. “You gave them hope.”
His throat bobs.
“It wasn’t—” He clears his throat. “It wasn’t anything special.”
“It was everything.”
The words hang between us, glowing and dangerous.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with unsaid things. I take a deep breath, steeling myself. It's now or never.
"Kaan, I need to talk about...about the baby."
He stiffens, but nods for me to continue.
I stare down at my hands. "When I lost him, when I woke up and our son was gone... I was so angry. At myself, at the world. But most of all, at you." My voice trembles. "I blamed you for not being there, for not saving him."
Kaan's face crumples, pain etched in every line. "Neslihan, I... I had no choice. You were both dying."
Tears stream down my face unchecked. "I know. Gods, I know. But it hurt so much, Kaan. It still hurts. To know our boy is gone forever."
He reaches for my hand, gripping it like a lifeline. "I couldn't save you both. I tried, I swear I tried. But in the end... I had to choose." His voice breaks. "I chose you, Neslihan. Because a world without you in it is no world at all."
A sob wrenches from my throat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I blamed you. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I was drowning in my own grief and I took it out on you."
He cups my face with his free hand, thumb brushing away my tears. "You have nothing to apologize for. We both lost a piece of our hearts that day. I should have been there for you, should have helped you carry that burden."