THE LAST KING OF EMBERWYLD : THE FINAL DAWN
Chapter 5: The Peace Before the Storm
The weeks that followed were the happiest of Kaelen’s life.
The sun shone. The flowers bloomed. The birds sang. The people of Dusk Hollow—now a thriving city—went about their days with smiles on their faces and hope in their hearts. The nightmares were gone. The door was closed. The hunger was satisfied.
Kaelen spent his mornings in the garden with his mother.
She was different now—not the young woman he remembered from his childhood, but an old woman with silver hair and kind eyes and a gentle smile. She had been trapped in the nightmare for a thousand years, and the years had left their mark. But she was alive. She was real. She was home.
They planted lilies together.
“The white ones were always my favorite,” she said, her hands in the soil, her face tilted toward the sun.
“I remember.”
“You used to help me in the garden. When you were small. You would pull up the flowers instead of the weeds.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You were trying to destroy my garden.”
Kaelen laughed.
“I was trying to be close to you.”
His mother looked at him.
Her eyes were wet.
“You were always close to me. Even when I was gone. Even when I was trapped. Even when I was nothing.”
“You were never nothing.”
“Neither were you.”
He spent his afternoons with his children.
Thomas was a soldier now, broad and strong, with a sword at his hip and a seriousness that reminded Kaelen of himself at that age. They trained together in the meadow, blades flashing, sweat flying, laughter echoing across the field.
“You’re getting slow, old man,” Thomas said, parrying a strike.
“I’m letting you win.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Fine. You’re getting better.”
Thomas grinned.
“That’s all I ever wanted to hear.”
Elara was a dreamer, slender and graceful, with silver hair and bright eyes. She spent her days in the tower at the edge of the city, watching the dreams of the sleeping, learning the secrets of the heart.
“Father,” she said one afternoon, “I had a dream about you.”
“What did you dream?”
She was silent for a long moment.
“I dreamed you were standing in front of a door. A door made of light. And behind the door, something was waiting.”
“What?”
Elara looked at him.
Her brown eyes were serious.
“I don’t know. But it was beautiful. And terrible. And hungry.”
Kaelen’s blood went cold.
“The door is closed,” he said. “The nightmare is over.”
“Are you sure?”
He was not sure.
He spent his evenings with Hope.
They sat on the porch of the house, watching the sun set over the city, their hands intertwined, their hearts full.
“Are you happy?” Hope asked.
Kaelen thought about it.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”
“Good.”
“Are you?”
Hope looked at the sky.
At the stars.
At the darkness beyond.
“I’m getting there,” she said.
“What’s missing?”
She was silent for a long moment.
“I don’t know. Something. Someone. Some part of myself that I left behind in the nightmare.”
“You didn’t leave anything behind. You brought everything with you.”
“Did I?”
Kaelen took her hand.
“You brought yourself. That’s all that matters.”
One night, Kaelen had a dream.
He was standing in a field of lilies, white and gold, stretching to the horizon. The sky was blue, the sun was warm, the wind was gentle.
And standing in the center of the field, waiting for him, was a figure.
A woman.
She was young—younger than Hope, younger than Lyra. Her dark hair was long and straight, her white dress was simple and clean, her bare feet were pressed against the grass.
She was beautiful.
She was terrible.
She was the door.
“Hello, Kaelen,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Who are you?”
She smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
“I am the beginning. The end. The dream that never wakes.”
“The nightmare is over.”
“The nightmare is never over. It only changes. It only grows. It only waits.”
“What do you want?”
The woman stepped closer.
Her eyes were black—depthless, ancient, hungry.
“I want to finish what the first king started. I want to open the door. I want to end the world.”
“You can’t. The door is closed. The heart is silent. The nightmares are no more.”
The woman laughed.
It was a terrible sound—like bones breaking, like glass shattering, like worlds ending.
“You think the door was the nightmare? You think the heart was the hunger? You think the first king was the enemy?”
Kaelen’s blood went cold.
“What are you saying?”
The woman reached out and touched his face.
Her hand was cold.
“I am saying that you have been fighting the wrong war. The door was not the enemy. The heart was not the hunger. The first king was not the beginning.”
“Then what was?”
The woman smiled.
“I was,” she said. “I am the dreamer. The one who dreamed the first king. The one who dreamed the door. The one who dreamed the nightmare.”
“You’re a god.”
“I am the god. The only god. The one who has been sleeping at the heart of the nightmare for a thousand years.”
“Why are you waking now?”
The woman’s eyes blazed.
“Because you killed my dream. You killed the first king. You killed the nightmare. And now I have to start over.”
Kaelen woke with a scream.
Hope was beside him, her hands on his face, her eyes wide.
“What happened?” she asked.
“The dream,” he said. “The god. The dreamer. She’s waking.”
“What dreamer?”
Kaelen looked at the window.
At the stars.
At the darkness.
“The one who dreamed the first king. The one who dreamed the door. The one who has been sleeping for a thousand years.”
Hope’s face went pale.
“That’s not possible.”
“It’s possible. And it’s happening.”
“How do you know?”
Kaelen looked at his hands.
They were shaking.
“Because she told me.”