Shana took the child Yuryo’s hand. She had a warm, gentle touch. And when Shana looked around, really took in the scenery around her, she couldn’t help but smile.
“This is the Palette in the Clouds,” she said, gazing at the beautiful city in the clouds. It was different from how she knew it — there was no magenta and gold of Dreamworld. The clouds here were snowy white, the sky a beautiful blue. Somehow, this made the fanciful architecture look all the more stunning. The domed houses seemed to shine with their own light, a warm glow to every round rooftop.
“As it should be,” Yuryo said. “It’s beautiful during the day. But I like it best at night.” She waved a hand, and the scene changed. The sky whirled, resolving into the deep, purplish-blue of midnight. Stars twinkled high above, and each house twinkled with its own soft, silvery glow.
Shana found herself staring at the moon. It seemed so big here, its lovely crescent the perfect centerpiece to the night sky.
“It really is beautiful,” she said, smiling.
This is a dream.
She realized that. Yuryo wasn’t a child, and the Palette in the Clouds was still in Dreamworld, beneath a festering storm caused by Yuryo and her followers’ collective Nightmare.
But as she stood here gazing at the night sky, holding the child-Yuryo’s hand, she understood what was happening. And what she needed to do.
She’s trying to hold me here. To captivate me with the beauty of what once was…
The beauty of what she’s fighting to protect.
And it’s not what I’d expect. Already in Dreamworld, and she throws me into her own Dream? I don’t know how she’s doing it, but…
I know what I have to do.
This wasn’t about escape. It wasn’t a fight, either.
Yuryo wanted to show her something? Fantastic. Shana would be happy to see what it was. She’d be happy to learn more about Yuryo, about her past and what had shaped her into who she was today.
I’m going to understand your fear. And I’ll help you find a way out of it.
She smiled to herself. I feel a bit like Shias. I analyzed the situation so fast, and figured out a plan.
Shias…
I hope you’re doing okay. Hang in there. Altair’s got your back. Whatever you’re facing, I know you can win.
“Dreamer?” Yuryo asked, gazing curiously up at Shana.
“My name is Shana,” Shana said, meeting Yuryo’s gaze. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yuryo.”
The child Yuryo didn’t smile. They’d shared a smile, when they’d first met, but Yuryo’s had been fleeting, and it didn’t return. “And a pleasure to meet you, Shana,” the child said, shaking Shana’s hand.
“Why did you bring me here?” Shana asked, walking with the child through the nighttime streets of the Palette in the Clouds. The streets were empty, though Shana occasionally spied vague human shapes moving now and then behind curtained windows. “Did you want to show me something about your home?”
“I did,” Yuryo said. “I wanted you to see as much as possible. To know what’s important to me.”
This is where it gets tricky. I’m not sure if this little girl is Yuryo’s subconscious actively working me inside this dream, or if she’s a kind of construct that has a mind of its own. If adult Yuryo is actively trying to turn me away from my task through the guise of a child, that’s a lot different than if this is just a subconscious-formed construct that acts on its own, something that Yuryo doesn’t need to worry about, so she can stay awake back in the real city.
…This kind of stuff would have made my head spin back when we first started. I’m glad I’ve gotten a handle on being the Dreamer since then.
“I wasn’t born here,” Yuryo said. She waved her hand, and the city dissolved like mist, blown away by a sudden breeze. A new scene formed, of a massive rocky valley. Huge bridges crisscrossed all over the vertical city, with hundreds of staircases all over, up and down and all around, leading here, there, and everywhere. The city was built into the walls of the valley, and across it on the bridges and numerous platforms. It was huge, spectacular, and…
Familiar.
Shana hadn’t seen it. Not in person. But she’d seen a detailed illustration of it, drawn by none other than Fae.
The Valley of Ruin. But this was before the ruin, before the place had been abandoned. This was a thriving, beautiful city. And near the center, halfway up a pearly-white tower, was a suite dedicated to a man, a woman, and their young daughter.
Yuryo.
“Life was good, at the beginning,” Yuryo said, watching a montage of her life play out. There were smiling, laughing parents, happily raising their child. From a newborn, to an infant, to a toddler, to a child, Yuryo grew under the loving care of her parents.
“Joy… doesn’t last, though,” Yuryo said. She gripped Shana’s hand a little tighter, and Shana could feel the fear in her. “The Waking World is cruel, and even in the kindest city, evil can learn to thrive.”
Shana and child Yuryo followed the vision of Yuryo’s parents and an even younger version of herself out from the tower. Night fell across the city. The sky above didn’t fill with stars, but took on a look more like many other night skies in the Enchanted Dominion, a deep blue veil that bloomed here and there with gentle bursts of purple, lighter blue, and silver. It was a lovely, calm night.
“No one expects such tragedy on a beautiful night like this,” Yuryo said. “It should have been raining. There should have been a storm, there should have been signs that the night wasn’t safe to go out in. But none of us knew. None of us could have known. Ignorance was too sweet an intoxication, and we were blinded by our bliss.”
Shana saw the shadow, lurking in a dark corner far down the street that Yuryo and her parents were walking down. The girl and her parents did not see the hidden assailant. But when they were close — too close to escape — then the knife flashed.
And the shadow wasn’t alone.
Three men emerged from the darkness, masked and hooded, knives glinting in their hands. Two in front of the parents and their child, one behind. One of the men in front of them stepped forward, held out his hand and beckoned. “The girl,” he said in a rough, dark voice. “Hand her over and no one gets hurt.”
Yuryo’s father’s eyes widened, and he interposed himself between the attackers and his daughter. He raised his hand, the air shimmered, and a long, silver sword appeared in his grasp. “You won’t touch her!” he said, brandishing his blade. On the other side of Yuryo stepped her mother, conjuring forth a similar weapon to ward off the attacker behind them.
The lead man twirled his knives. “One warning,” he said, “fair and honest. That’s all we ever give.”
The three assailants made their move.
Even with swords in hand, even displaying reflexes and poise that showed their training and skill…
Yuryo’s parents didn’t stand a chance. It was over in moments, mother and father lying on the street in their own blood, lifeless eyes transfixed on the night sky.
Yuryo, standing between them, hugged herself, crouching, trying to make herself as small as she could. “It wasn’t real,” said the Yuryo that held Shana’s hand. “It couldn’t be real. Mama —” She shook her head. “Mother and Father, both dead? I, alone?” The men approached the Yuryo on the street, their low, sinister laughter turning Shana’s blood to ice. “If only I had been left alone.”
One man grabbed Yuryo’s wrist, and then the entire scene shattered, panes of glass falling into nothingness. Shana and Yuryo floated in a blank void, silence all around them.
“There are things…” Yuryo murmured, “that no one should ever see.”
A voice came on the air, a whispered voice — Yuryo’s voice: “I wish I didn’t see it all over again, every time I close my eyes…”
“How…” Shana started, her voice catching in her throat. She swallowed, but couldn’t find her voice again.
“Too long,” Yuryo said, reading Shana’s unspoken question. “I was… finally… found. Saved, some might say. Perhaps if they’d come sooner, I could say the same.”
A door suddenly burst open. The dark void rippled, revealing a dark, filthy house. Light beaming through the doorway cast a path along the main hall, but left the rest in shadow — and Shana was glad for that. There were forms, faint shapes that she could make out, that she did not want to see in full detail.
Through the door came a pair, a man and a woman. They looked about the age of Shana’s parents. They were both clad in long white coats, with black waistcoats, pants, and shoes. The man carried a tall staff with golden wings at the top and dazzling ornaments down its length, while the woman held a white katana, its blade glinting in the light.
Behind them, in the outdoor light, lay dozens of masked men, like those who had taken Yuryo. All of them were dead.
The woman’s eyes flickered with inner pain, and she bowed her head, sheathing her katana. “Too late,” she said. “Again.”
“But this is the last of their strongholds,” the man said. “So at least… at least it’s…” He stood transfixed on what he saw inside the house, his eyes wide with horror, then turned away with an effort, squeezing his eyes shut. “At least it’s finally over.”
A noise. Faint, but enough in the silence that both man and woman noticed it. The woman stepped inside, cautious, eyes darting here and there. “Hello?” she called. “Is anyone here?”
Tiny footsteps padded across the floor, occasionally sliding and dragging on their way. Into the light stepped Yuryo, still a child, but a little bit older. She wore a ragged, filthy dress. Her feet were bare, as were her arms, and cuts and bruises could be seen on her skin. Her face was unharmed, but her eyes gazed vacant, haunted, hollow. She stared up at the man and the woman, and in a rasping, hoarse voice, she asked: “Is it time to go home?”
The woman knelt, pulling Yuryo gently into her arms, embracing her. She wept, tears washing the shoulder of Yuryo’s dress clean. “Oh, child,” she said. “Are you all that’s left?”
“No one else,” Yuryo said, staring with that hollow gaze past the woman, past the man, past the dead masked men outside. “Just me.”
She didn’t raise her arms to hug the woman back. She barely seemed to register the embrace at all.
“What can we do for her?” the man asked. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. “She’s so far gone.”
The woman pulled back, and then she noticed something. Clutched in Yuryo’s hand was a paintbrush. She gestured at it, studying the girl’s face. “Where did you get this?” she asked.
Yuryo looked at it, then back at the woman, her expression unchanging. “I… don’t know,” she said softly.
“An automatic reflex,” the woman murmured. “She took it, when everything else was gone from her.” She turned back to the man. “We could take her to the Artisan. If anyone can help… perhaps he can.”
The man and woman talked some more, but their voices were suddenly distant, muddled, muted. “They took me to the Palette in the Clouds,” the Yuryo holding Shana’s hand said. “To the Artisan — not the one you’ve met. His predecessor.” The light from the open doorway brightened, expanding until it was blinding, all-consuming. Shana put her hand in front of her face, and as the light faded, she looked up…
And found herself back in the Palette in the Clouds. Not as it was in Dreamworld, but again in the Waking World. There was Yuryo, a teenager, walking the streets in clean, fashionable attire, a sketchbook under one arm, talking amicably with several others — friends.
“The Artisan helped me,” child Yuryo said. “Art… was always a part of me. I just didn’t realize it. And it became my healing. My… I suppose you could call them ‘heroes’… were absolutely right to bring me here. In the Palette in the Clouds, a haven for artists and artistry, I was able to flourish.”
Now Shana could see the Yuryo she’d never seen before — Yuryo the artist, happy to explore the extent of her talents. She drew, she painted, she wrote stories and poetry, she composed music. She loved to create, to imagine, and she was surrounded by nothing but like-minded individuals. She had friends, friends who loved and admired her, friends who set positive examples for her, friends who competed against her, pushed her to greater heights. One of those friends was Tio, younger then, but still recognizable, and he often shared his own paintings and drawings with Yuryo, the two of them trading ideas and critiquing each other’s work. Shana could barely believe the Yuryo she was seeing, smiling, laughing, surrounded by others who smiled and laughed alongside her.
“Those were… the best times that possibly could be,” child Yuryo said. There was a wistfulness to her tone. “Nothing could be purely good, purely happy. Nothing could fully mend the scars of the past. But… I could learn to live again. Learn to trust again. It was… good.”
Over these beautiful scenes, a darkness began to grow. Shadows crept across the sky. A scream pierced the sudden night, and then all fell apart.
“They call it the Tragedy,” child Yuryo said. The scene shifted to the chamber of the Key at the Palette in the Clouds. The door to the chamber was shattered, and inside was a tall, dark-haired man, his hands on the Key of the World. He turned it, and fissures erupted through the chamber, rocking their way to the cloudy city above. “After my own tragedy, I… thought I had no more capacity for anguish, for sorrow, for fear, for rage. All of that changed the day that man turned the Key.”
The city was on fire, and Yuryo, her friends, and all others raced to and fro, doing their best to mend the damage. All was a blur of activity, a wild montage of events going by so fast that Shana only caught brief impressions, but…
It was horrible.
While at first, the people fought the fires, fought the damage, fought to protect their city… they eventually started turning on each other. Neighbor against neighbor, and worse. Parents and children were at each other’s throats, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, scraping and clawing and fighting to destroy each other.
The city fell apart. Not just the physical city — the culture, the people, who made that city possible.
“I… still don’t know how we survived to the other side of it,” Yuryo said softly. Eventually, the scenes of horror and pain subsided, and Shana was left with a stark image of Yuryo, alone, kneeling in the cloudy street underneath grey skies. Rain beat down, endlessly. Houses all around her were ruined, sundered, shattered. “Even more unimaginable is how we were able to pick up the pieces, to put our city back together. The few of us who were left, the few still alive… it was the broken trust that was the hardest to heal. But somehow… so many of them did. They learned to trust each other again. They learned to work together again, to put the pieces of their broken lives back together into something resembling the happiness they’d once known. It could never again be as perfect as it had been, but… it could be good. For most of us, at least.”
While Tio and so many others worked together to put the city back together, to mend their homes and lives… Yuryo remained there, in the street, beneath the rain. Lost, that haunted look coming back into her eyes.
“Could there be no true home for me?” Yuryo asked in a small voice. She shook her head, then waved her hand. The scene floated away on the wind, new clouds coming in to form the next scene: the chamber of the Key. And inside, four people. Shana assumed one of them must be the previous Artisan, and the others must be elders or trusted leaders.
“They found a way to prevent a future Tragedy,” Yuryo said. “Turn the Key. Escape to Dreamworld. To protect ourselves, but also… to forge a new home. A home that couldn’t be touched by the wickedness of the outside world, of villains from abroad. The only way the Palette in the Clouds could survive, the only way it could maintain its integrity, was through this great isolation.” She looked up at Shana, and Shana looked down at her, as the former Artisan turned the Key, and a blinding flash of light exploded all around them. When the light faded, Shana didn’t have to look away from Yuryo, look out at the scene, to know what she was seeing. Magenta clouds beneath her feet, golden light in the sky…
Dreamworld.
“ ‘A Dream is meant to be woken from’,” Yuryo said bitterly. “So says the current Artisan, a man born in Dreamworld, with no understanding of the pain those who knew the Waking World suffered. This is my home, Dreamer. Now you can see that. And now you know why I can never allow you to succeed. The Dream must live. And, until you are convinced of that, here in this Dream you will remain.”
Yuryo turned away, the child walking swiftly to leave Shana behind. But Shana reached out, grabbed her wrist, and held tight.
“We’re not done here,” Shana said.
“Let me go!” Yuryo said, pulling at Shana. But Shana held fast. She wasn’t going to be shaken off.
“How are you going to convince me that you’re right by leaving me?” Shana asked. “You’ve told me so much, and my heart breaks for you. But that only makes me more determined to convince you that I’m right. Your fear doesn’t have to define you. There’s a home, the home you long for, still waiting for you in the Waking World. It’s not a dream — it’s real. And you’ll see. It can be yours.”
“You’re so naïve,” Yuryo said. She stopped struggling, turning to eye Shana with undisguised disdain. “But that just means that the Dream must give way for a Nightmare. You don’t know what it is to be unmade. But you will. And so will your friends.”
Shana opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The world beneath her feet shattered, and she was falling, her hand slipping from Yuryo. Down, down, into darkness she fell, all alone.