Chapter 24

Eyes snapped open, darting around the dimly lit room as her breath came in short, sharp gasps. The lingering tendrils of terror clung to her like cobwebs, refusing to be shaken off even as reality crept back in. She was no longer in that otherworldly landscape but in her own bed, the soft hum of the city whispering through the slightly ajar window.
"Are you alright?" The teacher's voice cut through her disorientation, grounding her.
She turned towards him, his face etched with concern. His glasses were askew on his nose, a clear indication of sleep interrupted. It was evident he had stayed, keeping watch over her through the night after yesterday's exhausting spellcasting lessons had taken their toll.
"I... it was so vivid," she whispered, clutching the bedsheets to steady herself. "The dragon—" Her words tumbled out in a hectic rush, each detail of the dream painting a picture so surreal yet hauntingly tangible.
The teacher listened intently, nodding occasionally, encouraging her to continue. As she recounted the interaction, her eyes never left his face, searching for some sign of understanding, some hint of wisdom that would unravel the meaning of such a fantastical nightmare.
But while her gaze was locked with the teacher’s, she failed to notice the stain marring the white cotton sheet beside her – a blotch of reality stark against the purity of the bed. In her recounting, the sheer fright of the dream veiled the significance of the mark left by the teacher, its presence an unspoken question that lingered unanswered between them.
"Dragons often symbolize deep fears or desires," the teacher finally said, his tone careful, academic, as if dissecting the layers of her subconscious was a mere classroom exercise.
"Desires?" she echoed, the single word hanging heavy between them, laden with implications she was too rattled to explore at this moment.
"Yes," he affirmed, adjusting his glasses. "But also protection, strength. Perhaps your mind is preparing you, forging armor for the challenges ahead."
She nodded, not entirely convinced, but grateful for the attempt at comfort. The remnants of the dream clung stubbornly, but the teacher's presence was a balm, easing the jagged edges of her fear. For now, that would have to be enough.
Her hands trembled slightly as she drew the blanket tighter around her shoulders, the fabric whispering against the skin that, in the light of day, was altogether too human. She closed her eyes, willing the image back to the forefront of her mind, needing to articulate the dream that was already fading at the edges like mist dissolving under the morning sun.
"In the dream, I wasn't... I wasn't myself," she started, her voice a threadbare whisper, almost afraid that speaking it aloud would somehow make it less real—or worse, more so. "I had horns, curved like those of a gazelle, emerging from fiery red hair that cascaded down my back like a waterfall at sunset."
The teacher watched her closely, his analytical gaze not missing the slightest quiver of her lip or the way her fingers subconsciously brushed against her forehead, as if feeling for vestiges of those ethereal appendages.
She continued, her words gaining strength from the vividness of the memory. "And I was taller, towering over everything familiar. My skin..." She glanced down at her arms, half-expecting to see a different hue. "...it was like wheat at the peak of summer, healthy and glowing with life."
"Interesting," he murmured, jotting down notes in the leather-bound journal that never seemed far from his grasp. "Scales are often symbolic of defense mechanisms, a barrier between oneself and perceived threats."
"But these scales," she interjected, "they only covered parts of me, not all." She gestured vaguely towards her limbs, then hastily wrapped the blanket closer around herself, suddenly self-conscious. "It's strange, isn't it? To dream of being so powerful, yet still vulnerable?"
"Quite the contrary," he replied, his pen pausing mid-sentence. "It suggests a balance of sorts—acknowledging one's strengths while being aware of one's limitations."
"Balance," she echoed softly, contemplating the notion. It was a concept that felt foreign in the wake of her terror but resonated somewhere deep within her, in a place that felt oddly reassured by the very idea of it.
Her breath quickened as she recounted the partial armor her dream self wore, scales that shimmered like a patina of protection over her arms and legs. "The scales stopped just at my shoulders and hips," she said, gaze dropping to where her dream skin met the imagined air, vulnerable and yet invigoratingly exposed.
"Exposed?" he prompted, encouraging her to delve deeper into the significance of her dream state.
"Yes," she whispered, a tremor in her voice as the memory enveloped her once more. "There was power in that exposure. I wasn't hiding—"
"Go on," he urged softly, sensing her hesitation.
"Then there was the dragon," she continued, the image burning bright behind her eyes. The beast loomed in her mind's eye, a creature of immense presence and wounded majesty. Its form was sculpted from nightmare and awe, a paradox that held her captive even now. "It was powerful... but hurting," she added, a note of empathy coloring her tone, surprising even herself. "Wounded."
"Tell me about this dragon," he coaxed, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity piqued by her emotional connection to the creature of her subconscious.
"It..." She faltered, grappling with the surreal intimacy of the encounter. "It needed me." Her admission hung between them, charged with an unspoken understanding that transcended the boundaries of mere dreams.
Her breath caught as the enormity of the dragon filled her senses, dwarfing even the grandeur of the college's central fountain statue she passed every day. Its vastness was incomprehensible, a living mountain of myth that strained against the boundaries of her dream world.
"Enormous," she managed to say, her voice a mere whisper, barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "It was larger than any creature should be, commanding the space around it."
Beside her, the teacher nodded, his eyes reflecting a spark of her awe. He remained silent, allowing her to paint the picture with her words.
"Its scales," she continued, her hands unconsciously reaching out as if she could touch the vivid image that lingered in her mind, "were like flames given form—fiery red, each one seemed to burn with its own inner light. They interlocked perfectly, a seamless armor that glinted with every subtle movement."
"Fiery red," he echoed, acknowledging the detail she provided, encouraging her to delve deeper into the vision.
"And the eyes..." Her own eyes widened, mirroring the intensity she recalled. "They were like two glowing embers, red and piercing. They held me... it was as if they saw right through me, capturing everything I am with just a look." She shivered, though whether from fear or fascination, she couldn't tell.
"Captivating," he whispered, nearly to himself, absorbed by the raw emotion she conveyed, a testament to the power of her dream encounter
The world of her dream trembled as the dragon's agony tore through the silence. With a single claw, it pinned her shadow to the ground—a gentle command that belied its monstrous form. Closer now, she could see the wounds marring its fiery red scales; they were gashed open, oozing with dark, polluted blood that seemed to weep from the very essence of the creature.
"Help me," its voice rumbled, not in the language of men, but in a series of deep, resonant tones that she felt more than heard.
Her gaze traced the lines of pain etched across the dragon's hide, feeling an inexplicable pull towards the beast that dominated her dreamscape. The air around them was thick with its suffering, and in this world where reality bent to the surreal, she knew instinctively what the dragon sought from her—relief from a wound no ordinary salve could heal.
With trembling hands that bore the scaled armor of her dream self, she reached out. The dragon's eyes, those twin infernos, watched her with an intensity that should have incited fear, but she found herself moving closer still. It was almost sacred, this task it had given her, and she was compelled by forces she didn't understand.
The heat emanating from the dragon's body was near unbearable as she pressed her palms against the coarse texture of its skin. Beneath her touch, the muscles tensed, the enormity of the creature commanding respect even in its vulnerable state. She acted, guided more by the strange connection that thrummed between them than by any true knowledge of what soothing a dragon entailed.
A shudder rippled through the dragon's frame, and she sensed its release—a culmination of tension and anguish that echoed within her own being. And then the dream began to fade, the edges of that vivid world blurring into the soft light of dawn, leaving behind only the echo of a plea and the warmth of an unfathomable bond.