The Festival of Dreams lit the floating island of Ianu in ribbons of color and scents. Lanterns spun in the breeze between woven trees. Laughter echoed from the stone courtyards. Nyla stood near the community oven, flour dusted on her arms, helping her friends press the last folds of the Nooni cake, A spiral of honeyed fruit and spiced root paste wrapped in soft, golden dough.
"Too much icing," Tevi muttered, adjusting her headscarf as the cake bulged.
"Too little courage," Nyla shot back with a grin.
They all laughed. This cake was a tradition meant to honor dreams, family, and the memory of those who came before. Nyla wore her great-grandmother's necklace beneath her tunic. The weight of it pressed against her heart. Just a family keepsake, she'd always thought. A fragment of a woman whispered about in half stories and myths.
Bells chimed. The judging had begun.
The village square buzzed with anticipation as the elder, a wiry woman with white braids and stern eyes, approached their table. She nodded approvingly at the Nooni cake, sliced it with a delicate shell knife, and raised a steaming piece to her lips.
Then the ground moaned.
It was not the sound of stone shifting. It was something deeper, older, like the island itself had come to life.
The square lurched. plates crashed. Screams cut through the air.
Nyla stumbled back, heart hammering. She looked past the crowd as trees in the distance curled in on themselves, bark splitting, leaves turning white and brittle like ash in the wind.
Then came the crack.
A jagged seam tore through the festival grounds, snaking through the earth and stone like lightning frozen in dirt. People ran; some fell. Others shouted warnings, prayers, and names.
Nyla stared as the crack splintered again, then turned.
It was coming toward her.
The earth ripped a gash just beyond the oven. It growled as dirt spilled into the darkness. The crack twisted unnaturally, weaving past fallen tables and upturned carts, carving a path straight to where she stood.
Terror surged through her. She grabbed the necklace, clutching it with trembling fingers, and closed her eyes.
The world screamed.
And then, whispers came.
Fast. Layered. Too many voices to count, rushing around her like thunder in reverse.
They circled her.
Then they stopped.
Silence fell like a dropped curtain. The wind was gone. The ground was still.
Nyla opened her eyes.
The crack had halted at her feet, frozen mid-split.
The festival had gone silent. Everyone stared.
And the necklace, for the first time in her life, was warm against her skin.
[Author's note]
Hey there, and welcome to Dreamcrest: The World Calls to Us!
This story means a lot to me. It's about courage, ancestry, magic, and discovering strength in the face of the unknown. If you enjoy emotional journeys and elemental powers, you're in for something special.
I'll be updating regularly, so feel free to follow the story, add it to your library, and leave a comment. I'd love to hear what you think!
Thanks for reading,– Stephon Burke(DreamFactor Studios)