Page 9 of Phixmery

“But you’re not a null, Ravina,” a voice growls somewhere in my mind as the wind whistles and more pain rips through my body.

Warm, wet blood drips down my body and sizzles as it hits the once crisp white snow beneath me. A cry of pure anguish surges past my lips for how my life turned out. For how alone I feel. How cruel the world is.

A raven’s cry in the distance echoes my own, a comfort, a piece of my soul that always flies free above the clouds, where nothing and no one can reach. A longing burrows deep beneath my flesh to be just like that raven.

“Come to me, Ravina. It’s time to leave that nightmare behind,” the voice cajoles.

The scene changes and I’m laying in the snow, surrounded by gorgeous white flowers with nothing but a clear sky to greet me above. There’s no pain, only peace.

My hand lazily drifts over to the flowers, their leafless stalks huddled together to keep warm. It’s like they can’t help but admire the cool, fluffy flakes that surround them. Their three long slender petals stretch as if one day they might feel the cloud-like substance.

I sit up and take in more of the surroundings, breathing in the crisp air. It’s always the same when I get pulled here, although it hasn’t happened in a while. Mountains stretch far off in the distance, nothing but towering shadows over-looking the rolling fields of flowers. My eyes drag along the horizon, looking for the creature that guards this place. And when I spot him, something in my chest settles. The enormous white dragon soars through the sky, coming from the mountains, and lands a good distance away from me before curling up in the snow, his giant yellow serpentine eyes staring at me. He never comes closer, but his presence is an icy balm to the horrors of my life. I lay in the snow that lacks cold and admire the beast. His pale scales glint in the sun, with different sized spikes running along his back and smaller versions along its jaw and head. Talons almost the length of me are wickedly sharp, and flex into the earth as its head snakes towards the ground while it gets comfortable. Beautifully horrifying.

We bask together in silent company within the dreamscape and I let my spirit rest, knowing that when I wake up I’ll miss this place with every part of my being, even though I don’t understand why I’m even here or how it’s possible. I’m always lucid here, aware that I’m in a sleeping state somewhere in the real world, but this place always feels corporal to me.

The dragon lifts his head, its gaze piercing my soul. “It’s time to wake up, Little Dream.”

MY BREATH CATCHES in my throat as I jerk upright in my bed, darkness and the light snores of the others in the room surrounding me. Taking a deep breath, I rub the ache left in my chest; phantom burning drags down from the center to the top of my navel, just like every time I wake up from that peculiar yet beautiful place.

My hand drags across my eyes and I nearly hiss at the muscle aches and cuts from yesterday’s trial as I wait for the lingering vestiges of my dream to wear off.

When the pang diminishes, I grab my packet off the side table and open it. Squinting, I use the light of the moon to look for the map of Phixmery I briefly glimpsed last night before succumbing to sleep. Grabbing it, the uniform and boots, I softly pad barefoot, using the balls of my feet as I cross the chilling stone floor and head out of the chamber, past where nine other cadets are sleeping.

It’s a miracle I slept at all with all the strangers surrounding me—I must have been utterly drained. I need to be careful and more aware about my surroundings; I can’t let my guard down like that again. There’s rumors about how ruthless this place is, that they don’t care if the cadets are at each other’s throats. But I’m not sure how true that is, and I’d rather not find out.

A breath releases from my chest as I force my shoulders to relax, stretching out my neck to relieve the tension that’s trying to seep into my bones. Shuffling the items in my arms, I peer at the map, looking for any indications or where the showers are, hoping they aren’t too far from the chambers.

Finally locating them, I start down the spiral staircase to the second floor, opening the door to a long corridor with a single door on each side. One for males, the other for females. The door creaks on its hinges as I push the appropriate door open and marvel at the vastness of the space. Twenty shower stalls line the one side of the room, all with shining wooden doors that have wide openings at both the top and bottom, while toilet stalls and sinks line the other side. The space is lit with black steel candle chandeliers—three to be precise—spaced evenly along the ceiling. My gaze catches on a cupboard filled with clean towels and next to it a wicker hamper.

Deciding not to delay any further, I deposit my things inside the nearest stall before grabbing two towels and heading back to my belongings, shutting and locking the door firmly behind me. Inside the stall there’s a bench, two hooks and the shower itself, with a single metal chain to turn it on and off. I swiftly strip off my tattered, dirty clothes, leaving my necklace on, and face what I’m hoping will be pure bliss. I don’t even remember the last time I had a warm shower—it’s usually cloth baths in my underthings in case someone waltzes into my tiny hut.

“Fates,” I murmur as my eyes dart around the space, not seeing any type of soap. Wrapping a towel around me, I peer out the door, making sure the coast is clear before my gaze lands on the sinks. Perfect. I dart out of my stall and gather one of the bars along the edge before racing back to safety behind the door, the lock echoing in time with my pounding heart.

Without wasting any more precious moments, I pull the chain and it clicks, and water slowly pours from the ceiling in a single stream albeit a bit on the chilly side, making me groan in disappointment. I wash up, trying to ignore the vast amount of scarring that litters my pale skin. Once the water runs clear and the dirt and sweat that’s been clinging to me for who knows how long is gone, I turn off the water and dry myself off before grabbing the uniform, leaving the towel in my hair.

The pants are dull black leather that I think is supposed to cling to your skin but hangs a bit loosely on my thighs, hips and calves. Thankfully there’s a belt to help keep them up. A tight white tunic is next, and I tuck into the leathers before donning the loose black button-up tunic with the Phixmery dragon insignia on the left breast and the word ‘cadet’ stitched elegantly into the left arm. Once the last silver button is done up, I lace up my boots and exit the stall, making sure to grab all my belongings, leaving the space exactly how I found it, although a bit wet. I pull the towel out of my wet hair and toss them both haphazardly into the hamper, and then start to finger-comb my hair as quickly as possible, worried that someone is going to walk in at any moment.

I debate on putting the soap back on the counter next to the sink, but decide to take it with me, not knowing when I’d need it again.

As I get back into my shared chambers, I open the door to everyone awake and getting ready. A fae female with blood-red eyes and long, pin-straight black hair glances up at me, dismissing me just as quickly. It’s then I promise myself I’ll get up early every morning to shower, not trusting the other females who’re here; fates, I don’t think I trust anyone outside of Nero.

I feel for our connection and sense him somewhere outside the castle close to me, and I send feelings of confidence to him, even if I’m nervous and pissed for having to be here.

Heading straight to my bed, I place my dirty clothing in the bag I brought so it doesn’t soil any of the uniforms, promising myself that as soon as I have some free time, I will wash my items.

“Your hair is supposed to be up in a single plait down the middle of your back,” a voice grumbles off to my side, and I turn my head slightly to see the female who helped me to the South Tower last night.

Hesitantly, I touch my wet, semi-unkempt locks and she must see the panic in my eyes because she huffs and raises off her bed, gesturing for me to spin around. Panic clogs my throat. Having my back to someone like this feels uncomfortable, and I’m not sure exactly how to deal with that. I know, she isn’t going to pull out a whip and go to town, but the pain from the last time has me wincing. If she notices, she says nothing.

Pivoting, I hold my breath and she makes quick work of combing through the matted tresses and tying back my locks until they are tight against my scalp, my breath coming in barely noticeable pants as I fight the unreasonable fear. She’s never done anything to you, I remind myself, forcing my breaths to stay steady.

When she’s done, I inhale deeply and spin towards her. “Thank you…” My words drag off as I realize that we never exchanged names yesterday.

She jerks her head in a curt nod. “Cadet Yearwood.”

I give her a small nod in return. “Well, thank you Cadet Yearwood. I’m Cadet Solace,” I say, mimicking her use of last names.

Without saying another word, she grabs her one of the packets we each found on our bed and heads for the door, presumably heading towards the orientation this morning. I go to follow her but Bracken blocks my path and frustration overcomes the mini panic I just forced myself to sit through.

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