In the remote and forgotten lands, where maps fall silent and travelers lose their way, stretched the Cursed Marshes. These expanses, covered in eternal mist, seemed alive. The trees with twisted trunks stretched their roots like greedy fingers, and invisible whispers drifted through the heavy air, as if the shadows themselves were conspiring. No one dared venture there, for it was said that every step on this land echoed in the ears of ancient and hostile entities, guardians of secrets too dark for humankind.
Deep within these marshes, hidden behind a wall of thorns and enchantments, lay the lair of a malevolent entity. Its true name was unknown, only the traces of its work: lost souls, devoured dreams, and a cold that seemed to absorb all hope. In its domain, no light penetrated. The ponds reflected nonexistent skies, and each reflection seemed to promise endless despair.
In this cursed place, a small fairy, fragile and luminous, was held prisoner. Her wings, once shimmering, had grown dull, weighed down by chains of shadow. She barely remembered freedom: for years, the entity had kept her captive, knowing the value of such a prisoner. The fairy possessed a rare power: she had been born of angelic spheres, a spark of purity capable of touching the souls of dreamers and illuminating their visions. But this gift, imprisoned within the marshes, was slowly fading away.
One day, however, destiny drew a crack in eternity. An old mage, solitary and discreet, stopped at the edge of the Cursed Marshes. He was known as the Keeper of the Secrets of Dreams. A traveler of the visible and invisible worlds, he had spent his life deciphering the languages of sleep and gathering the fragments of the unconscious. His eyes, clouded with age, saw beyond reality. Guided by mysterious signs, he sensed that a great imbalance was arising in these lands and that a spark of hope was being held captive.
Armed with his rune-carved staff, he entered the marshes. Shadows assailed him, illusions misled him, but each step was supported by the quiet strength of a seasoned spirit. At night, he drew circles of protection; by day, he traced glowing glyphs in the mud to repel the darkness. At last, after a path strewn with deceptive visions, he discovered the lair of the entity.
The confrontation was terrible. Winds howled, waters boiled, and shadows took shape to tear the air apart. The mage, despite his age, summoned a light from the depths of his soul. Each of his incantations resounded like a thunderclap, and every burst of energy dispelled a layer of darkness. The fairy, in her prison, felt her heart beat stronger, as if a promise of deliverance was approaching.
At last, in a final effort, the mage shattered the chains of shadow. The entity let out a silent cry, retreating into its darkness, wounded but not destroyed. The fairy was free. Yet the victory was bitter. The mage, struck in the heart by a treacherous shadow, collapsed. His strength was leaving him; he knew his mortal body would not survive.
Then, he called the fairy to him. His hands trembled, but in his eyes shone the serenity of one who has fulfilled his duty. He handed the little creature an object of strange beauty: a key forged from an unknown metal, iridescent like a dream being born.
— Listen to me, little fairy, he said, his voice trembling like a wavering flame. This key is the work of my life: the Key of Dreams. It opens what is closed, reveals what is hidden. The entity imprisoned you because it knows your destiny. For centuries, it has deprived humans of their most precious power: to understand their dreams. It severs them from their souls, making them wander far from their true nature. But you… you are the purest soul of the angelic realm. It is up to you to mend this wounded world.
The mage coughed, his words slowing, but each one weighed like a prophecy.
— Travel the world. Find every dreamer, every troubled spirit. Decipher their dreams, reveal their fears, their hopes, their secret messages. For dreams are lanterns that guide the soul, and without them, humankind is lost. For this mission, you shall bear a name: Oraclia. Remember, every dream you touch rekindles an extinguished light.
And as his fingers released the key, the mage’s breath faded away. The silence of the marshes grew deep, almost reverent.
The little fairy, now Oraclia, felt her wings regain their brilliance. In her eyes shone both sorrow and determination. She flew off into the night, carrying within her the sacred mission: to return dreams to humankind, to open the gates of the dreamworld, and to rekindle one by one the slumbering lights of humanity.