🌌 The Scent of Silence
Oraclia walked on, carried by the whisper of a wind with no direction. Since she had crossed the second arch, the Garden seemed to have folded in on itself, as if it were holding its breath. Here, even the light had a scent: that of a memory one has never lived, that of a dream forgotten before it even began.
🌸 The Chamber of Sleeping Flowers
The clearing suddenly opened, circular, perfect. At its center lay an immense bed of translucent flowers, suspended between blooming and slumber. Their petals pulsed slowly, like fragile heartbeats. Oraclia felt a vibration climb into her chest. A sensation soft… almost familiar. “You are entering the Chamber of Sleeping Flowers,” murmured a voice. “Here rest the dreams that have not yet found their dreamer.” She turned around: a tiny being, as light as a paper lantern, floated above the ground. Its body was made of iridescent mist; its eyes, two small nocturnal embers. It was an Hypnoli, guardian of wandering dreams.
🌙 The Orphan Dreams
The Hypnoli invited her to come closer. Oraclia placed her hand on the first flower. A wave crossed her mind — a brief, jagged, incomplete vision:
• a child running through a corridor of shadow,
• a silver-winged bird drowning in the mist,
• a voice repeating: “Come back… come back…”
She withdrew her hand, unsettled. “These visions are searching for a harbor,” the Hypnoli explained. “The Garden protects them until a soul is ready to receive them.” Oraclia then understood that these flowers were not plants. They were possibilities. Fragments of destiny.
🌫️ The Breath of the Bad Dream
A shiver suddenly rippled through the entire Garden. The flowers closed, as if frightened. The ground began to tremble — softly at first, then insistently. The Hypnoli paled. “The Breath of the Bad Dream… it is coming.” A dark mist slid between the trees, creeping. It seemed alive, hungry. Oraclia felt her throat tighten: this fog had the same presence as the one in her own dream, the one that, just the night before, had erased a face she had tried to hold onto. The oneiric creature moved toward the clearing, and the flowers, one by one, faded out.
🔥 The Awakening of a Flower
Without thinking, Oraclia reached toward the nearest flower. She wanted to protect it, even just one. A ray of light rose from her chest — a light she had never seen before, but which recognized her own name. The flower opened abruptly. It unfurled large petals of glass and light, like a miniature star. The Bad Dream recoiled, hissing, torn by the brilliance. The Hypnoli stared at her, stunned. “You awakened a flower… impossible… unless…” He approached, trembling. “Oraclia, you may not be just a visitor. You may be… a Dreambearer.”
🌟 The Secret Cracks Open
As the threat faded, the awakened flower remained suspended above Oraclia’s hand, as if attached to her breath. It glowed softly, like a fragment of a rediscovered soul. The Hypnoli whispered: “Hypnos will know what this means. But every answer has a price. Are you ready to cross the third arch?” Oraclia felt something — deep within her, in a place where invisible threads are woven — open. She lifted her eyes toward the still-dark path ahead. And answered: “I am ready.”
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