There were several things Idris considered beneath him.
Meditation was one.
Patience was another. And sleeping according to instructions was absolutely f**king ridiculous.
“This is humiliating,” he announced.
He was lying horizontally across a velvet chaise longue in his Lounge, one arm behind his head, one leg hanging over the side, looking less like a man preparing for an esoteric ritual and more like somebody who had wandered into a very expensive hotel room and decided the furniture belonged to him.
Scarlett stood beside the fireplace, watching him with the expression of a woman who had just discovered a particularly entertaining animal in her house.
“You volunteered.”
“I volunteered for revelation.”
“You were told to sleep.”
“Exactly. Humiliating.”
Nishelle sat cross-legged on the floor beside a low table covered in bowls of salt, dried herbs, a small bronze dish of water, and seven candles.
Idris looked at the arrangement. Then at her. Then back at the arrangement.
“Why are there seven candles?”
“Because seven is traditional in some ritual systems.”
“Why?”
“Because seven.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is if you’re sufficiently mystical.”
Idris grinned. Nishelle did not. She was taking this seriously. That was the problem with Nishelle. She could make seriousness look beautiful. The Lounge had been rearranged for the night. The usual disorder of Idris’s domain had been subdued into something ceremonial. Heavy curtains shut out the Academy corridors. The lamps had been lowered. The air smelled faintly of cedar and something bitter and green.
Dream incubation was old.
In ancient Greek healing sanctuaries dedicated to Asklepios, seekers underwent ritual preparation, purification, prayer and sacrifice before sleeping in sacred spaces, waiting for a dream in which the god might appear and offer a cure or instruction.
Idris had listened to the history for approximately forty seconds before saying:
“So people used to go to temples, sleep, receive divine medical advice and wake up.”
“Yes.”
“Efficient.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
Nishelle narrowed her eyes.
“Why do I dislike that tone?”
“Because you know me.”
“I do.”
Idris smiled.
“And yet you keep inviting me places.”
“I make poor decisions.”
“Finally. Something we agree on.”
From the doorway came a dry voice.
“Some of us call them consequences.”
Shaurya. Of course. He stood against the doorframe, arms folded, expression composed enough to make Idris immediately want to ruin it.
Idris sat up.
“Oh, good. The mountain has arrived.”
Shaurya looked at him.
“The mountain?”
“Unmoving. Judgemental. Difficult to climb.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You absolutely do.”
Shaurya’s eyes moved around the room.
“What is this?”
“Dream incubation.”
“I know what it is.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“I was hoping you would say something sensible.”
Idris laughed. Nishelle closed her eyes.
“This is already going badly.”
“No,” said Idris. “This is going brilliantly.”
Shaurya looked at him.
“You’re supposed to sleep.”
“I will.”
“Quietly.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“It’s sleep.”
“I’m an expressive sleeper.”
“You are an expressive everything.”
Idris smiled slowly.
“There he is.”
“What?”
“The jealousy.”
Shaurya’s expression did not change.
“I am not jealous.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“You implied it.”
“I implied nothing.”
“You implied it with your face.”
“My face is beautiful.”
“It is exhausting.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I received it as one.”
Nishelle looked between them.
“Can we please get through one ritual without turning it into a competition?”
Idris raised a finger.
“Absolutely.”
Shaurya said, “No.”
They both looked at each other. Then Nishelle laughed. It escaped before she could stop it. Idris looked delighted.
“There. Already working.”
“What is?”
“The ritual.”
“How?”
“I made Nishelle laugh.”
“That wasn’t the ritual.”
“It is now.”
Shaurya gave him a long look. Then he left. Idris watched him disappear.
“Beautiful man.”
Nishelle stared at him.
“What?”
“You provoke him deliberately.”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because he makes it so easy.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
She began lighting the candles. Idris watched her. The joking expression remained, but something underneath it sharpened.
“So what exactly am I supposed to ask?”
Nishelle’s hands slowed.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“On what you want to know.”
Idris leaned back. For the first time that evening, he was quiet. Outside, somewhere beyond the heavy curtains, the Academy breathed in its nocturnal silence.
The Cogniverse at night was never entirely asleep. There were corridors where memory wandered. Rooms where old versions of people still sat waiting. Places where thought became architecture and architecture became mood.
Idris looked into the candlelight.
“I want to know what is coming.”
Nishelle considered him.
“That is not usually how incubation works.”
“Then I’ll improve it.”
“You can’t bully a dream.”
His grin returned.
“Watch me.”
That night, Idris followed the ritual. He washed his hands. He ate nothing. He sat in silence. He breathed slowly. He was instructed to hold one question in his mind.
He selected three. Then five. Then seventeen. Eventually Nishelle threatened to leave. So Idris chose one.
What is coming for me?
He lay down.
The room darkened. The candles burned low. Nishelle sat nearby for a while, reading. At some point, Idris heard her close the book. At some point after that, he heard footsteps in the corridor. At some point after that, he heard Shaurya’s voice.
“Is he asleep?”
Nishelle whispered, “Finally.”
“He’s been talking.”
“He talks in his sleep.”
“He talks when awake.”
“That too.”
Silence.
Then:
“Did he ask about Nishelle?”
A pause. Idris, still apparently asleep, smiled. Nishelle whispered:
“Shaurya.”
“What?”
“Go.”
“I was asking a question.”
“You were being obvious.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
Silence. Then footsteps retreating. Idris opened one eye. He was alone. He smiled into the darkness.
“Got you.”
And then he slept.
The dream began with water. Black water. Not frightening. Just impossibly still. Idris stood barefoot on a stone platform in the middle of it. The sky above him was white. Not blue. White. There were no stars. No moon. No sun. Just an enormous blank sky.
“Well,” Idris said.
His voice travelled across the water. Something answered. Not in words. A vibration. Deep beneath his feet. Idris looked down. The stone moved.
Once. A tremor. Then another. He laughed.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
The earth shook. He staggered.
“Okay.”
Another tremor.
“Bit dramatic.”
The water began to ripple. Then Nishelle appeared. She was standing on the opposite side of the black sea.
Barefoot. Still. Looking directly at him. Idris’s grin disappeared.
“Nishelle?”
She lifted one hand. The ground split. A crack tore across the stone between them. Then the entire world lurched. The sea rose. The sky fractured. The Academy appeared in the distance, impossibly tall, its towers bending as the earth rolled beneath them.
Nishelle did not move.
“Nishelle!”
She looked at him. And smiled. Not sweetly. Not sadly. Like she knew something he didn’t. The earth convulsed. Buildings shifted. Bridges folded. The ground opened beneath Idris’s feet.
“NISHELLE!”
She said something. He couldn’t hear it. The world shook harder. And Idris woke up sitting upright.
He stared into the darkness. His heart was hammering. For several seconds he didn’t move.
Then:
“Nishelle causes an earthquake.”
Silence. Idris blinked.
“What?”
He looked around.
“Nishelle causes an earthquake.”
He said it again, as if the sentence might become more reasonable with repetition. It did not. He threw the blanket aside.
“Nishelle causes an earthquake.”
The door opened. Shaurya appeared.
“What happened?”
Idris pointed at him.
“You.”
“What?”
“Get Nishelle.”
“Why?”
“She’s going to destroy the Academy.”
Shaurya stared. Then looked at the clock. Then back at Idris.
“You’ve been asleep for three hours.”
“I know.”
“You had a dream.”
“Yes.”
“You’re aware dreams aren’t generally emergency notices.”
“This one was.”
Shaurya walked into the room.
“What happened?”
Idris stood.
“Nishelle.”
“What about her?”
“She caused an earthquake.”
Shaurya waited. Idris waited. The silence became increasingly ridiculous. Finally Shaurya said:
“That’s your revelation?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what the ritual gave you?”
“Yes.”
“Nishelle causes an earthquake.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Shaurya looked at him.
“Useful.”
“Very.”
“Perhaps the dream is symbolic.”
Idris pointed at him.
“Do not start.”
“Start what?”
“Being reasonable.”
“You asked me.”
“I asked you to find Nishelle.”
“You think she is going to cause an earthquake?”
“I think something is going to happen.”
Shaurya studied him. Idris had stopped smiling. That was what made Shaurya take him seriously.
“What did she say?”
“I couldn’t hear her.”
“What was she wearing?”
Idris blinked.
“What?”
“In the dream.”
“Why?”
“Details matter.”
Idris stared at him.
“You’re analysing my dream now?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I am listening.”
“That’s analysis with better posture.”
Shaurya ignored him.
“What was Nishelle doing?”
“Standing there.”
“Anything else?”
“She smiled.”
Shaurya went quiet. Idris noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No.”
“What?”
“That face.”
“My face is normal.”
“Your face has never been normal.”
Shaurya sighed. Then he said:
“Find Nishelle.”
They found her in the garden. She was sitting beneath the old tree with Clarity, Gabriel and Prashaila. Gabriel was holding a cup of tea. Clarity was holding three. Prashaila was staring at Nishelle with the peculiar expression of someone who had already decided something strange was happening but was waiting for the universe to admit it.
Idris arrived at speed.
“Nishelle.”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
“You.”
“Yes?”
“Earthquake.”
Everyone went silent. Gabriel slowly lowered his cup. Clarity blinked. Prashaila looked at Shaurya. Shaurya looked at the sky. Nishelle stared at Idris.
“What?”
“You caused one.”
“When?”
“In my dream.”
Nishelle’s mouth opened. Then closed. Gabriel began laughing. Idris pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
Gabriel laughed harder. Prashaila covered her mouth. Clarity looked delighted. Shaurya remained completely still. Nishelle looked at Idris.
“I caused an earthquake?”
“Yes.”
“In your dream?”
“Yes.”
“So technically you caused it.”
Idris paused. Gabriel nearly choked. Shaurya’s mouth twitched. Idris pointed accusingly at Nishelle.
“That is exactly the sort of semantic manipulation I expected from you.”
Nishelle laughed. And that was when the real earthquake began. Not beneath their feet. Between them. It started with something so small that nobody would have thought to name it. Nishelle reached across the table to take Gabriel’s cup because he had put it directly in front of her book.
“Sorry,” Gabriel said.
“You’re forgiven.”
She moved the cup. Nothing unusual. Except Idris went completely still. Shaurya noticed. Of course he did. Idris was watching Nishelle. Not because she had done anything remarkable. Because in the dream, just before the world had broken apart, she had smiled exactly like that.
Easy. Unconcerned.
As though destruction were simply another thing happening somewhere nearby. Idris’s stomach tightened. Then Clarity said, “Wait.”
Everyone looked at her. She was staring at the book Nishelle had just moved.
“What?”
Clarity pointed.
“There.”
A folded piece of paper was sticking out from beneath the book. Nishelle frowned.
“I didn’t put that there.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“What’s on it?”
Nishelle pulled it free. There was nothing written on the front. She turned it over. One sentence. In handwriting nobody recognised.
YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT YOU ASKED.
The garden went silent. Idris looked at Shaurya. Shaurya looked at Idris. Gabriel stopped smiling. Prashaila slowly stood.
“Who put that there?”
Nobody answered. Nishelle looked genuinely unsettled. Idris reached for the paper. She pulled it away.
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re enjoying this.”
“I am absolutely enjoying this.”
“You’re enjoying being frightened.”
“I’m not frightened.”
“You’re grinning.”
“I grin when I’m frightened.”
“That’s concerning.”
“It’s charming.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Shaurya took the paper from Nishelle. Idris immediately stopped smiling. Shaurya read it once. Then again. His expression changed so slightly that only Prashaila seemed to notice.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
Idris laughed.
“There it is.”
Shaurya looked at him.
“What?”
“The face.”
“I don’t have a face.”
“You have several.”
“Idris.”
“You think this is connected.”
“I think it’s a piece of paper.”
“Liar.”
Shaurya folded it.
“We don’t know who wrote it.”
“Exactly.”
“That means nothing.”
“Exactly.”
Gabriel looked between them.
“I feel like I’m missing something.”
“You are,” said Clarity.
“What?”
“Everyone is.”
Nishelle looked down at her hands. Then she said quietly:
“I remember something.”
The room changed. Idris’s grin disappeared. Shaurya’s shoulders tightened.
“What?”
Nishelle looked at Idris.
“I remember you asking me something last night.”
Idris stared at her.
“I wasn’t here.”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“But you were in my dream.”
Nobody moved. Idris’s expression became almost boyishly delighted.
“Oh, that’s interesting.”
Shaurya closed his eyes.
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You’re about to.”
“I absolutely am.”
Nishelle looked irritated.
“You were standing in the garden.”
Idris leaned closer.
“What did I say?”
“You asked me what was coming.”
Idris stopped. The same question. The exact same question he had asked before sleeping.
“What did you say?”
Nishelle looked at him.
“I don’t remember.”
Idris smiled.
“Of course you don’t.”
Then, from somewhere beyond the garden, a door slammed. Everyone turned. Nobody was there. A moment later, another door slammed. Then another. One after the other. Across the Academy.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The sound travelled through the corridors like a message being passed from room to room. Gabriel stared toward the building.
“Is that normal?”
“No,” said Prashaila.
Another door slammed.
Then another. Idris started laughing. Not because it was funny. Because the alternative was admitting that his skin had gone cold. Nishelle looked at him.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing the face again.”
“My face is magnificent.”
“Idris.”
He looked at her. And suddenly the dream came back with horrible clarity. Not the earthquake. Not the broken Academy. Not the black water. The smile. The way Nishelle had looked at him just before everything changed.
He had assumed the dream was showing him destruction. Perhaps it had been showing him something much simpler. A person entering a room. A hand moving a cup. A sentence appearing on paper. A look lasting half a second too long.
One tiny disturbance after another. Until everyone was standing somewhere different from where they had begun. Idris looked around the garden. Shaurya was watching him.
Prashaila was watching Nishelle. Gabriel was watching Shaurya. Clarity was watching everyone. And Nishelle was watching Idris.
There it was. The earthquake. Not the ground. The arrangement. Something had shifted.
No one knew who had moved first. Idris folded his arms.
“So,” he said.
Nobody answered. He smiled.
“I think my dream was right.”
Shaurya looked at him.
“About the earthquake?”
Idris glanced at Nishelle.
“No.”
He looked at the paper in Shaurya’s hand.
“I think it was about her.”
Nishelle frowned.
“What about me?”
Idris’s grin returned.
“I have absolutely no idea.”
And that was the problem. Because for the first time, Idris wasn’t sure whether he had dreamed the disturbance before it happened… or whether the disturbance had been happening all along, and his dream had simply arrived early enough to notice.