“You make beating people up sound like poetry.”
His smile widened.“Isn’t it, in a way?”
“Have you ever fought the king?”The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing playfully.“Many times.”
I leaned forward.“And?”
“None compare.I’ve fought countless opponents in my lifetime, but his power…” He shook his head slowly.“Unmatched does not even begin to cover it.”
“I saw Jasila stab him in the pit.”I arched an eyebrow, as if that proved something.
Belshin’s rich and warm laugh filled the space between us.
“Jasila may have landed a blow, but if our king had wanted to continue…” He shook his head again.“She would have been face-down in the dirt before she could blink.”
The conversation lulled, and his expression changed into something softer.More curious.
“Tell me about your home, Elira.”He inclined forward, elbows resting on the table.“I would love to hear about your life before you came here.”
My hands found each other across the wooden surface, fingers interlacing tightly.A familiar ache bloomed in my chest.I cleared my throat, fighting back the tears that always threatened to come when I thought of home.
“It’s honestly not that different from here.”I paused, letting myself remember.“Though it’s much more colourful.Everything here is stone and shadow.Home was… vibrant.”
“I lived with my mother.”Saying it felt like swallowing glass, but I pushed through.“We lived in a small village in the east of Edla, surrounded by rolling green hills that went on forever and forests so dense you could lose yourself for days.”
Belshin remained perfectly still, hands clasped in mirror of my own posture.No interruptions—just patient, unwavering focus, like my memories mattered.
“I can almost smell it,” I whispered, my brows knitting together as phantom scents teased my senses.“Wild roses and fresh bread from the village bakery and that clean smell after summer rain.”The words caught as I spoke.“I miss it so much.”
“It is okay to miss home,” he said gently.“That place, those memories, they are a part of you.They always will be.”
I took a shaky breath, grateful for his understanding.“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
If Tavrik was right about Dream Weavers, maybe Belshin could offer insight without me having to reveal the full horror of my nights.
I chose my words carefully.
“Tavrik mentioned something to me about Dream Weavers.Can you tell me anything about them?”
Something subtly tightened in Belshin’s posture.
“Dream Weavers are Jinn who possess the ability to manipulate the unconscious mind.They can slip into dreams like thieves, weaving visions and nightmares that feel as real as waking life.”
My stomach clenched.“Can any Jinn do this, or—”
“No.”The word came out sharp.“Only the strongest wield this particular power.It requires immense skill and…” He paused, weighing his words before speaking.“A certain darkness of spirit.”
I bit my lip, working up the courage to ask the question that mattered most.
“Can the dreams be stopped?”
He studied my face with those light blue eyes.“Unfortunately, only the Weaver themselves can end it.It is a choice they must make.There is no defence.No way to block their influence once they have chosen you.”
My heart sank.
