Page 132 of Whisper of Nightmares

Asvald steadies her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She breathes deeply, then begins.

“Oh, valiant watchers of the night. Oh, mighty defenders of darkness and light—” Kelda bellows like a storm. Wind twists around the room, starting small before expanding. Encircling them and the dream ward. Kelda continues. “Oh, wise guardians of those who slumber, we beseech you to scour your reaches—north, south, east, and west. Find the lost soul named Dagfinn Varinsson.”

The gale in the room grows harsher.

Dagfinn’s name whips around the room with it.

A whisper.

A growl.

A scream.

Loose strands of hair whip Kelda in the face, Euphemia too.

The stones in the walls begin to quake and Euphemia slams onto her knees, clutching Dagfinn’s hand. Asvald keeps a firm hand around Kelda’s shoulders, whose eyes have gone pure white. But her lips keep moving, the words of the incantation spewing freely. Inhumanly. An ominous echo in her throat as if she is not the only one speaking.

“Guide him through the shadows. Guide him back into our light.” Kelda screams now, the gale so powerful, it’s the only way she can be heard through it. “Guide him home. Guide him back to this body. Guide him here. Now!”

Suddenly, the wind ceases.

Kelda staggers, her irises returning.

“Kelda! Are you alright?” Asvald grabs her, concern etching his brow.

“I’m fine.” She waves him off, breathless.

Kelda stares at the dream ward in her hand as if she doesn’t recognize it. But blinking, awareness returns to her.

She lifts Dagfinn’s pillow and nestles the dream ward beneath it.

Then Kelda kneels on the other side of the bed.

And they wait.

And wait.

And wait.

As the minutes tick by, Kelda shifts between standing, kneeling, and sitting, her body in constant motion.

The more time that passes, the more Euphemia’s heart sinks.

She truly thought this would work. They all did. And she wonders if this is what it’s felt like every time they’ve attempted to save him. Hope building, brick by brick, just to crumble at their feet.

Only Euphemia knows that there is another chance.

It seems cruel at this point not to tell Kelda.

But as Euphemia starts to consider it, Dagfinn’s fingers spasm in the palm of her hand.

Euphemia jumps, a paper-thin gasp escaping her as she stares at his hand.

“What is it?” Kelda asks.

“I thought I felt him move, but⁠—”