Prologue: Adrift in the Void

A pale light shone in the distance, at the edge of the black, accompanied by a cool breeze. Slowly, it drifted closer, gradually expanding, gathering detail. An island, albeit a small one, was taking shape now. Something glowed on its surface. Was it that pool that was shyly revealing itself? Despite its shimmering beauty, when it finally dropped its garments, a shroud of distance, it was not the source of illumination.
  But beside the pool, growing larger with each second as the island bloomed into the springtime of vision, a radiant figure appeared, its shining white light cast onto the few details the floating piece of land was home to. There was a tree, old and gnarled, but still displaying a full crown of leaves, and a few scattered stones dispersed around the pool. The faint sound of rushing wind brushed gently by.
  Bare feet touched down, descending elegantly from above to find purchase on one of the smooth stones. On the tree, emerald foliage rose and fell heavily, regularly. It became apparent that the breeze was being generated by the deep and steady breathing of the tree itself, which was in a thick and wakeless slumber. Beneath its twisted branches, the figure lay, cold, gleaming and robed in white. They respired in complete synchronization.
  Upon closer examination, it appeared to be a man, although very feminine, but his frame was large, the features exaggerated in an exotic, graceful way. His long-lashed eyes were closed in peaceful sleep, his head cushioned from the ground by buxom, striking blonde curls. Searching hands recoiled as they touched warm liquid on bare flesh. Sticky red blood coated shaking fingertips, clinging even as it was wiped on grass. The hands went to the pool, seeking to cleanse the substance. It was then that a large voice echoed around the little island.
  'Yeulid. I would not do that.'
  Startled, Yeulid stumbled rearwards and fell onto his back. For a moment he lay, listening to the breathing of the tree and the figure. He turned his head to the side. A thin stream of blood trickled from a wound on the sleeping man's ribs, wandering in a strange pattern and emptying into the pool in a cloud of red. A sudden moan of pain, and the pale light dimmed, returned.
  'Why?' His reply was shaded with fear.
  The voice, though extreme in presence, was soft and sincere of tone. 'Because I would not have you die just yet.'
  A wave of nasuea swept over him. 'Who are you?'
  'My name is not important. What is important, is how you arrived here. Can you tell me?'
  Yeulid thought for a moment, his brow knitting in concentration.
  'Yes. I saw this dream floating beside my own, and I followed the light.'
  'Good. I was calling you, and you answered. Now, what can you tell me about this dream? Be as descriptive as you can.'
  Out of chance, Yeulid scratched his arm, and then let out a brief cry. 'I can feel. My senses seem almost... real.'
  There was a long pause, and the light faded again. At length it returned.
  'You are in the dream of a being you might call a god. Your whole existence is present here - you have brought with you your body and your soul. There is no one lying in your bed right now, save for the woman you went to sleep with last night.'
  He wanted to believe it was just a dream, that he had had too much wine that evening. That maybe the girl had slipped something into his cup and then robbed him in the night. A prefferable alternative to the events currently unfolding. Something told him, though, that this was more than a dream. His senses were not lying to him.
  'If I die here, will I cease to exist?'
  An overwhelming weight in the air told him it was so.
  'Why have you summoned me?'
  A great wind stole over the island like a sigh. It ruffled the hair of the sleeping man, which made Yeulid recall something familiar. He frowned, trying to remember. That face. Those eyes. There was something...
  Like a blow to the stomach, realization struck. The figure was him.
  'Am I dying?'
  'Yes, you are dying,' came the voice. 'And so am I.'
  The tree heaved and shuddered, and Yeulid saw several dry, dead leaves drift out of its branches. One fluttered down to land on Yeulid's sleeping face.
  'It is very important you do not touch this pool, Yeulid. It is dangerous to come into contact with your own dream source. It is vital that your kind remain unware of the origin of their dreams. It could ruin everything.'
  He should have been more alarmed by this revelation, and the news of his impending death, but a feeling of comfort and wisdom surrounded him.
  'Ruin everything for who?'
  'For everyone,' came the reply. 'Your people hold so much in the palm of their hands that they do not even realize.'
  'Why are you dying? I thought a god was immortal.'
  The creak of wood and bark emanated from the tree, sounding something like laughter.
  'You call us gods because you do not understand our existence. We are beings of this universe, and like you we are bound by its laws. There are simply some you are not yet aware of. Now, enough chatter. We have a great task ahead of us, if we want to survive.'
  Silence loomed and the blackness encroached again. Yeulid could hear a curious sound, like a splash of water, but distorted and bent. When the glow returned, he saw where the noise was coming from. In the center of the pool, small droplets of water were traveling in reverse, moving upwards to disappear into the void above. Drip by drip, the pool was draining.
  'The same thing is happening to each of your kind. If the dream source is emptied, your species will be no more, and I shall vanish into the very edges of reality, unable to shape and mold as I was meant to do. We are linked, you and I.'
  Yeulid was beginning to feel dizzy as he tried to grasp what the voice was saying. He had learned many things in his twenty-two years of life, but this exceeded anything he had discovered before.
  'How?'
  'I do not know.' The voice was genuinely puzzled. 'I have no answer to that question. All I know is that you have been revealed to me as the only one of your kind who has a link with one of us.'
  For the first time, he looked down at himself. He looked normal enough. He was still wearing the beige tunic from the night before, which he had spilled wine onto the cuff of. His fur cloak, leather boots, tight black leggings. A bag of coins on his wide belt at one side. His precious sword at rest in its scabbard at the other.
  'Where are we going, then?' If he was going to try to live, he determined, he might as well start as soon as possible.
  'I cannot leave this place, Yeulid. But if we are going to succeed in our task, we will need help. You must seek out an old friend of mine. I do not know by what name or shape he goes where he is now. You must find him and explain the situation. He can tell you much about the world of dreams and about your abilities here, but you must first earn his trust. Show him who you really are.'
  'And who am I really?' He had removed his sword and was running a whetstone along its blade.
  'Only you can answer that, but you must find out. And Yeulid, you will not need that weapon.'
  Not knowing where else to look, he turned his gaze on the tree. Its breathing had become a bit more regular again. His other self slept eerily beneath its swaying branches. The pale light flared and dimmed in time with the tree. Disturbed by the sight, he looked away and sheathed his sword.
  'You never know. If nothing else, it's a comfort to me.'
  'Very well. Then let our journey begin.'
His feet lifted from the ground and the island slowly slipped away beneath him. After a time, he was alone in the void, drifting silently save for the volume of his thoughts. The minutes began to drag, and he found himself dozing off. How long he slept, he could not say, but when he awoke, another glowing light could be seen in the distance. This one was more yellow, warmer than the pale white of the island before. As he drew nearer, the twisted shadows of trees materialized around him. The blackness did not lessen, but the brightness of the light intensified. Then his feet came to stand on a path, and a dark forest crowded in, bringing the sounds of night with it. Ahead, in the gloom, the yellow orb of light weaved this way and that, hovering above the ground. Yeulid squinted against its glare, lifting a hand to his eyes. Suddenly it dimmed, and a young woman lifted a lantern up to her face about ten yards away. 
  'Who goes there?'
  'My name is Yeulid. I am a traveller,' was all he could think to say.