THE BROKEN DREAMS

Fred hadn't truly slept.

The first light of dawn crept through the broken shutters of the inn, casting pale lines across the cracked floor.

Clara was already awake, sitting by the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

Neither spoke.

The silence was no longer heavy—it was suffocating.

Fred rose stiffly and slipped on his worn boots, motioning wordlessly toward the door.

Clara only nodded.

---

The village square was deserted, save for a figure standing by the old dry well.

A tall man, wrapped in a dark cloak, hood pulled low over his face.

Fred felt a shiver creep up his spine.

There was something... wrong about him.

Yet Fred found himself walking closer, compelled by some invisible thread.

The man looked up as Fred approached, revealing a face that was both young and ancient, features sharpened by shadows.

His eyes were a piercing silver—inhuman, unsettling.

Without introduction, the man spoke.

"You've lost something."

Fred stiffened.

The words cut deeper than he cared to admit.

"Who are you?" Fred asked cautiously.

The man only smiled thinly, as if the question amused him.

"Names matter less than deeds, boy. And your deeds... are still unwritten."

Fred frowned, instinct screaming at him to turn away, but curiosity rooted him to the spot.

The stranger reached into his cloak and withdrew a small, battered object—something that gleamed faintly even in the pale morning light.

A locket.

Old, dented, but unmistakable.

Fred's breath caught in his throat.

It was his mother's.

The locket she had worn always.

The one he had thought lost the night the fire consumed everything.

---

The man dangled the locket before Fred, the chain swinging hypnotically.

"Take it," he murmured, voice like velvet and ash.

Fred's hand inched forward—but Clara's voice, sharp and afraid, broke the spell.

"Fred, don't!"

He turned.

Clara stood a few paces away, her face pale, eyes wide with terror.

Fred hesitated.

The man's smile grew wider, revealing teeth far too sharp.

"Be careful, boy," he whispered.

"Some things lost are better left unfound."

Before Fred could move, the stranger dropped the locket into the dry well.

It fell in utter silence—no echo, no splash.

Gone.

The man tipped an invisible hat toward Fred and Clara and vanished—simply blinked out of existence, leaving only the empty air.

---

Fred stumbled toward the well's edge, peering into the darkness.

Nothing.

No locket.

No sign of the stranger.

Only the endless hollow.

Clara moved beside him, laying a trembling hand on his arm.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Fred didn't pull away.

He stood there, the ghost of loss clawing at his heart, feeling her warmth beside him.

Maybe... maybe not all was lost yet.

He turned to her.

Their eyes met—

—and for the first time in weeks, something flickered in the abyss between them.

Not a full bridge.

Not yet.

But perhaps... the first stone.

---