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Chapter 794: A Sweet Dream

When Roland opened his eyes, he felt the weight on his arm.

He tilted his head carefully. Anna lay on her side, her cheek pillowed on his arm, lips curved in the faint upward bow of a good dream.

Still here. He could still come back.

He slid his arm free with the patience of someone defusing something precious, sat up, and drew the quilt over her before leaving the room.

In the corridor, the guarding soldiers snapped upright and saluted. He waved them down without ceremony and went to the hall on the first floor.

Phyllis stood at the center of it, staring at her own hands.

She turned them over, pressed them together, and turned them again — still disbelieving the sensation in her fingers, the weight of her own palms against each other.

The first possibility, then. The Dream World remains under the control of his consciousness. When he wakes, the world stills — and what does not belong is expelled from it.

When she heard him, she looked up, pressed her lips together, and managed a smile. “Your Majesty. I woke from the dream.”

A God’s Punishment Witch who had endured centuries as an immortal soul — of course she would have considered staying. The Dreamland offered things her stone-and-spirit existence could not: sensation, taste, warmth, the simple reality of her own body. It would have been strange if the thought hadn’t crossed her mind.

That she had set it aside anyway — for the Taquila witches, for the Battle of Divine Will, for a hatred of demons that had outlasted her flesh — that still earned his admiration.

“We’re not finished yet,” Roland said, and smiled. “We’ve only completed half the test. We won’t know whether the result is reliable until we run it again. Come — let’s continue here.”

Phyllis blinked. “Won’t you return to your room?”

“That might wake Anna.” He shook his head and spoke a few words to one of the guards, who widened his eyes considerably before setting about following the order without complaint.

A quarter-hour later, the long table in the living room was covered with a soft layer of cushions and quilts.

Roland slept alone at its center, guarded by a ring of thoroughly bewildered soldiers. Phyllis waited in the hall with the others for the light.

Falling asleep again proved difficult. It always was, once wakefulness had reset him — and tonight of all nights, when the answer to a puzzle was waiting. He turned for several hours. Dawn was close by the time his mind finally let go.

The Dream World resumed at once.

Outside the window, neon lights still blinked against the dark. Inside, the ladder stood where they had left it, and Phyllis’s eyes cleared slowly from the dreamy opacity, then widened.

She looked down at Roland, then back at her hands, then at him again.

“Your Majesty — is this real? Or am I still dreaming?”

He couldn’t help but smile.

The answer didn’t matter much — not to her. Whether it was a dream or a true world, it was a world where she could feel things again. After hundreds of years of assuming a stone body so as to keep fighting, after the slow bleeding of cost against hope, she had finally been given back what she had given away.

What the answer was, was secondary to the fact that it was real enough.


They stayed only a short time.

Roland had assumed that she would want to go out immediately — to see more of the city, to try every restaurant she could locate. Instead, Phyllis knelt in front of him and asked permission to bring the news back to her companions. She promised that the Taquila survivors would remember his kindness, and would give him everything they had.

He did not respond immediately.

It wasn’t reluctance. He had no real objection to welcoming the Taquila witches — their potential as explorers and scholars in this world was considerable, and whatever happened after the Battle of Divine Will, they would need somewhere to go. But the practical questions were real: food, shelter, space. Zero was already suspicious of Phyllis; he could not convincingly claim that a hundred additional witches were distant relatives.

Zero was the other creator of this Dream World. He did not intend to involve her in any of this. The witches would need separate accommodations — an apartment building, perhaps — and the day-to-day cost of feeding that many people was not trivial.

After thinking through it, he decided: let the witches solve the practical problems themselves. He would open the door; they would walk through it on their own terms.

His silence had given Phyllis the wrong impression. She pressed her other knee to the floor, a gesture that the Taquila records reserved for moments of absolute petition — below even the ordinary salute — and begged him not to refuse her companions entry.

Roland tried to pull her up. She insisted.

When he finally explained what he had actually been thinking, she let out a long breath and sat back on her heels.

He could see the relief move through her like warmth through cold stone.

In the Dream World, God’s Punishment Witches would recover the full range of their powers — no longer brute-force warriors, but witches of varied and subtle abilities, none of them constrained by God’s Stones. With a group like that, the work of exploring and understanding this world could accelerate enormously. They could memorize and transcribe knowledge. They could study the nature of magic power using modern equipment. And even when the Battle of Divine Will was over, they would have a place.


After leaving the Dreamland, Phyllis didn’t wait for dawn. She bade him farewell before first light and set off for the Third Border City at a near run, something luminous moving in her expression.

Roland yawned and returned to his bedroom.

He slid back under the warm quilt and drew Anna against him. She stirred, opened unfocused eyes, and murmured: “Why did you wake so early?”

“I was in the Dream World,” he said, and kissed her forehead. “Something unexpected happened, and I couldn’t get back to sleep afterward.”

“Mm?” The sound of her breath was soft against his neck, slow as a feather turning. “Was it a sweet dream?”

“Of course.” He shifted to a more comfortable angle, let her rest her cheek on his arm again. “A sweet dream for everyone.”

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