The dreams of Vrast were a darkness that grew lonelier with time. It had begun as a river gradually diminishing over a long period, its discharge declining as regional precipitation decreased and its upstream sources weakened. As flow volumes dropped, the channel shifted from a perennial system to an intermittent one, and eventually to a completely dry course. Without fluvial activity, the river could no longer maintain its own morphology. Sediment transport slowed, banks destabilized, and incision halted. What remained was an exposed ravine whose walls displayed a stratified record of past erosion and ethereal stained glass. What remained was a skeletal song.

  The Swordfish saw this every sleep as it lived within the water arm of Ysan’s Ramble. It shut its eyes and reached Vrast’s river, swimming in its deepest spots, observing its humans in secret. They were the Dreamers Vrast had summoned here, and they were as depressed as the vibrations of this river. They could talk and speak with one another as if this was a real place, although most rarely did so. At first there were many of them. None more early than The Woman Painted White. She was the first of Vrast’s targets, and her awareness chief among them. She understood the nature of the dream and that its nature was not hers—that this was a setting by the design of Vrast. What kept her steadfast here were her efforts and ambitions to use the dreams of another for her own.

  Many were like this. Selfish in their seeking or usage of the One True Hazahnahkah. Vikushak and many other inventors and artists had also pursued Vrast’s dreams to this end—with many worshipping or following what they believed was a transcendental movement.

  Then there were those like the Orphanspawn, who were in the dream but really did not care for it. They traveled as a group together far upstream, after their hatred and their pain, towards whoever or whatever claimed to be capable of ending the tiger that had fathered them. They were led by a woman named Cleathyne, and they were bound together by the first Orphanspawn—Lahahm—a mysterious boy that even Inundation knew little about.

  Yet the Rapscallion Bankanzaku who had once rebelled against the visions in these dreams was now ever eager to do Vrast’s wishes. He listened closely to her dreams and carried out their steps in waking life, all at the behest of Nazaki who now shared the dream with him, and rode upon his back.

  But Vrast was gone—missing from her own dreams—weapon and woman.

  Now this dream was a husk, empty of interaction with less than 100 people spread across the span of its drying waters, watching wuthering lusters behind cloudy nights. Whatever Vrast had been planning would come to fruition soon, and Inundation wanted no part of it. The Swordfish knew by this point that Vrast sought to use these people, and now she barely needed them. Inundation could not fathom why the Rapscallion still gave it dreams. Were the dreams truly random? Was there a stipulation to her Ramble’s power? Was there intent for Inundation? The Swordfish was not powerful enough to interpret or predict any of this. Nor could it kill Hazahnahkah like it had once dreamed. Having a dream did not mean ownership of it. For a long time Inundation knew Vrast had wanted those who were most powerful to destroy Hazahnahkah and bring the final song which would reshape the world, but it was impossible to say what that may have sounded like. The Inundation wanted to listen to a laughing world. Changing the world would not make the world laugh. This, it knew.

  It did not sense laughter in the future, it did not sense laughter in Vrast’s dreams, it did not sense laughter in the skies of Serpent’s Spill. If Inundation continued to participate in these dreams, it would be caught up in them. It had to stop. It had to warn Ysan. Something terrible awaited in the star that Yurreth sought, and Swordfish did not want to unleash it. It would happen soon.

  The only door to escape Vrast’s dreams was waking, but The Inundation knew not how to do this, for swordfish and storms had no eyelids and no way to part them. Its powers were far weaker in this frontier Ysan had carried it. But the other way to leave was to forget Vrast’s plans for good, and give up any hope of knowing them.

  Dalagun and other Ramble users of all kinds, who sought wealth, women, and worship through The Sword of Seven Seasons had disappeared from the dream this way. Since the discovery that Hazahnahkah had been carried by Hwayoung, many if not all of these Dreamers have never returned to Vrast’s dreams again. They have given into fear and Yurreth, with many joining under her banner and partaking in her flesh. They had given up on these dreams…

  … and so would The Inundation would need to give up on its dream of killing Hazahnahkah.

  There was still one action it could take before leaving for good. It swam to The First Orphanspawn, the boy who once inspired many of the original Bankanzaku's children to take up arms against their father. He was watching a vision of burning thorns and tides. He was watching a vision of burning thorns and tides, where far above, lines of many colors blossomed across every major landmass.

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  Everything was erupting with light, and far above that light, was Hazahnahkah.

  Yes, this is why Inundation had wanted to destroy Hazahnahkah.

  Hazahnahkah would destroy the world.

  Inundation popped its face out. The boy was snapped from his trance at this. He stared with wonder, itching at the red frolicking curls just above his lashes. “Woah. A swordfish. Cool.” He touched the point, which pricked him. “OW!”

  “Tell me Lahahm, how many times now have you rewatched this vision Vrast has given you?”

  “Well, you’re very smart and you’ve been watching me for… longer than I would know. Why ask something you already have the answer to?”

  “I wanted to know if you served Vrast.”

  “I serve only myself,” Lahahm said. “I’ve only been watching the knife’s dreams because they are so interesting to me.” He looked at his hands. They were worn, leathery and tough like an old man’s. They did not match his young face. “They say I led The First Hunt. That I raised the parents who originally adopted April and August like my own. To the Orphanspawn, I’m a legend, a father figure to the Zolgolgan people where Bankanzaku was not… but none of my “children” recognize me.”

  “You did become an Incarnate.”

  “I’m aware that I’m a spear, storm. But why? Why would I do that? Why am I a boy in this dream where I should be an old man?”

  Inundation knew why. It had listened in places no person dared tread in the dark corners and dangerous secrets of Vrast’s dreams. The Swordfish knew it would not help Lahahm at this hour, who so desperately needed support rather than explanations.

  “Why do you believe you should be an old man?” the Inundation asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Because that’s what I was before I was an Incanate.”

  “And what comes before an old man?”

  Lahahm paused at this. He looked back down towards his hands. They were younger now. Soft, smoother, easier to hold. Beyond him, the ravine changed.

  What was once a flowing river was now a stained hollow gorge—its carved walls were the geological memory of torrential waterflow, of many more things than just water. The bed was a mosaic of cracked sediments and exposed ethereal stained glass, testifying to centuries of relentless erosion now arrested by drought. The abandoned conduit was also layered in tattoos and veins that imprinted upon the desiccation with a hateful kind of rawness. In its silence, the morphology of past floods was etched into every crusty layer. Dead.

  The swordfish swam into the air, for the dirt was now too dry for comfort. “Do you believe Vrast knows what transpires in her dreams? Which words are traded and who trades them?”

  “I believe she realizes what happens here as one realizes which leaves fall in the season of harahm. She observes all, but none specifically.”

  “I also have come to this conclusion. Vrast’s dreams are a means of controlling others, not a means of understanding them.”

  “And you care not to learn anything from them. So… then why do you stay?”

  “I wanted to learn about Vrast.”

  “Ah, time wasted then.”

  “Not completely. I have cause to believe Vrast is very concerned with you and what you say, Lahahm.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because you are the only one who isn’t wading through the river.”

  “I do what I choose to do.”

  “No, what you choose is an illusion. All scenes in this dream are harbored by Vrast, given by Vrast, controlled by Vrast. You are in her dream and a part of it. All choices you make are hers—or because she allows it. And for you she has allowed it, you are the only soul in this realm she has given free will. She wants to know what you will say, what you will think, and how you will feel with it.”

  “But if what you say is true, she controls your very voice at this moment.”

  The Swordfish stirred the soil at the riverbank with its fins, gills pulsing with clammy air. “No, she does not care for my free will. Why? Because I’m in the river. If your metaphor is correct, then everyone in the river is no more than a leaf.”

  “And Galfarys?”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s not in the river either.”

  “He’s not in the dream at all.”

  Lahahm froze. “What?”

  “Galfarys has always lied about having these dreams. You didn’t know?”

  “No! I didn’t know that! How doesn’t Vrast know?”

  “Why would she care? And it is easy to fool her dreamers.”

  Lahahm breathed out slowly. His face was very troubled. “It will be very lonely here without you, swordfish.”

  “You knew I planned to leave?”

  “It’s rather obvious you came to request something before you did so.”

  “Within three dreams, I would like you to begin talking to me as if I am here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then Vrast will think I’m listening.”

  ?? The Fall Of The Sea ??

  by JollyUmbrella

  On a small boat in the middle of unknown waters, a boy awakens with no memory of who he is or why he is at sea.

  What To Expect:

  - Complex character dynamics

  - Emotional backstories and arcs

  - Thoughtfully crafted world with rich culture and history

  - Powerful characters

  - Slight hints and possible romances

  - Awesome fight scenes

  - Long, plot-driven story with narrative twists

  Upload Schedule:

  Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, Sunday. UTC-5

  [SPECIAL] November 2025: Daily

  Accolades:

  [Participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]