space
left. Every book looked well used, and messy with marker notes, their spines
broken from constant opening and closing. From that shelf came the scent of old
books and older knowledge.
She then went on to explain
how Larraine saw Therron in her dreams, and of how she had warned her that his
precursor was the scent of his cologne. She had a theory that the song from the
music box— The Dreamer’s Lullaby —was a part of the precursor, too.
After she finished
explaining, Professor Berne Oakley leaned back in his chair, one hand resting
on his knee, the other rubbing his not-neck. His lips were pursed in thoughts,
his eyes glancing about the room as if the walls themselves held answers.
“Theoretically, your father
breaching the Oen’Aerei’s security is impossible. Dreams spheres were invented
to store dreams, and nightmares, so they couldn’t wander freely about the
frequencies. That place is a mess of ideas all bunched one on top of the other,
so all the horrors of people’s nightmares dwell within. The dream spheres came
from the need to store those nightmares. They’re unbreakable, unless opened
from the outside. It shouldn’t even be considered that he has escaped at all.
The only way to well and truly check would be to visit the Halls of the
Oen’Aerei and see whether the sphere that sealed him is still there. I’m sure
Lady Morphier would have every security in place to keep Count Therron sealed
away for good. But…the spheres.” For a moment he seemed to talk only to himself.
“There’s always a first time for everything. When dreams are involved, nothing is impossible.”
Adabelle considered his
point. It was true; the dream spheres were meant to be unbreakable. But as he
said, that was only theory. Nothing could be proven entirely until put into
practice, and no Oen’Aerei would have a desire to test the unbreakable theory
with a sphere filled with Nhyxes or nightmares.
“What if the theory is wrong?”
asked Adabelle. “What if, after all the theories are tested, we find out my
father is free? What do we do then?”
The professor was quiet for
a time, looking about the room, apparently searching for something in
particular. He grabbed a book from his desk; a thin, green cloth-bound volume
entitled Dream Theory and Cognitive Skill . He opened it up to the
appendix, eventually finding what he searched for, before turning to a page
mid-way through the novel. He skimmed the page, searching mostly through underlined
passages and added material.
“We have a way of testing if
there is indeed another conscience in your dreams—or at least, an aware,
sentient and solely conscious one. If they are truly within your dream, and
they are lucid, then they, in some small part, have the ability to keep things
as they want. Or rather, they’re able to keep certain aspects constant. The one
thing that will remain consistent without question is their precursor.”
Adabelle’s eyebrow rose.
“Why is that?”
“Well the precursor is a
sense that makes it seem normal that this figure is in another dream. It’s the
reason we don’t feel confused in a dream when we fly moments after we think it.
It’s the reason dreams make sense to us when we do the impossible. It’s because
a millisecond before we do it, our minds create the thought—the precursor, so
to speak—and then we realise we can do it. Well it’s the same with a person’s
precursor; they’re able to have that occur so that when they enter the
Frequencies, there is no shock. No…surprise that something foreign is there.
They’ve had warning, even if it’s mostly subconscious.”
Adabelle nodded in
understanding. She’d studied some dream theory, but never in that much depth.
“So what do we do?” she
asked. She remembered the dream world, the mist, the silhouette of her father,
and her cousin’s screaming. But also how The Dreamer’s Lullaby had made
her forget what she was there to do, how it had distracted her from her
left. Every book looked well used, and messy with marker notes, their spines
broken from constant opening and closing. From that shelf came the scent of old
books and older knowledge.
She then went on to explain
how Larraine saw Therron in her dreams, and of how she had warned her that his
precursor was the scent of his cologne. She had a theory that the song from the
music box— The Dreamer’s Lullaby —was a part of the precursor, too.
After she finished
explaining, Professor Berne Oakley leaned back in his chair, one hand resting
on his knee, the other rubbing his not-neck. His lips were pursed in thoughts,
his eyes glancing about the room as if the walls themselves held answers.
“Theoretically, your father
breaching the Oen’Aerei’s security is impossible. Dreams spheres were invented
to store dreams, and nightmares, so they couldn’t wander freely about the
frequencies. That place is a mess of ideas all bunched one on top of the other,
so all the horrors of people’s nightmares dwell within. The dream spheres came
from the need to store those nightmares. They’re unbreakable, unless opened
from the outside. It shouldn’t even be considered that he has escaped at all.
The only way to well and truly check would be to visit the Halls of the
Oen’Aerei and see whether the sphere that sealed him is still there. I’m sure
Lady Morphier would have every security in place to keep Count Therron sealed
away for good. But…the spheres.” For a moment he seemed to talk only to himself.
“There’s always a first time for everything. When dreams are involved, nothing is impossible.”
Adabelle considered his
point. It was true; the dream spheres were meant to be unbreakable. But as he
said, that was only theory. Nothing could be proven entirely until put into
practice, and no Oen’Aerei would have a desire to test the unbreakable theory
with a sphere filled with Nhyxes or nightmares.
“What if the theory is wrong?”
asked Adabelle. “What if, after all the theories are tested, we find out my
father is free? What do we do then?”
The professor was quiet for
a time, looking about the room, apparently searching for something in
particular. He grabbed a book from his desk; a thin, green cloth-bound volume
entitled Dream Theory and Cognitive Skill . He opened it up to the
appendix, eventually finding what he searched for, before turning to a page
mid-way through the novel. He skimmed the page, searching mostly through underlined
passages and added material.
“We have a way of testing if
there is indeed another conscience in your dreams—or at least, an aware,
sentient and solely conscious one. If they are truly within your dream, and
they are lucid, then they, in some small part, have the ability to keep things
as they want. Or rather, they’re able to keep certain aspects constant. The one
thing that will remain consistent without question is their precursor.”
Adabelle’s eyebrow rose.
“Why is that?”
“Well the precursor is a
sense that makes it seem normal that this figure is in another dream. It’s the
reason we don’t feel confused in a dream when we fly moments after we think it.
It’s the reason dreams make sense to us when we do the impossible. It’s because
a millisecond before we do it, our minds create the thought—the precursor, so
to speak—and then we realise we can do it. Well it’s the same with a person’s
precursor; they’re able to have that occur so that when they enter the
Frequencies, there is no shock. No…surprise that something foreign is there.
They’ve had warning, even if it’s mostly subconscious.”
Adabelle nodded in
understanding. She’d studied some dream theory, but never in that much depth.
“So what do we do?” she
asked. She remembered the dream world, the mist, the silhouette of her father,
and her cousin’s screaming. But also how The Dreamer’s Lullaby had made
her forget what she was there to do, how it had distracted her from her
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