It wasn't the first time Yun had fallen asleep in the library. He wasn't sure if this would make it his last.
He wasn't unaware of lucid dreams, of walking through the halls of your own mind and knowing that your flesh slept. He was a magical being, in many senses of the term, and even if his magic wasn't purely mental he still knew something of it. Besides, his education was rapidly becoming far more well-rounded in the absence of his ability to focus solely on his own magic.
This dream he knew was a dream, it taunted him. The knowledge that it was a dream was the core of that; if this were reality, there would be no stress, no trauma, no issue whatsoever. If it were a dream but he didn't know that until he woke, then his sorrow would only come after waking. As it was, he looked at his own reflection and knew with all his heart and soul that it wasn't real.
When he reached out to touch the steady image, it was with a furless limb draped in cloth. It wasn't a black cat's paw that pressed against cool glass like a cloth for fevered flesh. It was a hand, as human as Yun's flesh would ever be. Humanoid, but not human. If he looked, he would see all the scars he had ever earned. Scars he had suffered through, scars he had lifted from others to ease their burdens. He had so many scars, and so many of them told lethal stories.
He didn't remember them all when he couldn't see them. His feline form didn't scar; neither did his dragon form. But this one, the one the dream taunted him with, the one with a face he didn't recognize and felt he wouldn't remember once he woke, this one held every moment of physical violence his history contained.
Physical violence. It was another sort of violence that stole this face, this flesh, this history from him. That violence seemed absent here, but Yun felt it like chains crushing his throat. He could feel the touch of his fingertips, as scarred as his palms and arms, on the skin of his throat, and it felt like there were bruises there. Cold bruises.
Dreams were cruel. Dull, throbbing acceptance of that surrounded him, and even though he knew it was a dream he couldn't make himself walk away from his reflection. He couldn't shift either, and the panic that set in at that realization was all too familiar. Trapped in one form, trapped in another. Magicless, bound, trailing a leash no matter where he went or how far he ran. Cursed to wait uselessly until someone caught that dangling chain.
The dream abruptly shifted, and instead of a reflection Yun saw darkness his sharp-pupilled eyes couldn't pierce. Not emptiness, just binding blackness, blinding blankness, like thick fabric pressed against his face. His heartbeat accelerated and he felt his blood chemistry shift, adrenaline flowing freely in his rising panic.
He clawed at the thick nothing clogging his airways and shrouding his eyes, muffling his ears, swathing his whiskers and fins, softening his horns and clinging to his fingertips. He fought it, throat raw with stress and panic and fear, and then there was light but he wasn't free. He was awake but the panic remained, and there was iron stinging his face where he'd caught himself with one of his own claws.
Just a cat claw, not a dragon claw. Blood spilled down the fur around the cut and rolled into his mouth.
It wouldn't leave a scar. Not on the only face he had to show people now. It would heal without a trace, and perhaps one day he'd remember it when he was free again. If he was ever free. If he ever found a way out of this cursed mess, this thing of magic that shrugged off external magic and held his very soul hostage.
Yun steadied himself and dabbed at his cut with a paw. Head wounds bled more on humans than cats, but this would still need attending to. He sighed very carefully and rose to his feet, only to find himself dizzy and lightheaded. The aftermath of his nightmare? His medical knowledge suggested that. His knowledge hadn't abandoned him. He still had that. He still had his own mind...
The black cat with a flaming tail slowly staggered out of a hidden corner and into the open, quiet bustle of the academy library, blood still dripping from his face and a hefty showering of sparks slowly dying out against the room's fireproofing wards, copper and raging against something they had less than no power against.
He wasn't unaware of lucid dreams, of walking through the halls of your own mind and knowing that your flesh slept. He was a magical being, in many senses of the term, and even if his magic wasn't purely mental he still knew something of it. Besides, his education was rapidly becoming far more well-rounded in the absence of his ability to focus solely on his own magic.
This dream he knew was a dream, it taunted him. The knowledge that it was a dream was the core of that; if this were reality, there would be no stress, no trauma, no issue whatsoever. If it were a dream but he didn't know that until he woke, then his sorrow would only come after waking. As it was, he looked at his own reflection and knew with all his heart and soul that it wasn't real.
When he reached out to touch the steady image, it was with a furless limb draped in cloth. It wasn't a black cat's paw that pressed against cool glass like a cloth for fevered flesh. It was a hand, as human as Yun's flesh would ever be. Humanoid, but not human. If he looked, he would see all the scars he had ever earned. Scars he had suffered through, scars he had lifted from others to ease their burdens. He had so many scars, and so many of them told lethal stories.
He didn't remember them all when he couldn't see them. His feline form didn't scar; neither did his dragon form. But this one, the one the dream taunted him with, the one with a face he didn't recognize and felt he wouldn't remember once he woke, this one held every moment of physical violence his history contained.
Physical violence. It was another sort of violence that stole this face, this flesh, this history from him. That violence seemed absent here, but Yun felt it like chains crushing his throat. He could feel the touch of his fingertips, as scarred as his palms and arms, on the skin of his throat, and it felt like there were bruises there. Cold bruises.
Dreams were cruel. Dull, throbbing acceptance of that surrounded him, and even though he knew it was a dream he couldn't make himself walk away from his reflection. He couldn't shift either, and the panic that set in at that realization was all too familiar. Trapped in one form, trapped in another. Magicless, bound, trailing a leash no matter where he went or how far he ran. Cursed to wait uselessly until someone caught that dangling chain.
The dream abruptly shifted, and instead of a reflection Yun saw darkness his sharp-pupilled eyes couldn't pierce. Not emptiness, just binding blackness, blinding blankness, like thick fabric pressed against his face. His heartbeat accelerated and he felt his blood chemistry shift, adrenaline flowing freely in his rising panic.
He clawed at the thick nothing clogging his airways and shrouding his eyes, muffling his ears, swathing his whiskers and fins, softening his horns and clinging to his fingertips. He fought it, throat raw with stress and panic and fear, and then there was light but he wasn't free. He was awake but the panic remained, and there was iron stinging his face where he'd caught himself with one of his own claws.
Just a cat claw, not a dragon claw. Blood spilled down the fur around the cut and rolled into his mouth.
It wouldn't leave a scar. Not on the only face he had to show people now. It would heal without a trace, and perhaps one day he'd remember it when he was free again. If he was ever free. If he ever found a way out of this cursed mess, this thing of magic that shrugged off external magic and held his very soul hostage.
Yun steadied himself and dabbed at his cut with a paw. Head wounds bled more on humans than cats, but this would still need attending to. He sighed very carefully and rose to his feet, only to find himself dizzy and lightheaded. The aftermath of his nightmare? His medical knowledge suggested that. His knowledge hadn't abandoned him. He still had that. He still had his own mind...
The black cat with a flaming tail slowly staggered out of a hidden corner and into the open, quiet bustle of the academy library, blood still dripping from his face and a hefty showering of sparks slowly dying out against the room's fireproofing wards, copper and raging against something they had less than no power against.
