Anya was not like the other students at the Deep Foundations.
Since she was a child, the Dream Realm had not appeared to her as a simple place of study or a training ground, but as an extension of her own soul, a vast and complex echo of human emotions.
She was born with an acute sensitivity, almost a curse, that made her receptive not only to dreams, but to people's most hidden and often unexpressed feelings. It was as if her heart were a sounding board for the silent joys and hidden sorrows of the waking world.
This predisposition made her an exceptional student, but also a fragile soul. While the other Weavers learned to manipulate dream forms and landscapes, Anya perceived the emotional vibrations they concealed.
A dream of anger appeared to her not just as a volcanic eruption, but also as a wave of bitterness that burned her throat. A dream of joy was a symphony of colors that filled her eyes with tears. She often returned from her dream explorations exhausted, her face pale, her hands trembling from the emotional weight she had absorbed.
Master Elian immediately recognized her uniqueness. While many would have sought to temper this sensitivity, Elian, with his hard-won wisdom, decided to teach her how to channel that extraordinary ability.
"Anya," Elian would say to her in a calm, patient voice during their private lessons in the quieter corners of the Foundations, "Your strength does not lie in the ability to bend the dream to your will, like Lyra, or to dissect it with logic, as I once did. Your strength is to feel. It is your resonance with the soul of the Dream Realm that makes you special. You must not block the feelings, but learn to dance with them."
Anya, often looking down in shame at her own perceived weakness, replied one day: "Master, sometimes the pain of others overwhelms me. It is as if their fears become mine. How can I distinguish my own heart from theirs, when everything blurs in the Dream Realm?"
Elian placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You do not have to distinguish, not completely. You must learn to carry that weight, but without sinking. The Dream Realm is a mirror, Anya. And sometimes, to see the truth, you must be willing to look at the darkest reflections."
Her training with Elian focused not only on technique but on emotional self-control and the understanding of the entanglement between the waking and the dream worlds.
It was Elian who taught her to visualize a "barrier of calm" around herself, not to block feelings, but to filter them, to observe them without being overcome. It was thanks to him that Anya began to understand the scope of the Ash, not just as a physical or dream threat, but as a sickness of the soul, an emotional barrenness that drained hope and vitality.
She could feel the Ash as a chilling dissonance, a deafening silence where life once was.
One day, during an exercise in reading the dreams of an Ash-contaminated area, Anya found herself in a landscape of distorted nightmares, once a flowering garden. While the other Weavers focused on the flaws in the dream forms, Anya was drawn to an echo of deep sadness, an almost imperceptible lament that persisted despite the devastation.
"There is something here," she whispered to Elian, her eyes closed, her hands clasped to her chest. "A sadness so great... It's not just the Ash. It is a memory of ancient sorrow, a desperate cry that still resonates."
Elian, who had studied the traumatic experience of the Founder, looked at her with a grave expression. "It is the residue of lost hope, Anya. The Ash not only destroys, but suffocates what was beautiful, transforming it into an endless lament."
It was at that moment that Anya understood the true nature of the threat. The Ash was not a simple destructive agent; it was the result of a suffering so profound that it had corroded the very origin of dreams.
Her sensitivity, once seen as a weakness, became her greatest strength, allowing her to perceive the subtle intrusions and deviations that others would not notice.
Her ability often made her more cautious than Lyra, more inclined to seek deep understanding before acting. She was not a warrior in the traditional sense, but a protector, whose most powerful weapon was her capacity to connect with souls, to perceive their suffering, and perhaps, to reawaken that spark of hope the Ash sought to extinguish.
In the heart of the Deep Foundations, Anya became the silent voice of emotions, the custodian of resonance, the hope that the Dream Realm could still feel and heal.
Yet the most intense negative emotions still had a profound impact on her, passing through her and silently influencing her personality.
Her sensitivity, while an extraordinary strength, was also a double-edged sword. Every time she perceived deep pain or intense fear, a part of her bent under the weight of those external emotions. It was as if, by entering the dreams contaminated by the Ash, she not only absorbed the suffering of others but made it her own, leaving invisible traces on her spirit.
At times, she felt a subtle burning, a dark current that slipped down her spine, almost a call to be overwhelmed, to surrender to the darkness that surrounded her.
Elian had taught her to build barriers of calm, but no protection could fully stop the most violent emotional waves.
Contaminated dreams, especially those where the Ash mingled with memories of despair, were invisible temptations. If she were not careful, her sensitivity could become a vortex that swallowed her, transforming her ability to feel into a prison.
Every echo of pain she captured risked corrupting her thoughts, making her confuse good and evil, the desire to heal with the urge to flee, or even a silent, destructive impulse.
In a sleepless night, while alone in the corridors of the Foundations, amidst the silvery reflections of torches flickering on the walls, she encountered her mentor.
"Master Elian! I cannot sleep. The fear of others... it keeps me awake. I feel the Ash as a whisper promising relief if only I stop fighting."
Elian's wise eyes fixed on her. "The pain of others has become an invisible temptation for you," he told her. "If you yield, even for a moment, you will no longer be merely a spectator of emotions. You will become part of their darkness."
"I risk confusing the desire to heal with the urge to flee... or worse, with a destructive impulse. Every beat of compassion can become a gateway to darkness."
"It is the risk of your path. Your strength is your greatest danger. You must protect that boundary, Anya. You are the silent voice of emotions, the custodian of resonance. Your path is a balance between the light you offer and the shadow you must repel."
Yet, despite the constant risk, Anya sought to use that very sensitivity to protect, understand, and heal: her strength was, at the same time, her greatest peril.
Every beat of compassion could become an opening through which the darkness might insinuate itself, and every emotion perceived a seed of corruption to defend against without ever losing her light.
Exactly like the Solara from the beginning of time...