Nightsealed the hut tightly. After the wooden door closed, the world shrank to breath, blanket fabric, and the distant sound of the sea. Arthur lay with his back to the wall, Sean beside him. There was no conversation. Silence rose slowly, like a tide that comes without being noticed.
Sleep arrived without ceremony.
At first, there was only darkness.
Then a back, Sean's, stood facing away from Arthur. Still. Too still. From that back, a black shadow seeped out, not like smoke, but something alive, pulsing softly.
Arthur wanted to call out, but his voice caught in his throat. Sean did not turn.
The shadow moved. It did not attack, only crept, coiling through the space between them, as if measuring distance. Arthur stepped back. Something tightened, then clamped around his wrist. The pressure was real. Cold. Precise strong enough to make him jolt.
Sean remained turned away. And amid the fear, Arthur felt something more disturbing.
Control.
Not anger. Not hatred. Control that was neat, almost calm.
✦ ✦ ✦
Arthur woke with his breath cut short. The hut was still dark. Sean was still beside him. Nothing had changed except the pulse in Arthur's wrist, which had not fully faded. He closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for his heart to steady, then opened them again.
The night thinned. Pale light crept through the gaps in the wooden boards. Morning would come, along with questions he was not ready to ask.
Arthur woke, worked, spoke as needed, then slept again in the same hut. The sea remained calm. The village remained friendly. Sean remained the Sean he knew, calm, capable, not asking much. Nothing seemed wrong.
Then the dream came again.
The first time, Arthur dismissed it as lingering fatigue. Empty space. Sean facing away, silent, rigid. Black shadow slowly seeping from his back. Arthur wanted to call out. The dream ended before his voice emerged.
He woke normally. The strange impression quickly faded.
The second dream came two nights later. The same space. The same back. The black shadow now pulsed, following the rhythm of breathing. Arthur stepped closer. Sean did not turn. The shadow stopped, as if waiting.
There was no attack. No sound. The silence felt heavier.
Arthur woke uneasy, then named it exhaustion.
The third dream came without delay. This time Arthur noticed the distance. The black shadow did not move freely it stretched, measured, limited the space between them. Sean still faced away, but his posture was no longer passive. There was control there, orderly, without emotion.
Arthur woke with his heart beating faster. He told no one about the dreams.
The fourth dream gave no time for interpretation.
Space collapsed into darkness. The black shadow coiled, tightened. Pressure clamped onto Arthur's wrist again cold, precise, knowing exactly how much force to apply. Sean finally turned. In his gaze there was no anger, only focus that was too calm.
Arthur jolted awake. The hut was still dark. Sean was still asleep beside him. There was no sign of anything except the lingering sensation on Arthur's wrist, like a grip not fully released. He rubbed it briefly, then stopped. His skin looked ordinary.
He drew a breath, convincing himself it was only a dream.
Morning would come. Routine would continue.
Arthur did not know that something had begun to cross, slowly, from dream into reality.
Outside, the sea looked tame. The village moved at an easy pace footsteps, wood knocking together, the familiar scent of salt. Arthur washed his face in a bucket, cold water touching his skin. When he lifted his hand, there was a brief pause. Not pain—just a remembered sensation, like pressure that knew exactly where to stop. He moved the wrist once, twice. The feeling faded.
Arthur did not think about it further.
He worked as needed, spoke as needed. Answered with nods, thin smiles. Everything felt normal, and because of that, felt sufficient.
Toward midday, he decided to walk to Dermala's house. The decision came without a clear reason not an urgent push, more like a need to make sure something remained in its place. The sandy path felt warm. Sea wind carried soothing sounds. Arthur walked at an ordinary pace.
Dermala greeted him with a gaze that judged too quickly. There was no lengthy small talk. Arthur had barely managed a greeting when Dermala stopped mid-motion, eyes dropping briefly, then lifting back to Arthur's face.
"Did you fall?" She asked shortly.
Arthur frowned. "No."
Dermala did not respond. She stepped half a pace closer, pointing at Arthur's wrist without touching it. "Then where did this come from?"
Arthur looked down. There was a faint mark on his skin, uneven redness, like a grip too measured to be coincidence. Arthur stared at it for a few seconds, then shrugged. "Maybe I slept wrong."
Dermala looked longer than necessary. "Marks from sleeping wrong don't form patterns," she said flatly. "And they don't last like that."
Arthur was about to let out a small laugh, but the sound caught. There was something in the way Dermala chose his words, calm, certain, that made the room feel smaller. Arthur opened his mouth to ask something, then closed it again. Dermala had already looked away, as if saving his conclusion for later.
"You want to ask something?" Dermala said at last.
Arthur nodded faintly. "I've been having some dreams."
Dermala looked at him again, this time more carefully. "Dreams don't leave marks," she said. Then, after a thin pause "Unless something has started to cross over."
Arthur fell silent. For the first time that morning, the sensation in his wrist returned not painful, just a tidy reminder.
Dermala stepped inside, motioning for Arthur to follow. "Sit," she said. "And tell it from the beginning. Don't skip what feels trivial."
Arthur obeyed. He did not yet realize that from the first step into that house, the line separating dream and reality was no longer as firm as it had been yesterday.
Arthur exhaled. "I dreamed," he said. Simply. Dermala did not interrupt.
"At first there was only a shadow. Sean with his back to me. He was just still. Then… something from his back, I don't know what, like black roots, began to creep and narrow the space. I woke up. I thought it was exhaustion."
Dermala nodded slightly. "Repeated?"
"Yeah…" Arthur swallowed. "Three times. The shape was the same. It didn't attack. It was more like… measuring something."
Dermala shifted his seat slightly. "And the next dream?"
Arthur hesitated for a fraction of a second, then chose not to hide anything. "It came closer. The spread was steady. Not chaotic. It—" Arthur stopped, searching for the word. "It felt controlled… But suddenly some of the roots surged quickly toward me and began to coil. The first part they wrapped was my hand."
Dermala raised an eyebrow.
"I felt it," Arthur continued. "Pressure on my wrist. It felt very real. When I woke up, it was still there."
Dermala reached for Arthur's hand without warning, turning the wrist toward the light. She said nothing, but his fingers lingered a little longer at one spot.
"This…" Dermala said softly. "You didn't notice?"
Arthur looked. The mark was faint, almost invisible, like a trace that had learned to disguise itself. "I thought—"
"You're used to ignoring things," Dermala cut in, not harshly. "And a dream is not a dream if it leaves residue."
Arthur was silent.
Dermala released his hand. "You are not being touched by anger, Arthur. That's why you're confused. What touched you is an orderly will."
"Sean?" Arthur asked, not to confirm, but hoping to be wrong.
Dermala did not answer the name. "Something in him has learned boundaries. And when something learns boundaries, it will begin to test them."
Arthur lifted his gaze. "What should I do?"
"For now," Dermala said, "I will place a distance ward between you and him."
She stood, took something from a shelf a thin light, almost invisible. Dermala directed the light toward Arthur's pendant necklace. A bright green glow flowed, and the pendant absorbed it. Arthur received the light. It felt warm. And light.
"I am giving you my magic. Guard yourself well. This can protect you. I have also placed a barrier between you and him, both in the waking world and in dreams."
Dermala looked at him directly. "And one more thing. Whatever happens, do not test Sean. Do not look for proof. If he comes closer, you must step back."
"And if he asks?" Arthur said.
Dermala answered without hesitation. "Say nothing until he comes to me on his own."
Silence fell between them. Not a peaceful silence, but one that marked that something had been decided.
Arthur finally took his leave from Dermala's house. Along the way, his pendant continued to glow green, then returned to white, until it became fully white again. Arriving in front of the hut, Arthur noticed Sean playing and laughing with the children. Arthur watched him until Sean turned and waved as if greeting him. Arthur only nodded and went inside the hut.
Inside, Arthur sat on his bed, reading his journal. As he flipped through page after page, he realized one sheet was missing torn out, as if deliberately removed by someone.
Without Arthur realizing it, Sean stood at the hut's doorway, one hand still gripping the frame. There was an unusual pause—not hesitation, but measurement. The air felt slightly different, like space refusing to be approached too quickly.
He stepped inside.
Sean moved closer to Arthur under a simple pretext picking up a tool, straightening something that did not need straightening. As the distance narrowed, he raised his hand, intending to touch Arthur's wrist. Not a grip. Just a light touch, almost habitual.
"Hey, Ar—"
The touch stopped. Because it was blocked. As if something around Arthur refused to be touched.
There was a neat counter-pressure, like an unwritten rule closing the way without warning. Sean held his breath for a fraction of a second, then withdrew his hand as if he had never meant to touch him at all.
Arthur turned at Sean's call.
"Huh?"
Sean smiled faintly. The same smile. Calm. Normal.
But behind it, something moved, not anger, not confusion. Curiosity, orderly.
"Oh, nothing. I just wanted to say hi."
Sean stepped away, storing the sensation like a small note in the corner of his mind there was a new boundary. He did not yet know who had placed it. That was not important yet.
What mattered was that the boundary existed.
And boundaries can always be tested.