The dream came soft.

  A jungle—not the one he knew, but something older. Wilder. Trees the size of towers swayed above, their leaves whispering like voices too far to hear clearly.

  He stood barefoot in the moss. Shirtless. Calm.

  Then—

  A shape stepped out of the mist. A body of light and bone, neither man nor beast, wearing the faded mask of the old world.

  The spirit.

  Rell didn’t flinch.

  “You again,” he said. His voice echoed clear in the dream—no broken dialect. No burden.

  The spirit tilted its head.

  “You’ve grown.”

  Rell crossed his arms. “You watching again?”

  “Always. Your walk through this second life has been… gratifying.”

  Rell frowned. “That a compliment?”

  A smile in the mist.

  “You’ve spread peace. Ended chains. Chose kindness when you could’ve ruled with fear.”

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  Rell glanced sideways. “So… I done good, yeah?”

  The spirit’s gaze hardened. “Almost.”

  “Almost?”

  “There’s still one thing holding you back.”

  The jungle around them trembled. Leaves shook. A gust stirred the canopy above.

  “You speak like you’ve accepted your life. But your soul hasn’t. It clings.”

  Images flashed.

  His old apartment.

  His sisters. Laughing in the doorway.

  Nia. Her hand reaching for his during that last blackout.

  Then—

  Selena.

  Not a memory.

  A presence.

  Her blue hair whipping in some unseen wind. A ribbon hanging from her wrist. Her eyes—bright, unreadable—looked directly at him.

  Rell’s breath hitched.

  “…She not here,” he whispered.

  “She lives in your thoughts,” the spirit replied. “And your thoughts shape your path.”

  The jungle cracked.

  The image shattered.

  —

  Rell sat up in the bed, sweating.

  Moonlight filtered through the half-open window. The sheets were tangled around him. To his left, Thessia lay curled, face buried in the pillow. To his right, Neyxa, one arm draped over his waist, her expression still and soft in sleep.

  He stared at them.

  Then at the ceiling.

  “…Damn.”

  A knock jolted him.

  *knock-knock-knock!*

  He blinked. Thessia stirred, groaning. Neyxa mumbled something about knives and pillows.

  Another knock.

  “Sir Rell?” a voice called. “Uh—the King… uh—His Grace wants to see you—”

  The door creaked open slightly, revealing the wide-eyed expression of a young elven guard.

  He froze.

  His gaze dropped from Rell’s sweat-slicked chest to the two women curled beside him—both visibly nude beneath the sheets.

  His face turned crimson.

  “I—I—um—I can—just—”

  Rell raised a hand. “Later.”

  The door shut instantly.

  A muffled *“Sorry!”* came through it, followed by running footsteps.

  Rell sighed and dropped back against the pillows.

  Thessia rolled into his side. “What was that?”

  “Spirit dream,” he muttered.

  Neyxa yawned. “Another one?”

  He didn’t answer right away.

  Instead, he let the silence hold him—between old ghosts and new warmth.

  The morning would bring kings and politics.

  But for now—

  He closed his eyes again.