Ashes and Mercy

The dream seized me like a fever, pulling me into a vast hall where shadows clung like damp rot. Darkness swallowed the edges, leaving only a single arched window, its stained glass fractured, spilling moonlight in jagged slivers. From some unseen perch above, I hovered, weightless, my gaze tethered to two figures below. Their faces were obscured, veiled by the gloom, their forms mere silhouettes carved from the night.

A raven, sleek and regal, perched on the window's iron frame, its eyes glinting like polished obsidian. It watched, unblinking, as if it knew secrets the hall itself had forgotten. The air thrummed with tension, thick as the dust motes dancing in the pale light.

One figure, hunched and trembling, radiated fury, his voice a raw wound. "I clawed my way from the ashes," he spat, fists clenched, his shadow twitching like a caged beast. "Through blood and ruin, I came for you. I'll drag you to a similar, yet a worse hell with me."

The other stood serene, untouched by the venom, his posture elegant as a statue's. His voice, when it came, was smooth, a velvet blade. "Your rage is a chain, old friend. I don't fear your hell. I only hope you find mercy for yourself."

The words struck like a spark on dry tinder. The angry one's laugh cracked, jagged and bitter. "Mercy? You speak of mercy after what you did?" His voice rose, a howl tearing through the hall. "You burned my world! Our world! I'll never forgive you, not in this life, not in the deepest, darkest corner of hell! A hell created to keep the vilest creatures, that's what your betrayal had deemed you worthy of, my old friend."

The calm one tilted his head, moonlight catching the edge of his silhouette. "I don't seek your forgiveness," he said softly. "But hate will consume you before it touches me."

The raven's wings twitched, its gaze piercing, as if it judged them both. The air grew heavier, the hall's walls seeming to pulse. My viewpoint—still undefined, still floating—lurched violently. I was no longer just watching. I was moving, falling, rushing toward the window. The raven's eyes locked onto mine, and in that instant, I was no longer human, no longer bound. My form shattered into feathers, into claws, into a scream of wind.

I surged through the glass, shards exploding outward, and collided with the raven. Our wings tangled, a frenzy of black against the moon's cold glow. The hall vanished, the figures dissolved, and the world was only feathers and fury.

I woke gasping, my heart a hammer against my ribs. The room was dark, my bed cold, but the raven's eyes lingered in my mind, sharp as a blade. Who were those men? Why did their words feel like they were carved into my bones? The dream was gone, but its weight remained.

A dream I didn't feel any relevance to, a scene unknown to my memory and the voices with sounds unheard to my ears. It was a dream I knew not of, and it came in the infinity of the night's edge and went away just as mysteriously.