Chapter 28:

28 — Clara, The Witch Of Sleepwalker (END)

The (Cursed) Potential Witch

I walked outside.

The courtyard was chaos.

Students were running. Screaming. Pushing each other. Some were crying. Some were praying. Some were just standing there, frozen, staring at the gates.

The gates were shaking.

Something was hitting them. Something big. Something that wasn't human.

I looked at the walls. The professors were up there. Celine was up there. Ren was up there. Mel was up there. Arthur was up there. They were casting spells. They were trying to hold the line. They were trying to keep whatever was outside from getting in.

It wasn't working.

"The demons," someone screamed. "The demons are here!"

I looked at the gates.

They were buckling.

I had warned them.

Three days ago. When I woke up. When I told them what Beatrice had done. When I told them the commoners had been converted. When I told them the Apocalypse was coming.

No one listened.

"The Potential Witch is hallucinating again."

"She's been in the infirmary too long."

"She's lost her mind."

"She's just trying to get attention."

Ronald had been the loudest.

"Demons?" he had laughed. "The Potential Witch is seeing demons now. What's next? Dragons? The Demon King himself?"

The students had laughed.

I had told them anyway.

I had told them the commoners were turned. I had told them Beatrice was the Primordial Motherhood Demoness. I had told them the Kingdom was about to fall.

No one listened.

And now the demons were at the gates.

I walked through the courtyard.

Students ran past me. They didn't see me. They were too busy running. Too busy screaming. Too busy trying to survive.

I walked past the fountain. I walked past the stage. I walked past the place where the man had died. I walked past the place where the Sleepwalker had appeared.

And then I saw him.

Ronald.

He was standing near the gates. Not running. Not screaming. Just standing there, staring at the buckling doors, with a group of students behind him.

He was pale. His hands were shaking. He was trying to look brave. He was failing.

"Ronald," I said.

He turned.

He looked at me.

And then he laughed.

It was a mean laugh. A desperate laugh. The laugh of someone who was about to die and had decided to spend his last moments being cruel.

"Well, well, well," he said. "Look who finally showed up."

I didn't answer.

"The Potential Witch herself," he said. "Come to save us?"

The students behind him laughed. They were scared. They were terrified. But they laughed anyway. Because Ronald was laughing. Because Ronald was always laughing. Because Ronald was the one who decided what was funny.

"You warned us," he said. "You told us the demons were coming. You told us the Apocalypse was approaching. You told us the commoners were turned."

He stepped toward me.

"And we didn't listen. Because you're the Potential Witch. Because you're a failure. Because you're the greatest that never was."

He stopped inches away.

"So here we are. The demons are at the gates. The professors are losing. The academy is about to fall. And the only person who warned us is the person we spent a year laughing at."

He smiled.

"What are you going to do about it? Cast a spell? You can't cast spells. You froze in the tournament. You lost your magic. You spent a week in the infirmary screaming a name that doesn't belong to anyone."

The students laughed.

I didn't.

"You want to prove something?" Ronald said. "You want to show us you're not a failure? You want to show us you're not the Potential Witch?"

He pointed at the gates.

"Then cast a spell. Right now. In front of everyone. Cast a spell and save us. Cast a spell and stop the demons. Cast a spell and prove you're something."

I looked at him.

"I already told you," I said. "I'm not going to cast a spell."

"Of course you're not. Because you can't."

"I'm not going to cast a spell while I'm awake."

He blinked.

"What?"

"I'm going to cast a spell while I'm asleep."

The students went quiet.

Ronald stared at me.

"What?"

"I'm going to cast a spell while I'm asleep."

"That's impossible."

"I know."

"You can't cast while you're asleep."

"I can."

"That's—"

"I know."

He stared at me.

"What are you?"

I looked at him.

"I'm the Witch of Sleepwalker," I said. "I'm Dream. I'm one of the Four Witches of Apocalypse. I'm the girl who held the Kingdom while you slept. I'm the girl who saved your life."

I stepped toward him.

"And I'm about to save it again."

I closed my eyes.

The courtyard was chaos. The gates were buckling. The demons were coming. The students were screaming. The professors were losing.

I closed my eyes.

And I slept.

Right there. Standing up. In the middle of the courtyard. In front of Ronald and the students and the professors and everyone. I closed my eyes and I let go and I slept.

It wasn't like falling asleep in bed. It wasn't like drifting off during a lecture. It was like stepping through a door. One moment I was standing in the courtyard. The next I was in the dream.

The dream was the courtyard.

The same courtyard. The same students. The same fountain. The same stage. But different. Quieter. Softer. The light was the light of the dream. The air was the air of the dream. The world was the world of the dream.

And I was alone.

Felice was not there. Beatrice was not there. The demons were not there. It was just me. Just Clara. Just the dream.

And I knew what I had to do.

The recovery spell.

I had learned it in the dream. I had learned it from Felice. I had learned it in the week of training. It was not a spell in the traditional sense. It was not a spell in the way the academy taught spells. It was not a spell with words or symbols or circles or chants.

It was a spell of intention.

It was a spell of recognition.

It was a spell that restored what had been lost.

The magic language had a name for it. The custom. The formal name. The name that the academy taught in theory but no one could ever cast.

Rekonvaleszenz.

Ad Sanitatem.

Restitue.

Redintegra.

The words were scaffolding. The words were for the waking world. The words were for people who needed structure. The words were for people who needed language to shape their intention.

But in the dream, the words were not needed.

In the dream, there was only intention.

And my intention was to recover.

To recover the commoners. To recover the demons. To recover the Kingdom. To recover everything Beatrice had taken and everything the Kingdom had buried and everything that had been lost.

I reached out.

Not with my hands. With my mind. With my dream. With my self.

And I touched the demons.

I don't know how to describe it.

It wasn't a fight. It wasn't a battle. It wasn't a struggle. It was a recognition. I looked at the demons, and I saw the commoners. I saw the farmers. I saw the merchants. I saw the mothers. I saw the children. I saw the people the Kingdom had abandoned. I saw the people Beatrice had tried to save. I saw the people who had been turned into monsters because they had nothing left to lose.

And I recovered them.

Not by force. Not by magic. Not by power. By recognition. I saw them as they were. I saw them as they had been. I saw them as they could be.

And they became it.

The demons stopped.

Not because I killed them. Not because I fought them. Because I recovered them. Because I gave them back what they had lost. Because I reminded them who they were.

Their skin lightened. Their eyes turned back. Their teeth dulled. Their claws retracted. Their backs straightened and their voices softened and their bodies returned to shapes that were human and had always been human.

They didn't scream.

They didn't cry.

They just returned.

And then they knelt.

Because they were tired. Because they were broken. Because they had been turned into monsters and had been turned back and they didn't know what to do except kneel.

The dream lasted for three seconds.

Three seconds.

That was all.

And then it closed.

I opened my eyes.

The courtyard was the same. The students were the same. Ronald was the same.

But the gates were not shaking.

The demons were not attacking.

The screaming had stopped.

I looked at the gates. They were still standing. They were still closed. But there was nothing behind them. No demons. No monsters. No Apocalypse.

Just silence.

Ronald was the first to speak.

"What—" his voice cracked. "What did you do?"

I looked at him.

"I recovered them."

"You— what?"

"I recovered them. The demons. The commoners. I turned them back."

He stared at me.

"That's impossible."

"I know."

"You can't— you can't just—"

"I know."

"You were asleep."

"I know."

"You cast a spell while you were asleep."

"I know."

"That's impossible."

"I know."

He stared at me.

"What are you?"

I looked at him.

"I'm the Witch of Sleepwalker," I said. "I'm Dream. I'm one of the Four Witches of Apocalypse. I'm the girl who held the Kingdom while you slept. I'm the girl who saved your life. I'm the girl you called a failure."

I stepped toward him.

"And I cast a spell with my eyes closed."

He didn't answer.

He couldn't.

"You can call me the Potential Witch," I said. "You can call me the greatest that never was. You can laugh at me and mock me and point at me and tell everyone I'm nothing."

I looked at him.

"But you'll never be able to say I couldn't cast a spell. Because you saw it. You all saw it. And you'll never be able to forget it."

The students were on their knees.

Every single one of them. Ronald. The ones who had laughed. The ones who had pointed. The ones who had called me a failure. They were all on their knees, staring at me, with faces that had gone pale and hands that had started to shake.

And then I saw the professors.

They were standing on the walls. Celine. Ren. Mel. They had stopped casting. They had stopped fighting. They were just standing there, looking down at me, with expressions I couldn't read.

And then I saw Arthur.

He was standing at the top of the wall, looking down at me. His glasses were crooked. His hair was a mess. He had been fighting. He had been casting. He had been trying to hold the line.

And he was smiling.

Not a shocked smile. Not a surprised smile. A knowing smile. The smile of someone who had been waiting for this moment. The smile of someone who had always known.

He had known.

He had always known.

I turned away.

And I walked.

The students didn't follow me.

Ronald didn't follow me.

No one did.

I walked across the courtyard. I walked past the fountain. I walked past the stage. I walked past the place where the man had died. I walked past the place where the Sleepwalker had appeared. I walked past the place where everything had begun.

And then I stopped.

Because someone was walking beside me.

Arthur.

He didn't say anything. He just walked. Beside me. Matching my pace. Looking straight ahead.

"You knew," I said.

"I knew."

"You knew about the Sage. You knew about the Sleepwalker. You knew about everything."

"I knew."

"And you didn't tell me."

"I couldn't."

"Why?"

"Because you weren't ready."