The Dream That Wouldn't Fade

The wooden sword sliced through the air. A sharp whoosh of wind passed, and my wrist throbbed in response. I gritted my teeth and stepped forward again. The training dummy's shoulder snapped with a dull thud.

“……No matter how I look at it, this is weird,” the Instructor muttered, stroking his beard.

I lowered my wooden sword. “What is?”

“How can a guy who doesn’t understand a single thing about the sword in his head move like that with just his body?”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Is it?” The Instructor looked down at the broken dummy. “Even the noble knight apprentices take months just to learn how to put weight behind a strike. But you just do it. Lucky bastard.”

I shrugged. Swinging a sword enough times made it familiar. When an opponent came, I dodged, cut, and reset my stance. That was all there was to it.

But today, something felt off. The inside of my wrist, where I gripped the wooden sword, ached. By now, a voice should have come flying from the side.

Hey, stop swinging that thing like a brute.

And Dorothy would have been leaning on the fence with her chin in her hand, then trudged over with an annoyed look.

Give me your hand.

Why?

So I can cool it down.

Dorothy’s cold magic wasn’t anything special. But when it touched my wrist, the burning heat would settle. She could dry wet training clothes, float a small light on a dark path, or keep the embers under a pot burning longer. Dorothy called it half-baked, but to me it was just convenient.

“That noisy girl’s nowhere to be seen today,” the Instructor said.

I unconsciously adjusted my grip on the wooden sword. “Who?”

“Dorothy.”

“What about her?”

“She’s usually around to stop you from swinging like an idiot.”

“I swing the same whether she’s here or not.”

“When she’s yelling at you from the side, you adjust without even realizing it. Her nagging is medicine for that body of yours.”

I didn’t answer. I tried not to look toward the fence, but my eyes went there anyway. It was empty. The spot where she used to let her black hair flutter in the wind while mocking me. The spot where her hazel eyes waited for me to trip and fall. Without her, it was quiet.

When I finished training and returned home, I stopped in front of the entrance. The air inside the house felt different. The floor had been swept, and the wet training clothes I’d left by the window were completely dry. A faint smell of burning lingered at the cuffs.

I let out a small laugh. “Burned them again.”

Dorothy always scorched the sleeves a little when she dried laundry. Once, she’d charred the end of one of my training uniforms and declared with total confidence, It’s a design.

Why is the sleeve asymmetrical then?

It’s going to be the next trend in the capital.

In the end, I wore that thing for days. The kitchen smelled of stew. The faint trace of a small ember spell still lingered beneath the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pot. Inside the cupboard was Dorothy’s personal cup, and on the sofa was the blanket she used when she napped here. It was my house, but it was filled with nothing but traces of Dorothy.

“Where are you?”

It had been like this since we were kids. Dorothy treated my house like her own, coming and going as she pleased. If it looked like I might go hungry, she’d leave a pot of something simmering. If she bought sweets, she’d eat them herself. She’d grumble while drying my wet training clothes. So today, I’d expected her to pop out from somewhere and start picking a fight.

You’re late.

Who are you to say that?

Is that how you talk to the person who cooked for you?

I thought that kind of ridiculous conversation would follow. But the house was silent.

Only after opening the bedroom door did I understand why.

Dorothy was asleep in my bed.

“……”

I froze in the doorway. Her body, slightly smaller than average, was half-buried under the blanket. Her black hair spilled messily across the pillow, and her hazel eyes were peacefully closed. She wasn’t laughing loudly or throwing a tantrum like usual. She was just quietly sleeping, clutching my pillow tightly in her arms.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Barging into someone else’s house, cooking, and doing the laundry—I could let that slide. She’d been doing it since we were little. But sleeping in someone else’s bed? Hugging my pillow?

I walked over to the bedside. For some reason, I found myself softening my footsteps. Up close, Dorothy’s face looked unfamiliar. When she was awake, her expressions were always changing—laughing, frowning, sneering, getting angry… She never stayed still. But her sleeping face was strangely serene. Her black hair gleamed against the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pillow, and her breathing rose and fell gently.

I could kind of understand why the villagers called her the prettiest girl in the village.

I quickly looked away. No. I couldn’t fall for it. This was a trap. Something similar had happened before.

It was a warm summer afternoon. Dorothy had been lying face-down on the sofa, fast asleep. The sunlight was warm, and she was snoring without a care in the world. I’d just reached out to shake her shoulder to wake her. Really, I’d only touched her shoulder. But the moment she opened her eyes, she screamed.

Kyaaaah! Kyle touched my body while I was sleeping!

Because of that one sentence, I spent the rest of the evening getting lectured by all the neighborhood ladies.

Kyle, no matter how close you are as childhood friends, you can’t just touch a girl’s body like that.

But it was just her shoulder—

A shoulder is still part of the body.

So I shouldn’t wake her up at all?

You should have used your words.

Meanwhile, Dorothy had been sitting there sparkling her hazel eyes and munching on snacks. When I protested how unfair it was, she’d said with a completely straight face, When did I ever lie? You did touch my body.

After that day, I learned my lesson. Dorothy was completely insane. I couldn’t let myself be fooled by that innocent-looking face.

I stood by the bed and crossed my arms. “Hey.”

No answer.

“Dorothy.”

Still no answer. She only hugged my pillow tighter, as if it had always belonged to her.

I sighed. “Whatever, I’m shaking you awake.”

Who cares?

“Stop snoring and get up right now.”

“Mmm… ugh.”

Only after I shook her shoulder did Dorothy’s eyelids twitch. Her hazel eyes slowly opened. At first they were dazed. She looked at me with sleep-heavy eyes, but the next moment she gasped. Her expression changed completely. It could only be described as terror.

“……What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t come near me!”

Dorothy shoved my chest hard. Caught off guard by the unexpected strength, I stumbled backward and crashed into a chair. The chair rattled with a loud thud.

“Hey, have you lost your mind?”

Dorothy didn’t answer. She kicked off the blanket, jumped up, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ran out of the room without even properly putting on her shoes.

“Dorothy!”

The front door slammed shut. Bang. The house fell silent again.

I stood there in a daze. I’d woken up a girl who was sleeping in someone else’s bed, and she threw a fit and ran off.

“……What did I even do?”

I genuinely had no idea. The usual Dorothy would have acted shameless.

Is it going to wear out if I use your bed for a bit?

Then why were you hugging my pillow?

The pillow was the one hugging me.

She would have said something ridiculous like that. I picked up the small hair tie that had fallen to the floor. It was the black ribbon one she often wore. A few strands of black hair were tangled in it. I stared at it for a moment before slipping it into my pocket.

Dorothy leaned her back against a wall in the alley and slid to the ground. Her fingertips trembled. A tiny spark of flame flickered at the tip of her nail before vanishing.

“It’s not real.”

She clenched her teeth. “It’s just a dream.”

But the dream had been too vivid. Last night, Dorothy had seen a lavish banquet hall in the capital. Kyle wearing a black formal suit, standing beside a silver-haired noble lady. A beautiful, cold, and noble woman. Kyle had his arm wrapped naturally around her waist. No matter how much Dorothy called out, he wouldn’t turn around. The surrounding nobles laughed. Childhood friend? Their stations are different. She should know her place.

Dorothy couldn’t forget those words. So the moment morning came, she went to Kyle’s house. She wanted to confirm it. That it was only a dream. That Kyle wasn’t at some banquet hall in the capital, but right here in this village. That he was still in the same alleys, breathing the same winter wind as her.

Kyle’s house was familiar. The creaky door handle, her own cup inside the cupboard, the old pot in the kitchen. Dorothy swept the floor, dried the training clothes, and heated up the stew. Because if she stayed still, the anxiety would come flooding in.

The fact that Kyle hated sweets. That his wrists often swelled after training. That he threw his wet gloves anywhere. All those things belonged to the Kyle she knew. She wanted to believe he was her Kyle alone.

Eventually, she found herself entering his room. The room smelled like Kyle. The scent of sun-dried blankets, cheap soap, and the faint sweat soaked into his training clothes. Only then did Dorothy manage to breathe a little easier. Kyle was still here. He wasn’t yet standing beside that silver-haired lady. He was still within reach if she just stretched out her hand.

“Just ten minutes.”

Dorothy hugged Kyle’s pillow and closed her eyes. And then she had the dream again.

This time it was a white corridor in the Royal Academy. Snow was falling outside the windows. Kyle stood at the end of the hallway. He was taller than he was now, with broader shoulders. The silver-haired lady stood in front of him. She grabbed his tie and pulled him down. Kyle’s face lowered, and their lips met. He didn’t resist.

Dorothy asked in a trembling voice, “Kyle… you said you’d stay with me.”

The Kyle who heard those words looked down at her with cold eyes.

“Stop coming after me.”

Her breath caught.

“We’re not from the same world.”

A small light flickered at Dorothy’s fingertips, twisted, and shattered before it could even rise. At that moment, someone called her name. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A voice from reality.

“Hey.”

When Dorothy opened her eyes, Kyle was right in front of her. Too close. The cold face from her dream overlapped with his real one, and the terror made her shove him away. She screamed at him not to come near her. Only after she ran did she realize she might have hurt him.

But she couldn’t go back.

Dorothy buried her face in her knees. Her black hair spilled down.

“It’s a dream.”

Her small voice scattered into the winter air.

“It’s just a dream……”

Even by that evening, Dorothy hadn’t returned. The stew was still warm, and a faint chill lingered in the water cup. Traces of her were everywhere in the house, but the real Dorothy was gone.

I sat at the dining table and touched my pocket. My fingers brushed against the black ribbon. The image of Dorothy’s sleeping face on my bed came to mind. Along with the way her eyes had filled with fear the moment she saw me.

“Why is she acting like that, seriously?”

There was no answer. Deep into the night, the hair tie in my pocket kept bothering me.