Nebulous Kingdom

Prologue:

Alessio had always been drawn to the past. His parents, both renowned historians, had nurtured his love for history, but in a strangely controlled way. They surrounded him with tales of ancient civilizations and forgotten empires, but when it came to his own family history, they remained curiously silent. Whenever he asked about their ancestors, or his childhood, their answers became evasive, leaving a hollow feeling within him. Over the years, this mystery gnawed at him, a shadow that lingered behind the walls of his carefully constructed world.

The family’s library was Alessio’s sanctuary, a room filled with shelves of ancient tomes, scrolls, and dusty manuscripts. He spent hours there, studying the past with an intensity that felt almost instinctual. Yet, for all his understanding of the world’s history, Alessio knew nothing of his own. A persistent feeling of detachment followed him all his life—a sense that he didn’t truly belong, even with his parents. They sheltered him, as if they were afraid of something lurking beyond the threshold of their quiet home.

It was more than just a feeling. Strange things had been happening to Alessio ever since he could remember. Unexplainable phenomena. Moments when time seemed to warp around him, when shadows in his dreams seemed more alive than the waking world. The dreams had started when he was young, but recently, they had grown in intensity. He would awaken breathless, heart pounding, with fragments of distant memories not his own—glimpses of dark forests, glowing symbols, and something else, something winged and immense, lurking just beyond sight.

One night, after another dream so vivid it left his hands shaking, Alessio found himself drawn to a locked cabinet in the corner of the library. It was the one place his parents had always forbidden him from exploring. The key, however, was not well hidden—it was tucked in an old drawer. The lock clicked open easily, revealing an old, worn leather-bound journal.

The journal wasn’t his parents’. The handwriting was foreign, but familiar in a way he couldn’t explain. His fingers traced the worn pages, flipping through sketches of strange creatures—winged beasts with glowing eyes and swirling patterns etched into their scales. One word jumped out at him: Noctis Drake.

Suddenly, memories flooded his mind—memories he didn’t remember having. He saw himself as a child, barely two years old, standing in the middle of a vast, ethereal landscape, the air thick with shimmering energy. A towering creature, a Noctis Drake, its scales dark as night, stood before him. It bowed its head as if in farewell, before he was suddenly swept away, plummeting into the waking world.

Alessio gasped, dropping the journal. His heart raced. This couldn’t be real—he had always believed these creatures were myths, legends from the Dreamscape. But something deep within him knew the truth: he had been there. And this journal, this book filled with half-forgotten sketches and cryptic notes, was a piece of his past—a past that his parents had deliberately hidden from him.

The dreams weren’t just dreams. They were memories. Memories of another world, one he had been taken from. The pieces began to fall into place, each revelation darker and more unsettling than the last. Alessio wasn’t just adopted—he was smuggled out of the Dreamscape, spirited away by a Noctis Drake when he was in mortal danger. But why? And why had his parents kept this from him?

Suddenly, the library door creaked open, and his parents stood in the doorway, their faces pale and grim.

"You’ve found it, haven’t you?" his mother whispered, her voice trembling.

Alessio looked up, the weight of the truth settling over him. "Why didn’t you ever tell me? Not even a clue?"

His father stepped forward, his face lined with worry. "Because, Alessio, you were never meant to return. The Dreamscape… it’s not safe for you. It never was. That’s why the Noctis Drake brought you to us—to protect you from what was chasing you there. You were in grave danger, even as a child."

The words hung in the air, heavy and cryptic. Alessio’s mind raced, filled with questions that had no easy answers. His entire life had been shaped by a history he had no memory of, by a world he had long forgotten but that hadn’t forgotten him.

"Something's coming, isn’t it?" Alessio asked, his voice barely a whisper.

His mother nodded, eyes filled with a sadness that cut through the air like a blade. "Yes. And it's looking for you." 

Before Alessio could respond, his mother stepped forward, her hands trembling as she lifted them towards him. "Forgive me, my son," she whispered.

A soft, silvery glow began to emanate from her fingertips. Alessio’s eyes widened, confusion and fear warring within him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, stepping back, but it was too late. The glow wrapped around him, soothing yet overwhelming, like a warm blanket that muffled his thoughts and slowed his heartbeat. His vision blurred as his mother’s magic took hold.

"You were never supposed to know," she said, her voice distant and full of sorrow. "Not yet."

Alessio tried to fight the drowsiness creeping over him, but his limbs grew heavy, his thoughts slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers. The memories of the Noctis Drake, the journal, and the truth he had only just begun to uncover.

His last thought, before the darkness claimed him, was of the dream—the winged creature, the swirling clouds, and the sense of something waiting for him on the other side of a door that was about to close.

Then everything went black.

Chapter 1, Hidden Currents:

The sky hung low that evening, heavy with clouds, their presence undeniable. Towering and vast, they took on forms that stirred the imagination — a colossal wave frozen mid-crest, or perhaps the silhouette of a distant kingdom resting atop the heavens. You could even make out a heavenly, nebulous throne, grand and imposing, as though the sky itself ruled from above. The sea beneath them was still, as if in awe of the heavens. A distant storm rumbled in the far reaches of the sky, but the sound felt ancient, as though it had been waiting for centuries to unleash its full force. Above the quiet sea, the storm waited—silent but alive, like a memory hovering at the edge of thought.

Alessio waded barefoot through the cool, shallow water, feeling the soothing caress of the sea on his feet. He had come to this beach, as he often did, to clear his mind after a day of classes and assignments. Studying ancient history at university was fascinating but also overwhelming. The weight of long-dead cultures and forgotten languages sat heavily on his mind, and this remote shore offered him an escape from trying to solve forgotten mysteries. 

The rhythmic lapping of the waves against his ankles brought a deep, peaceful calm, as though the sea were cradling him in its embrace. His green eyes, bright and contemplative, followed the shifting patterns of the clouds above, their peculiar shapes twisting into enigmatic forms. Majestic in their stillness, these clouds hung low over the sea that remained perfectly calm, as though unaware of the chaos unfolding a few miles above it. Sometimes, he imagined the shapes as old gods, forgotten deities from the civilizations he studied. Alessio was always looking for connections between the world around him and the past he spent so much time buried in.

Strands of blonde hair clung to his forehead, dampened by the sea breeze, but his mood remained serene, grounded by the tranquil embrace of the water. His thoughts drifted back to his latest lectures—discussions on Mesopotamian mythologies, ancient Egyptian symbols, and the lost cities of civilizations that vanished without a trace. He had always been drawn to the mystery of ancient worlds, their legends and their unanswerable questions. But lately, the dreams that had been plaguing him were becoming harder to ignore.

As Alessio walked, the smoothness of the sea sand shifted suddenly under his foot. He paused, feeling the cold, rounded surface of an object beneath him. It stood out against the soft, familiar sand—smooth and round, its cool surface strangely soothing beneath his feet.

He bent down, curiosity piqued, and reached into the cool water. His fingers closed around an old, weathered bottle, its surface worn smooth by years of ocean currents. It reminded him of the relics he had studied—artefacts of lost times, clues left behind by those who came before him. Alessio placed the bottle in his bag, intending to recycle it on his way home. He often had a habit of collecting odd things during his walks, but this bottle felt different, though he didn’t know why.

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Back at his modest but cosy student apartment, Alessio fell into the familiar routine of organising his space. The apartment was filled with books on ancient history, archaeology, and languages, all piled haphazardly on his desk. His laptop, too, was surrounded by open notes on deciphering ancient scripts—a skill that had become both his passion and academic focus.

Though his apartment felt homely, Alessio's nights had become less peaceful. Over the past few weeks, his dreams had shifted into vivid, unsettling visions. Each night, he found himself wandering through a distant, nebulous kingdom—an otherworldly realm of shifting clouds and shimmering constellations. The dreams were elusive and fragmentary, yet persistent enough to leave a lingering sense of wonder and unease. His academic instincts told him to write them down, to catalogue these experiences, but he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that there was something deeper happening here—something beyond an overactive imagination.

The one thing that remained constant in the dreams was the presence of a friendly, white, dragon-like creature. It always took him on its back to the faraway kingdom, which seemed as old as time itself, its towers shrouded in mist, much like the ancient worlds he read about in his textbooks. He would awaken each morning with the vivid image of the creature in his mind, and with the unsettling thought that the kingdom might be more than just a figment of his imagination.

One night, as Alessio lay in bed, he felt a peculiar sense of anticipation. He had learned through his studies that the Echo, a mythical entity connected to the realm of dreams and history, was said to have a profound influence on those who delved deeply into the past. Legends spoke of how the Echo could intertwine with individuals’ fates, guiding them toward revelations or challenges.

As the dreams became more intense, Alessio grew increasingly frustrated, suspecting that something in his environment might be triggering them. Perhaps it was the stress of balancing his coursework or the constant immersion in cryptic symbols and stories. One evening, in an attempt to clear his head, he began cleaning his apartment. He hoped that organising his space might help him make sense of the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind.

While sorting through his clutter, Alessio came across the bottle he had picked up on the beach weeks earlier. It had slipped from his memory, blending into the background of his student life, until now. Under the dim light of his kitchen, he prepared to finally recycle it. But as he let go of the bottle, expecting to hear the clatter of glass in the bin, there was only a soft thud. No shattering sound, no clink of glass.

Intrigued, he retrieved the bottle from the bin and examined it closely. It seemed ordinary at first, but there was something strange about its weight. His curiosity, sharpened, made him pause. This wasn’t just trash—it was something more.

After several minutes of struggling with the cork, it finally yielded with a reluctant squeak. Nestled inside, almost hidden within the haze of the bottle’s fogged glass, was a tightly-rolled scroll, waiting to be found.

Alessio’s heart raced as he carefully pulled out the scroll and unrolled it on his kitchen table. The parchment was brittle, its edges scorched and frayed, like something that had survived the fires of history. He felt a thrill he hadn’t experienced since his first encounter with ancient texts in his university courses. The scroll bore strange symbols—some he vaguely recognized from his studies of Mesopotamian or Egyptian hieroglyphs, but others were completely alien to him.

He moved to his study, where the warm glow of a desk lamp illuminated the parchment. Alessio’s fingers traced the faded symbols. Two stood out clearly: a delicate cloud, its contours flowing like mist, and an intricate depiction of a kingdom with tall spires and towers. The map on the scroll seemed to outline a journey, but where to, he couldn’t say. What he did know was that this was far more than an old relic washed ashore. The pull he felt toward this object was undeniable.

As Alessio pondered the significance of the symbols, he couldn't shake the feeling that the Echo—the mythical force tied to dreams and history—was involved. Could the Echo have orchestrated his finding of the bottle and the scroll? If so, what was it trying to communicate to him? The questions buzzed in his mind like restless spirits, urging him to delve deeper.

Chapter 2, The Dream Kingdom Beckons:

That night, Alessio lay in bed, the weight of the scroll heavy on his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was tied to the dreams that had been haunting him for weeks. The more he thought about it, the more the images from his dreams seemed to align with the symbols on the map. It was as though the ancient world he studied by day was seeping into his nights.

Alessio had always dismissed the idea that dreams could be more than mere reflections of his subconscious. But lately, whispers of the Echo, an ancient force said to bridge the realms of dreams and reality, had started to surface in his studies. The Echo was rumoured to manipulate the boundaries between what was real and what was imagined, guiding individuals toward hidden truths or destinies.

The dreams returned, more vivid than ever before.

He found himself once again in the strange kingdom, suspended between reality and fantasy. The sky above was an ever-shifting swirl of twilight hues, and the dragon-like creature waited for him as always. But this time, the kingdom seemed more detailed—its towers clearer, its landscape more real. Alessio followed the creature as it led him through the dreamworld, and with every step, the symbols from the scroll came to life. As he traversed the dream kingdom, Alessio felt an eerie sensation, as if unseen eyes were observing him.

The cloud symbol appeared in the sky, and the intricate towers of the kingdom matched the ones drawn on the parchment. This wasn’t a coincidence—it couldn’t be. He recalled the lectures on ancient mythologies and how many cultures believed that dreams could connect individuals to other realms or dimensions. Alessio had always found those theories fascinating but far-fetched. Now, standing in the heart of the nebulous kingdom, they didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

The creature led him to a grand library, where scrolls lined the walls, glowing softly in the dim light. One particular scroll stood out. Its design mirrored the one Alessio had found in the bottle, complete with the same cloud and kingdom symbols. As he unrolled it in the dream, new symbols appeared—symbols he hadn’t noticed on the real scroll. One, in particular, caught his eye: a representation of a portal, glowing faintly with a mystical light. 

Legends spoke of the Echo creating these very pathways between realms, using symbols and dreams to guide individuals toward important discoveries or confrontations. The portal might be the means through which Alessio could connect with or understand the deeper significance of his dreams. The Echo seemed to be orchestrating these events, using the scroll and the dreams to prepare him for something beyond his current grasp.

He woke with a start, heart racing, his mind buzzing with the possibility that this map was more than just a piece of history.

Back in his study the next morning, Alessio pored over the scroll once more. The new symbol—the portal—burned in his mind. He traced the lines with his finger, thinking about the connection between his dreams and reality. His university classes had taught him to analyse everything through a rational lens, but this felt different. The dreams were trying to tell him something, and Alessio couldn’t shake the feeling that the ancient kingdom wasn’t just a product of his imagination.

He was at a crossroads. Should he continue to approach this mystery as a student of history, analysing the scroll like a relic of a forgotten time? Or should he allow himself to believe that something far more magical was at play? He found himself drawn more and more to the latter, even though every logical part of him resisted.

Chapter 3, The Unveiling:



The next morning, sunlight streamed through the thin curtains of Alessio’s apartment, casting long beams across his cluttered desk. His sleep had been fitful, disturbed by dreams of swirling clouds and cryptic symbols, but they had been vivid enough to leave him with a strange certainty: something important was hidden within the scroll, something he was meant to find. The kingdom from his dreams was no mere fantasy. It had been calling to him, inviting him into its ancient mysteries for several nights now. 

As he stretched and made his way to the desk, his hand instinctively reached for the scroll. Its parchment was stiff beneath his fingers, the symbols still as perplexing as the night before. Alessio knew he couldn’t figure this out alone. His university classes had taught him enough to realise that when a mystery seemed insurmountable, it was time to consult those with more experience or a different perspective.

He pulled on a clean shirt, grabbed his bag, and stuffed the scroll inside with great care.