The patriarch noticed and howled, pushing against Lin's shackles. It managed to free one arm and sent a lance of darkness flying at Long. Lin redirected a ribbon to intercept, but the bolt grazed Long's side, burning cold. He bit back a cry, forcing himself to ignore the flare of pain. He had one shot.
The crystal lotus swirled chaotically, the mist inside frantic. Long raised his sword, its blade reflecting the lotus's prismatic light. With every ounce of strength—physical, mental, spiritual—he drove the sword down.
Time seemed to slow. The blade pierced the crystal lotus with a thunderous crack. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The patriarch's black form froze, its mouth open in silent rage. Then the lotus exploded into a burst of radiance and shadow, shards of crystal spraying out like shooting stars.
A shockwave of energy blasted outward. Long was flung backward off the dais, tumbling through the air. He glimpsed the patriarch's figure disintegrating as the wave hit it—great chunks of darkness peeling off and evaporating. The phantoms too were torn apart by the force, vanishing into wisps. He heard a cacophony of screams, a chorus of a hundred voices—the despairing wail of Clarity undone.
Long hit the ground hard. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. The world itself was collapsing—the courtyard unraveling into streams of light and dark. He tried to push himself up, and saw nearby Elder Lin collapsed, Zhou Wei crawling toward his brother's spirit form, and Gan lying prone. The collected disciples' spirits on the dais were drifting upward, freed from their binds like fireflies rising to the sky.
In the center of the dais, where the lotus had been, now stood the faint, translucent figure of Patriarch Suli—his true visage, not the monster. He looked around at the crumbling dream with sorrowful eyes. His gaze fell upon Elder Lin and the others. "Forgive me..." his gentle voice echoed, clear for the first time, tinged with immense regret.
Elder Lin, coughing, reached a hand out toward him. "Patriarch... come with us, please!" she implored.
The old man's spirit gave a sad smile and shook his head. Cracks appeared on his form, light shining through. "My path ends here, child. You must lead them now, in waking." His form began to break apart, bits of his being fluttering away like petals on the wind.
Lin sobbed, tears flowing, but she nodded acceptance, shoulders shaking.
Patriarch Suli's spirit turned to Long, who had managed to kneel. The Patriarch inclined his head deeply in respect. "Thank you, traveler. You saved them… saved us."
Long felt a lump in his throat. Before he could respond, the Patriarch's form blew away into the brightness.
The ground lurched, fissuring into nothingness. Light and darkness swirled violently, the dream realm collapsing now that its anchor was gone. A roaring filled the air as reality reasserted itself.
Long squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation. He felt as though he were being pulled by a great force, flung across space. There was a final tremendous whump—and then silence.
When Long opened his eyes, he was flat on his back staring at the wooden rafters of the ritual chamber. The scent of incense and lilies was replaced by smoke from burned candles and the earthy smell of the chalk circle. His body felt heavy and aching, but it was his body—real and solid. The ritual must have thrown them all back out of the dream.
For a second, he simply breathed, drinking in the reality. The faint grey of dawn light was seeping in through a high window; they must have been under for hours.
A furry face suddenly appeared above him, two golden eyes filled with worry. The wolf cub, whimpering, began licking Long's cheek furiously. He let out a weak laugh, relief and gratitude washing through him. "I'm alright, I'm alright," he croaked, lifting a hand to pat the cub's head. It nuzzled into his palm, tail wagging frantically.
Beside him, there was movement. Zhou Wei groaned as he sat up, rubbing his temples. Gan was sprawled out, blinking at the ceiling. Elder Lin had already pulled herself to a seated position, leaning against the wall, tears drying on her face as she composed herself.
Elder Sui—who had been outside the dream—was hovering anxiously, the resonance bell still clutched in his hands. His old eyes were wide with concern. When he saw movement, he let out a shaky laugh of relief. "By the heavens, you're back! I—I kept ringing until everything went wild and you all jerked like fish on a line! Then you just... woke up."
Long pushed himself to a sitting position with the cub's help (the little creature braced itself against his side as if to steady him—an oddly endearing gesture). "We did it," he murmured, more to himself than anything.
Zhou Wei immediately scrambled to check on a still unconscious figure lying on a nearby mat—his brother Zhou Yun. The young man's eyes fluttered open to Zhou Wei's frantic calling of his name. "Wei...? What happened? I had the strangest..." Zhou Yun mumbled before being smothered in his brother's relieved embrace.
All around, the other lost disciples were also stirring. The chamber had several pallets arranged, each with a sleeper that had been under Clarity's thrall. Now those sleepers were waking, groggy and confused but alive. Disciple Gan let out a whoop of joy as he spotted his friend Ping—the one whose image had been used to ensnare him—among the waking, and rushed to his side, laughing and crying at once.
Elder Lin slowly got to her feet, with Elder Sui rushing to support her elbow. She waved off any fuss. Despite her exhaustion and the sadness of the Patriarch's loss weighing on her, she wore a look of pride and hope as she surveyed her recovering sect members. Catching Long's eye, she mouthed, "Thank you," with profound sincerity.
Long leaned back against the cub, who had plopped down behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment, simply letting the scene of reunion and relief wash over him. They had survived the night of terrors. The Sect that Cultivates Dreams had been pulled back from the brink of nightmare.
And though wounds—both physical and emotional—remained, dawn had broken at last.