Jayde walked in a daze as the Resistance camp came into view. Nestled deep in the heart of the Exile, the camp had a wild beauty to it, like something out of a forgotten dream. The sprawling encampment was a mix of makeshift homes built from scrap metal and wood, with sprawling gardens where vibrant flowers and strange crops grew. People bustled about, talking, laughing, and creating. There were no gray, uniform buildings here, no oppressive silence like in Central City. Instead, the air buzzed with life, with freedom. It reminded Jayde of a world she had only imagined in her most vivid dreams.

Kyle had been rushed ahead to receive medical attention, and Jayde, despite her exhaustion, couldn't help but take it all in. Around her, Dreamers were painting, sculpting, and building, all creating art that glowed with a life of its own. It was like stepping into another reality—one that had long been hidden from her.

Beside her, Wes walked in silence, his arm brushing against hers as they followed her father through the camp. She glanced at him, feeling a rush of conflicting emotions. It had been so long since they'd truly been together. His presence grounded her, but at the same time, it stirred up something else—something deeper. He had risked everything to save her and Kyle, and now they were here, together, in this strange place.

As they passed by more Dreamers, Jayde felt her father's presence beside her, steady and sure. She could hardly believe he was really here, alive and leading the Resistance. He had been the one figure missing from her life, the one mystery she had always been too afraid to unravel. Now, as she looked at him—older, more worn by the years—she knew the truth was close.

After leading them to a small wooden structure that resembled a cabin, Jayde's father turned to her, his expression serious. "We'll talk soon," he promised. "But first, I need to check on Kyle."Jayde nodded, biting her lip as her father disappeared into the medical tent where Kyle had been taken. The fear of losing Kyle gnawed at her, but she had to trust the Resistance's healers. They knew how to handle wounds like his. At least, she hoped they did.

Wes lingered by her side, his expression unreadable. "You should get some rest," he said quietly."I can't," Jayde murmured, shaking her head. "There's too much happening, and Kyle..."

Wes hesitated for a moment before taking a step closer to her. "Jayde, I've been worried about you. Since the moment we parted back at the academy, I've been thinking about you every single day."

His words caught her off guard. She had known Wes was important to her—had always felt a connection to him that went beyond their shared rebellion—but hearing him admit it so openly sent her heart racing.

"I missed you," Wes continued, his voice low and sincere. "Not just because of what's happening with the Regime, but because of you. I care about you, Jayde, more than I ever thought possible."

Jayde's breath caught in her throat. Wes's eyes, so full of emotion, bore into hers, making it impossible to look away. She felt the warmth of his hand brush against hers, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade.

Her heart pounded in her chest, torn between the rush of feelings Wes's confession stirred in her and the uncertainty that still hung between them. She had been through so much—her father's return, Kyle's injury, the relentless chase by the Regime. And now, standing here in the safety of the Resistance, she found herself conflicted.

Wes leaned in slightly, his gaze searching hers. "I don't expect you to have all the answers right now. But I needed you to know how I feel."

Jayde's throat tightened. "I... I don't know what to say," she admitted. "There's so much happening, Wes, and I don't even know who I am anymore, let alone what I want."

Wes nodded, his expression understanding. "I get it. I really do. I just needed you to know."

Before she could respond, her father returned from the medical tent. His expression was grim, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Kyle is stable," he said. "The infection is serious, but our healers are doing everything they can."

Jayde released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, relief washing over her. Kyle would live. For now, that was enough.

Her father motioned for her to follow him as they walked toward a secluded part of the camp. Wes gave her a nod, silently stepping back to give them space.

As they reached a quiet corner of the camp, Jayde's father paused, leaning against a large oak tree. His eyes were heavy with the weight of years spent in exile. "I know you have questions," he began, his voice soft but firm. "About me, about the Regime, and why I left."

Jayde swallowed hard, nodding. "Why did you leave us? Why did you let us believe you were dead?"

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the burden of his past was too much to bear. "I didn't want to leave you, Jayde. But when I uncovered what the Regime was really up to, I had no choice."

He looked away, his eyes distant. "Years ago, when I was still a part of the Regime, I was stationed near the farms on the outskirts of Central City. That's where I found it—the tome of dark magic buried in the fields."

Jayde's brow furrowed. "Dark magic?"

Her father nodded, his expression grim. "It was ancient, something the Regime hadn't even known existed. But once they got their hands on it, everything changed. They began researching it, studying its effects. At first, it was just curiosity—small experiments, nothing too serious. But then..." He paused, his voice thick with emotion. "Then they started experimenting on Dreamers."

Jayde's stomach turned as her father's words sank in. The Regime had been torturing Dreamers for years—using them as test subjects for their dark experiments. Her father's face hardened as he continued.

"They used the Dreamers' abilities, trying to harness their magic, twisting it into something darker, something they could control. I couldn't stand by and watch it happen. I tried to stop it, to speak out against the Chancellor. But he wouldn't listen. That's when I knew I had to leave. I had to protect the Dreamers, and I couldn't do that from within the Regime."

Jayde's chest tightened. All these years, she had believed her father had abandoned them, but in reality, he had been fighting for the very people the Regime sought to destroy.

"Many Dreamers have followed me since then," her father continued. "They've come to the Exile, seeking refuge from the Regime's oppression. This camp... it's not just a hiding place. It's a sanctuary for those who still believe in the power of creation. In the power of dreams."

Jayde looked around the camp once more, seeing it with new eyes. The people here weren't just hiding from the Regime—they were fighting back in their own way. Through art, through creation, they were defying the oppressive world that sought to control them.

Her father's gaze softened as he looked at her. "You're a Dreamer too, Jayde. You always have been. The Regime tried to suppress it, to keep you from realizing your potential. But you've always had the power within you."

Jayde's thoughts raced as she processed everything he was telling her. Her dreams, her visions—they were more than just flickers of rebellion. They were a part of her magic, a part of who she was.

"And the Regime," she whispered. "They've been using dark magic all this time?"

Her father nodded. "Yes. They've been trying to merge it with science, to create soldiers who can control both. But dark magic is dangerous, Jayde. It corrupts everything it touches. That's why we have to stop them. We can't let them continue down this path."

Jayde's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The Regime was far more dangerous than she had realized. They weren't just suppressing creativity—they were actively twisting it into something monstrous.

Her father placed a hand on her shoulder, his gaze steady. "You have a choice, Jayde. You can stay here, with the Resistance, and fight back against the Regime. Or you can return to the city, and try to live a normal life. But whatever you choose, know this: the power of dreams, of creativity... it's stronger than anything the Regime can control."

Jayde looked up at him, feeling a surge of determination. She had been running for too long, hiding from her own abilities. But now, standing here in the heart of the Resistance, surrounded by people who believed in the power of creation, she knew she couldn't go back.

"I'm not going back," she said firmly. "I'm staying. I'm going to fight."

Her father smiled, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "I knew you would."

As they turned to walk back toward the camp, Jayde felt a sense of clarity she hadn't had in a long time. The path ahead was dangerous, filled with uncertainty. But for the first time, she knew where she belonged.

The Resistance wasn't just a place—it was a purpose. And she was ready to embrace it.

***

Jayde followed her father through the winding paths of the Resistance camp, taking in the sights and sounds of the people around her. The more she saw, the more she realized how much this place differed from the suffocating conformity of the Regime. Here, creativity wasn't just a luxury—it was a necessity, woven into the very fabric of their lives. People were free to be who they wanted to be, and they fought back against the Regime with more than just weapons; they fought with their imaginations.

"This place... it's amazing," Jayde whispered, feeling a sense of awe settle over her. "I had no idea something like this existed."

Her father smiled warmly as they walked. "The Regime has worked hard to erase places like this from memory. But we're still here, surviving. And now, we're starting to fight back in ways that the Regime can't control."

As they walked, Jayde's eyes caught a small group of people gathered around a long table. They were painting, their hands moving swiftly as colors and shapes formed on the canvas. Some used brushes, while others let the paint flow directly from their fingers as though it was a part of them. It wasn't just art; it was magic, imbued with their dreams and ideas. Jayde could feel the power radiating from their work, and it filled her with a strange sense of both excitement and longing.

"Over here," her father said, leading her toward a row of tents where a few Dreamers were tending to crops. "These are some of the healers and artists who work to keep the camp alive. It's not always easy out here, but we make do."

As they passed the group, one of the young women looked up and smiled at Jayde. She had dark, curly hair tied back in a loose bun, with splashes of paint covering her hands and arms. There was something bright and curious about her, a spark of energy that reminded Jayde of what it felt like to create.

"Hey, you're new here," the woman said, wiping her hands on a cloth. "I'm Calla. I help out with the gardens, but I paint too. You're...?"

"Jayde," she replied, offering a tentative smile. "I'm still trying to figure out how all of this works."

Calla laughed softly. "It's a lot to take in at first. But you'll get the hang of it. This place... it's special. You won't find anything like it anywhere else." Her eyes sparkled with warmth as she gestured to the crops and the people nearby. "We're all connected here. We help each other survive."

Jayde felt a sense of comfort from Calla's words. It was strange, but in the few moments they'd spoken, she already felt a bond forming between them, as if Calla's easy smile and open energy were drawing her in.

"Are you a Dreamer too?" Jayde asked curiously.

Calla nodded. "Yeah. My magic is tied to my paintings. They come alive, in a way. It's hard to explain, but I feel the world through my art. And you?"

Jayde hesitated for a moment before replying, "I've been having dreams, visions, I guess. And I can feel things sometimes—things that don't make sense. I don't really understand it yet."

"You will," Calla said reassuringly. "Everyone's magic is different. But once you start to embrace it, it gets stronger."

Her father, who had been watching their exchange with a soft smile, placed a hand on Jayde's shoulder. "There are a lot of people here who can help you, Jayde. You're not alone in this."

For the first time in a long while, Jayde felt like she belonged somewhere. This camp wasn't just a refuge—it was a home for people like her, people who were different. And even though there was still so much she didn't understand, she knew she was ready to learn.

They continued walking through the camp until they reached the medical tent where Kyle was being treated. Her heart raced as she pushed aside the canvas flap and stepped inside. The smell of herbs and antiseptic filled the air, and in the far corner of the room, she spotted Kyle lying on a cot, his face pale but peaceful.

Next to him, sitting quietly with his hands resting on his knees, was Wes. His eyes met hers the moment she entered, and for a second, Jayde felt the tension between them, thick and heavy in the air.

Wes stood up and crossed the room toward her. "He's doing better," he said softly, his voice careful. "The healers said the infection is under control."

Jayde felt a wave of relief wash over her as she looked at Kyle's still form. "Thank God," she whispered. "I was so scared we were going to lose him."

Wes's eyes softened as he watched her. "We didn't," he said, his hand brushing against hers lightly. "You saved him, Jayde. You got him here in time."

She nodded, her throat tight with emotion. Kyle had always been her steady, constant presence, and seeing him like this, so fragile and vulnerable, made her heart ache. But he was alive, and that was what mattered.

"Why don't we sit for a while?" Wes suggested, guiding her to a small table near the tent's entrance. "We could... create something. Together."

Jayde looked at him in surprise. It was such a simple suggestion, yet the thought of creating in this place, with Wes, felt like exactly what she needed to clear her mind.

"Okay," she agreed, taking a seat across from him.

Wes reached into his bag and pulled out a few sheets of paper and a handful of pencils and brushes. "I thought maybe we could sketch something," he said. "You've always had a way with images in your dreams. Maybe it's time you tried putting them down on paper."

Jayde hesitated for a moment, but then she took a deep breath and picked up one of the pencils. It felt strange at first, the idea of creating something outside of her dreams, but as the pencil touched the paper, her hand began to move on its own. Lines and shapes started to form, and before she knew it, she was lost in the rhythm of creation.

Wes worked quietly beside her, his hands moving gracefully as he brought life to his own vision. The soft scratch of the pencils filled the space between them, and for a while, there were no words—only the steady flow of their creativity.

As the minutes passed, Jayde found herself drawing something she hadn't expected—a glimpse of the visions she had seen in her dreams, the flashes of color and light that had haunted her for so long. Her hands moved faster, her strokes bolder, and soon, the page was filled with an abstract image of swirling shapes and colors that seemed to leap off the paper.

When she finally stopped, she glanced over at Wes's work. He had drawn a landscape—rolling hills and trees that seemed to glow with an otherworldly light. It was peaceful, serene, but there was something powerful about it too, as though the land itself was alive.

Wes looked at her drawing and smiled softly. "That's beautiful, Jayde. You've got something special."

She blushed, feeling a warmth spread through her. "Thanks," she murmured, glancing down at the paper. "I wasn't sure if I still had it in me."

"You do," Wes said firmly. "More than you know."

Jayde's heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, she forgot about the danger outside, the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Here, in this moment, with Wes beside her and Kyle safe, she felt like she could finally breathe.

But then, reality crept back in. The Resistance was still fighting for survival, the Regime still hunting Dreamers, and her father's revelations about dark magic lingered in the back of her mind. There was still so much she didn't understand, and she knew that their journey was far from over.

"We need to figure out what to do next," Jayde said quietly, setting down her pencil. "My father told me the Regime is using dark magic. If they've been experimenting on Dreamers for years, they're not going to stop."

Wes nodded, his expression serious. "You're right. But we're not alone in this. The Resistance has been fighting back, and now that your father is here... we might have a chance to turn the tide."Jayde looked at him, feeling a sense of hope stir within her. The path ahead was still dangerous, but she wasn't facing it alone. And with Wes, Kyle, and the Resistance by her side, she knew she was ready to fight.

"We'll figure it out," she said, her voice steady. "Together."

Wes smiled, reaching out to take her hand. "Always."

As their fingers intertwined, Jayde felt a spark of something new—a connection that went beyond the fight, beyond the danger. It was something real, something she hadn't expected to find in the midst of all the chaos.

And in that moment, she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.