The sun dipped low, spilling orange and purple streaks across the sky as Opera and Stargazer made it to the old forge. Thick smells of wet ground and rotting metal hung in the air - signs time had worn everything down. A golden palomino mare, Opera soaked up what little warmth remained, glad for any cover. She leaned toward caution by habit, so even a broken-down shed beat sleeping under stars. The smithy stood like a broken giant under the fading light. Stone chunks had fallen here and there, leaving gaps where the weakened roof sagged - thin streaks of purple sky sneaking in. Inside loomed an enormous cold forge, wide open like some ancient beast that no longer roared; next to it, twisted remains of a bellows curled up, quiet proof of work long abandoned. When Opera moved under the wide opening - where a door used to be - a odd flicker passed through her sight. The forge, just seconds earlier solid and steady, appeared to stretch sideways, then squeeze inward, before returning to normal. That usual metallic bite in the air, normally so crisp, now felt muffled, like a half-remembered sound. She blinked hard, tilting her head. Could the journey have taken more from her than she realized? A sharp tiredness hit her hard. Not just from walking all day - no, this felt like a damp cloth stuck inside her frame, dragging down her arms and legs. Her vision blurred for a sec. One foot dragged ahead, then the other wobbled, barely holding steady. Stargazer?” Opera’s words came out shaky, low - almost drowned by the scratchy dance of dead leaves tumbling through gusts. “You… okay?” Stargazer came in next, a dark shiny horse with eyes like slick black glass. Her tail swung side to side, full of attitude. She nudged Opera, smirking like she’d just pulled a prank. "Hah! Smart enough to beat a grumpy badger, anyway. What’s up, sunshine? Legs feeling wobbly or something?" Yet while she was talking, Stargazer suddenly yawned - huge, out of nowhere - her mouth opening wide. Her sharp gaze, normally full of playful spark, started fading, while her steps grew sluggish instead of light. She shut her eyes for a beat, paused, then scrunched her face up. "Wait. Since you brought it up, my tail’s heavy… like it hauled stone all day.". This spot really seems past its prime - maybe even older than it oughta be.” She looked around the forge, head cocked slightly, showing a softness that didn’t usually show through. “Feels heavy here, right? Kind of like pushing through mist Opera suddenly felt shaky inside. Not alone in this - something hit them both hard. The tiredness got worse, real fast. Each gut feeling yelled: drop everything, shut your eyes, give in to that heavy need to rest. Yet her honest, rule-following side - deeply wired with responsibility and care - pushed back. Odd events usually weren't harmless. "We can't go on," Opera stated, the words heavy in her mouth. "Not like this. We must find a safe spot inside. Rest, but remain vigilant." Stargazer, always itching to test limits or try some backroad path, just gave a slow nod, chin sinking toward her chest. "Sure thing. Still, I’d hate if whatever’s drugging us meant to chew us up while we nap - ruin the whole point of crashing." She tried a grim smirk, yet her tone fell flat. For once, even she didn’t have energy left for trouble. They pushed further into the forge, exhaustion dragging each foot forward. Her sight fuzzed out at the sides, while the room wobbled like it was alive. Rust-eaten tools piled by a wall shifted - just for a second - they formed some weird shape that shouldn’t exist, then slumped again into chaos. They came across a spot that was sort of protected - safe from falling beams and the wind blasting through shattered glass. Tiny specks floated in what little light crept in, glowing like small ghost lights. Opera dropped down, each part of her screaming with pain. She fought to stay alert, scanning the dark corners, yet sleep pulled at her hard. She ran through her rules in her head - shield those who can't fight, stand up for what's right, stay sharp. Yet staying alert seemed tougher than climbing a cliff. Stargazer slumped beside her, her usually twitching ears still. "This is beyond just being tired, Opera," she mumbled, her voice thick with fatigue. "My usually finely tuned senses feel like they're wading through molasses. There's a hum in the air, a low thrum." She lifted her head, her gaze unfocused but intent on something unseen. "Like a whisper of a lullaby, but... wrong." Opera, barely able to keep her thoughts coherent, struggled. "I... I only feel the overwhelming desire to close my eyes. What are you talking about?" Yet Stargazer, worn out as she was, still moved on gut feeling and odd little hunches. Her sneaky side - sluggish but not dead - caught how offbeat the humming sounded. It didn't fit, and when something didn't fit, it often meant a chance - or at minimum, needed checking out. With a low grunt, she dragged herself upright, grace gone, steps shaky. Tracking the soft, steady beat, her nose flared, her ears swiveling like loose hinges. The hum pulled her beyond the big furnace, where the dark, ash-covered pit sat quiet. Yet there, near a broken part of the rear wall - older, built from jagged rocks held by brittle old paste - the sound grew thick. Though faint, it thrummed steady, almost like it slipped inside her bones. Frowning hard, Stargazer pushed at a wobbly rock using her snout. The thing shifted with a quiet bump, opening up a tiny shadowy gap beneath. Light seeped out - kinda purple, kinda weird - casting dreamlike shades along the hole’s walls. Opera was dead tired, yet a jolt of worry shot through her. "Stargazer," she mumbled, struggling up onto unsteady legs. Something about the situation just didn't feel right. Her gut told her to pay attention - danger could be close. Stargazer poked her snout inside, gently shoving a rough-hewn rock. The thing felt slick, kind of hot, glowing with that faint purple glow lighting up the nook. "Found our sleep thief," she grumbled, drawing back. "Feels like a dream-rock - maybe a bad-dream one, given how drained I am." Opera stumbled forward, her eyes fixated on the stone. Its magical aura was undeniable, ancient and potent, but distorted. "It's a sleep-ward," she realized, memories of old lore stirring in her tired mind. "An ancient protection spell. Designed to induce a deep, restorative sleep in creatures traversing dangerous lands – to hide them, to grant them rest without fear. But it's clearly unstable. It's not just inducing sleep; it's leeching our vitality. Draining our life force, not just calming us." Her sense of justice flared, cutting through some of the fatigue. This was wrong. It was causing harm. Stargazer’s eyes didn’t sparkle, yet they grew just a bit when ‘draining life force’ came up. Even someone who loves tricks won’t risk losing what keeps them alive. Still, something shifted in her stare. “What if… we could harness it?” she wondered, nudging the rock with her snout. “Knocking folks out cold might help during sticky situations.” A grin formed - though the wink that followed seemed closer to a tired twitch than charm. "No, Stargazer!" Opera snapped, her voice gaining a little more strength. "It's unstable. It's leeching the life force. It must be contained or deactivated. We can't wield something so volatile. It's dangerous." Her deep-seated sense of order and safety made the very idea abhorrent. Stargazer studied the stone, her ears flickering. "It's humming. Like it's hungry. And it keeps drawing on us. What if we just... gave it a little push? A little redirect?" The trickster’s mind, even weary, sought the path of least resistance, the elegant cheat. Opera breathed out slow, running through what she’d learned about old magic. Old barriers? They tended to react to focused thoughts or set actions. Shutting one down meant flipping it with a reversal chant, strong intent, or resetting its core goal. “Meant for calm, not damage,” she whispered, pushing focus forward even though tiredness still clung. “Needs honest kindness - maybe something solid - to let built-up power drain off safe.” Stargazer, however, had a different idea. "Benevolent intention is fine, Opera, but this thing's a glutton. It's drawing. What if we give it something else to draw on? Something harmless, but satisfying to its 'hunger'?" Her eyes landed on a nearby pile of cold embers from the forge. "Like a little magical snack." Opera stared at her, uncertainty battling sheer need. "A enchanted bite?" Precisely,” Stargazer mumbled, nudging a tiny glowing piece toward the dreamstone using her nose. Then she poured a bit of her quiet inner magic - meant for tricks and turning attention - into that little spark. It wasn’t much, just a weak trace of herself, already let go, meant to fool. You pour your calm, kind will into fixing its heart, Opera. I’ll feed it something harmless instead, shifting where it wants to bite Once they both agreed, Opera shut her eyes, sending calm energy toward the rock through sheer will. Because she meant well, a bright force moved like water from her hands. Her mind locked onto what the stone once stood for - sleep, stillness, safety. Even though dark power clung to it now, she pushed harder, making it recall kindness instead. Stargazer shifted the glowing coal near, squinting with focus. Yet she wrapped it in a faint shimmer - one soft trace of used-up power - to tease the dreamstone’s interest. Though hungry as a wild animal, the rock throbbed stronger, turning away from their energy toward this tempting morsel. While they teamed up, the stone’s violet light jumped around before calming down. Bit by bit - somehow - the heavy fatigue melted off them. Inside the workshop, the thick air cleared out, no longer warped or tight. Opera got a rush of pep; it wasn’t just feeling better, but charged, like fixing the spell had poured fresh fire into her. The rock stopped siphoning energy, then began a quiet, calm pulse. Light dimmed to a faint blue glow, spreading warmth that felt healing, honest. Not shut down - just changed, kinder now, like a silent guard at bedtime. "It's... stable," Opera breathed, awe in her voice. "And now it feels like it's genuinely trying to help." Stargazer stretched, her joints cracking, a playful glint returning to her obsidian eyes. "Heh. Just needed a good talking-to, and maybe a little misdirection, Opera. See, sometimes the trickster's way is the path of least resistance." She grinned, a genuine, unburdened smile. They glanced at one another, worn out but then lifted by sudden calm - faces told the whole story. Where everything once seemed strange and off, the forge now gave warmth like home. Sitting back down, they let the soft drone of the old sleep-room wrap around them, pulling them into deep, healing quiet. Hidden tight within its walls, the forgotten workshop had shifted - from weight to shelter - for both Opera and Stargazer.