Author's Notes:

Several people requested me to continue "Free," and I was also getting the urge, so I started up a sequel. I thought the perfect time to post an update would be on July 5th, NiGHTS's anniversary :) Enjoy!

Happy 21st Anniversary, NiGHTS!

Copyright Info: All characters and settings in this chapter were created by Sega and Sonic Team.

The Ideal Place

I admit I felt bitter at first against the dreamer. By coming back in time from when we were apparently friends, she'd shown my future to Wizeman. And big surprise, he hadn't liked it.

The Ideya Palace he stuffed me in was wider than the dreamer's cage, but I still felt restricted. Just on the other side of the blue columns was the darkness of Nightmare that I'd always known: a wasteland of burnt trees and castle rubble, the ruins of another dreamer's Nightopia, seeable but unreachable through the invisible walls bordering the Palace.

I sat in the corner to sulk. Partys passed by to titter at me, which was even more humiliating than when Reala laughed at me. He and I had been rivals and partners, but the Third Levels had been insignificant, mere pawns of our Ideya-capturing missions. And now they were laughing at me, the First Level who'd dared to free a dreamer, while they chased the fairy-like natives outside.

I decided to wait out my punishment, to stay there and mull over my stupidity until Wizeman finally sent someone to free me. Would it be Reala, I wondered? Or Jackle? Or perhaps even a Third-Level, just to humiliate me even more?

I should have known my master never intended to release me. The possibility of betrayal made him angry and—now I know—afraid. That girl had shown him a future he wanted to prevent. A light he would quench before it was lit.

As it is, I only found out Wizeman's intentions by spending too long in the Ideya Palace. Days turned into weeks, then turned into months, and no one had freed me. The thought that he probably wouldn't let me go, that he'd discarded me like so many other failed creations, began to nag me.

I swam around in the Palace's stale air, circling over and over again, trying to stay sane. I made some twirls and loops to pass the time, but I thought I was going to choke on my own Twinkle Dust.

Finally, just as I thought I'd snap, I felt something different in the Palace. Winds pulled me, as if air were leaking out someplace.

Curious, I leaned back and let myself drift. In a few moments, the air began to pull me. I rolled and felt my way toward the hole I sensed. There it was, in the middle.

I reached my hand out until, in the center of the Ideya Palace, it stretched and disappeared.

I held my handless sleeve cuff up to my face. Huh. That was interesting, I thought.

Well, I figured wherever the hole led to, it was probably better there than where I was, so I might as well follow my hand. With a shrug, I fed my arm in and let the invisible thing suck me through, piece by piece. I closed my eyes as my face stretched.

Seconds later, I slithered out and expanded in my new space, a bright blue...!

Oh. It was another Ideya Palace.

I took a look around. Yes, it was the same blue dome ceiling, and there were the same blue columns that came up only to face-level. I glided to the edge of the pagoda, hands first, ready to brace myself. Sure enough, I bumped into an invisible wall. I was still trapped. I sighed, pressing my hands on the barrier the way I'd seen dreamers press against windows and stare out at places they couldn't go. I probably looked just as pathetic as they did.

At least the view was better there than in my old prison: rolling hills, green grass, distant mountains, and floating windmills just beyond... a gentle breeze, too, which rustled the grass and even blew into the Palace. I finally felt fresh air on my skin!

And there was sunlight. There hadn't been much of it in Nightmare. My hands seemed almost ghost-white in the light, as if I were made of fog. And it felt hot. Would I disappear in the light, I wondered, swallowed by that shining world?

My eyes ached after a while from the brightness, but I stayed whole. And the next day, there I was, still not a ghost, still fully alive, still trapped, bleached, and feeling sorry for myself.

I both did and didn't want to go out into the land beyond. It was a Nightopia for sure: a dreamscape created by a human dreamer. Nothing so bright, beautiful, and joyful could be anything but. Just as I had been drawn by the warmth of the dreamer who'd ensnared me, I was tempted by this world of light. But I couldn't ever reach that world, could I, much less live in it if I did?

As time went on and I became bored again, I thought about how dreamers dream and imagine—how lucid ones can create things out of thin air. And I thought to myself, Why don't I try it? Make something to pass the time?

I sat on the air, raised my hands, and closed my eyes, imagining a long wind instrument. I'd seen it in many dreams: it was silver, cool, and metal, with several holes and circular buttons to press down. It was played with fingers arched to the side of the head, like this, and when you breathed, it sounded...

It sounded light, high, clear, and sweet, like the breeze. Like flying itself...

I was hearing it, the ascending notes. They rose until they drifted out the pagoda to join the wind outside. The mountains echoed them back softly. They breezed over the grass like a spring gust, dancing, making me almost feel as if there were no barrier at all. Nothing between myself and freedom.

I opened my eyes.

The Palace was still there. And when I centered my eyes, I saw there was nothing between my fingers.

How could this be? I was sure I'd heard the sound. I'd even felt the vibration of the flute's body!

I puffed where I'd formed the blow hole. Nothing came.

Growling, I closed my eyes to refocus the image. The flute was there, I told myself, if only I thought so.

I breathed, but the whistle that came out was made by my own lips and teeth.

I blew a few more times with no luck before I finally sighed and threw my arms up in frustration. How do the dreamers do it?! I asked myself. I decided to stop and try again later.

I did try the next day, and nothing happened. Then the next, still with no result. I grumbled and swore to abandon the idea altogether. It had to be a dreamer thing. A Nightmaren couldn't create, I thought.

But boredom—and, I admit, a bit of jealousy for the beautiful creation around me—drove me to keep picking it back up, no matter how useless it seemed.

After several weeks of on and off practicing, I could feel the tube of the flute in my hands, even if I could never see it. I could hold it steady in front of my face as a solid, invisible object, and I could make a few trilling notes. That was this caged bird's song: the chirps of a flute, rising on the wind in my place, carrying hope for a day when I would fly just as free...

Author's Notes:

There will be another chapter up within the week. Stay tuned!

-Penelopi