NiTN Season 3 Outlines - 1 (Patreon)

Outline drafts are only for the highest tiers and for purchase as they're exclusive and not the finished product.


Episode 1: "A Dark Return"

the first time greg woke, he wasn’t sure if he was alive.

everything was a blur, his vision swimming with indistinct shapes and colors. pain radiated through his body, a dull but insistent throb that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. he tried to move, but his limbs felt weighed down, as if gravity itself had doubled.

above him, a figure leaned close—a woman with red hair. not bright, but deep, like autumn leaves. she looked familiar in a way that made his head ache to think about.

“you’re not real,” he croaked, his voice raw

the woman smiled patronizingly as she rolled her eyes, her lips moving, but he couldn’t make out the words. she reached out, her hand cool against his forehead, and the world dissolved into darkness again.

the next time, greg was awake for a little longer. the room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a lantern somewhere to his left. his head lolled to the side, and he caught a glimpse of movement—a young woman, her red hair brighter than the first. she was speaking softly to someone just out of sight, her voice carrying a melody of reassurance.

“who…?” greg managed to rasp, his throat dry as sand.

she turned sharply, her green eyes locking onto his. for a moment, her face was unreadable, caught between surprise and relief.

“you’re awake,” she said, moving closer. “don’t try to speak, m’lord. you’ve done enough for a lifetime.”

he wanted to ask her name, but the words wouldn’t come. before he could try again, exhaustion pulled him back under.

a mass of fur was next. greg’s eyes cracked open just enough to catch the faint silhouette of something enormous crouched beside him. his first thought was ash, but this thing was bigger, heavier, at leas three or four times the size of his little guy. it growled softly, a sound low and comforting, and he thought he felt the faint brush of fur against his arm.

“stay,” greg mumbled, his voice barely audible. the creature didn’t respond, but it didn’t leave, either.

he blacked out again.

the fourth time, it was feathers.

the white ball fluttered just above his chest, bobbing slightly as if caught in an invisible breeze. it chirped, a sound too small and cheerful for how he felt.

“what are you?” greg muttered, squinting at the thing.

the bird—or whatever it was—chirped again, tilting its head. it seemed amused, though greg couldn’t imagine why.

“figures,” he whispered, letting his head fall back. “even hallucinations get jokes now.”

the dreams came in fragments, splintered images and sensations that felt both foreign and deeply familiar. greg couldn’t tell how long he drifted in this strange space. time didn’t seem to exist here—just fleeting moments, disjointed and vivid, like shards of glass reflecting a life he didn’t know he had.

he was in a forest, but not like any he’d ever seen. the air shimmered with light that danced in colors he couldn’t name, and the trees towered impossibly high, their trunks glowing faintly as if alive. he stumbled forward, his feet sinking slightly into moss that pulsed softly beneath him.

laughter, high and tinkling, echoed from somewhere above. he looked up and caught glimpses of tiny figures darting between the branches—wings like dragonflies, bodies glowing faintly blue-white.

“help…” he tried to call, but his voice came out strangled, muted by the forest’s dense, living silence.

one of the figures paused, hovering in midair. it looked at him with a tiny, inquisitive face before darting closer.

“lost?” the fairy said, its voice like a weak tinkling bell.

before he could answer, the forest shifted around him. the trees twisted, their trunks creaking as they grew taller still, and the ground beneath him seemed to breathe. the fairy was gone, its laughter fading into the distance.

he was standing in front of a massive tree now, its trunk so wide he couldn’t see its edges. the bark was smooth, apart from a giant smiling face that seemed natural on it rather than carved, and it radiated a warmth that drew him closer despite the strangeness of it all.

a door appeared—no, it had always been there, hadn’t it?—set into the tree’s base. his hand reached for the handle on its own, and as it opened, he was enveloped in golden light.

inside, the air was thick with energy. the walls, if they could be called that, were alive, pulsing faintly like the beat of a giant heart. tiny figures flitted through the space—smaller than the fairies, leaflike in their appearance, their laughter soft and strange.

“home,” a voice said, though he couldn’t see where it came from.

he was holding his sword, though it didn’t look quite right. its surface shimmered with unfamiliar etchings, glowing faintly in the dim light. instinctively, he swung it, and a wave of energy burst forth, cutting cleanly through the darkness around him.

the blade hummed in his hand, a low, resonant sound that seemed to echo in his bones. when he looked closer, he saw lines of light running along its edge, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

the world around him shifted again, and now he was standing in a room filled with intricate machines—magical, mechanical, both at once. the sword in his hand clicked, twisted, its form changing into something sleeker, more focused.

he swung again, and this time, the air around him shimmered, bending to the motion of the blade.

he was standing in the snow now, the night pressing in on all sides. his breath came out in visible puffs, but the cold didn’t touch him. he blinked, and suddenly the darkness wasn’t so dark. the faint outlines of trees, rocks, and distant shapes became clear, as if the night itself had parted to let him see.

far off, a figure trudged through the snow, a massive blade slung across their back. the man’s silhouette was unmistakable—broad shoulders, a heavy stride, and an air of exhaustion that radiated even at a distance.

the swordsman stopped, turning slightly to face greg, though his face was hidden in shadow.

“keep walking,” the man said, his voice low and rough. “it doesn’t end, you know. but it gets easier to carry.”

before greg could respond, the man turned and walked away, the snow swallowing his steps.

the stars were moving.

he stood in an open field, the sky stretching endlessly above him. constellations shifted and swirled, forming patterns he didn’t recognize. his hands glowed faintly, his fingers trailing lines of light through the air.

“this is yours,” a voice said, deep and resonant, though he couldn’t see its source. It sounded royal, though, like what he always knew a king would sound like.

the stars moved again, aligning into a new pattern—one that felt right, though he couldn’t say why.

“yours to shape. yours to break. Yours to rule, but never yours to own.”

a small, white bird stood in front of him now, its feathers pristine and glowing faintly in the dim light. it chirped once, then again, hopping closer with a peculiar confidence.

“you’re kidding,” greg muttered, his voice echoing strangely in the stillness.

the bird tilted its head, as if considering him, before letting out another chirp. the air around it seemed to still, and greg felt a strange calm settle over him.

“fine,” he said, crouching to offer his hand. “but you better not eat all my food.”

the bird hopped onto his hand, impossibly light, and for the first time in what felt like years, greg smiled.

the dreams began to blur together after that—shards of light and shadow, voices that spoke in riddles, and glimpses of places that felt impossibly distant yet achingly familiar. he saw figures, faces he didn’t recognize but somehow knew, and a name whispered faintly in the background, over and over: veder.

when he finally woke, the dreams clung to him like cobwebs, their meaning just out of reach. the room around him was dim and empty, but he felt heavier somehow, as if the weight of everything he’d seen had followed him into the waking world.

the faint sound of chaos reached his ears, growing louder as footsteps pounded outside his door.

greg’s eyes fluttered open, the dim light of the room blinding after so much darkness. his body ached, his muscles screaming in protest as he shifted slightly. the room was empty, the air still.

for a moment, he wondered if he’d imagined everything—the faces, the fur, the feathers. but then the sharp sound of shouting reached his ears, distant but frantic.

he sat up slowly, his head spinning as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. his boots were gone, his clothes replaced with simple linens. he felt exposed, vulnerable.

the door burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud crack. greg flinched, his body tensing instinctively.

gwenna stood in the doorway, her face pale but determined, her red hair wild around her shoulders.

“m’lord,” she said, her voice urgent, “we need you!”

greg blinked at her, his mind struggling to catch up. his heart was pounding, but whether it was from her words or the echoes of the dreams, he couldn’t tell.

“what’s happening?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“no time,” she said, stepping forward and grabbing his arm. “please—come now!”

her grip was firm, and for the first time in days, greg felt a spark of clarity. he pushed himself to his feet, the world tilting slightly before steadying under him.