Maxi stood alone in an endless void.
Vast darkness stretched around him, swallowing everything and painting it in pure black.
Maxi didn't waste time.
He walked.
And walked.
Miles.
Years.
Eternities.
Then—at last—a light.
Faint and distant, like a flickering candle in an abyss. He stepped toward it, his feet making no sound in the silent void.
As he approached, a shape emerged within the light's glow—an old, prestigious coffee table.
Atop the table lay a book.
Something about it called to him.
The closer he walked, the clearer it became.
A symbol—etched onto the book's cover—glowed faintly, pulsing as if it were alive.
Maxi's breath hitched.
He reached out.
Then—
GRIP.
Something cold wrapped around his ankle.
He froze.
Slowly, his gaze dropped.
A hand, its form swallowed by writhing shadows, clutched his leg.
Then another.
And another.
They emerged from the void, grasping, pulling—strong, unyielding.
But Maxi did not panic.
He had seen this before.
Thousands
And
Millions
Of times.
With calm determination, he fought to move forward, straining toward the book. The light.
Another hand.
Then another.
They gripped his arms, his waist, his throat—
One covered his mouth.
Then he got pulled into the void with one big yank of all the arms, causing him to fly up in the air slightly.
The void swallowed him whole.
Darkness.
Nothingness.
Then—
GASP.
Maxi awoke, his chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths.
He did not scream.
He did not tremble.
Instead, he sighed and sat up, raking a hand through his messy hair as he calmed himself down.
That dream.
He had it before, multiple times, in fact, throughout his years in this world, but it only happened like once or twice a year.
But for some reason, this year it had been happening more frequently, sometimes daily.
He doesn't know what that dream is or why it started, but he has an instinctual desire towards that book that he just can't explain.
He seemed like he had made some progress from what he could see. At three years old, he was dragged away as soon as he saw the book. He couldn't even take three steps forward.
And the strangest thing was the fact it wasn't fear-inducing. With the black shadowy hands and the void-like space, you would expect him to be gut-wrenchingly terrified, but he wasn't.
All Maxi felt while in the dream was nothingness.
It was as if he was a husk, empty, devoid of emotions, with only one goal and desire in mind.
The thought of himself like that terrified him more than the dream itself.
Maxi slid out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. The cool water of the shower grounded him, washing away the lingering weight of the dream.
Once dressed in a white undershirt, black waistcoat, and long black pants, he went to find his glasses—only to remember he had left them in the training grounds.
With a tired sigh, he lay back on his bed.
But as he turned his head—
There they were.
Resting neatly on his bedside table.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
Mother.
She must have retrieved them for him.
A silent thank you passed through his mind as he slipped the glasses onto his face.
Then, pushing the dream aside, he moved to his bookshelf in the corner of the room. He scanned the spines, fingers trailing over old pages until he settled on a familiar title—
"Tales of Magic and Circus Magicians."
With the book in hand, Maxi returned to bed and began to read.
Minutes turned to hours.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
A voice, soft and hesitant, called through the door.
"Young… master Maxi."
His maid.
Maxi's gaze lifted from the book.
The dream was already fading.
But something told him,
Those dreams weren't going to end anytime soon.