He could feel himself running again, he was dressed weird, in all black. Close fitting top and pants that were made of stretchy but stiff material, the top was jacket-type and the pants had complicated belt holes, he had a big, sturdy belt that held what? Weapons? How did they get there? And what kind of weapons look like these? He had absolutely no idea but, this wasn't the first time he was experiencing this and he had never been able to stop it. He was after something he had never clearly seen but can always sense was very fast, because he was moving at a supernatural speed. Then he drew something from his belt, a dagger? It had strange symbols etched on it, and he flung it into the darkness ahead of him and stopped. Silence. After few moments, a monstrous face appeared out the darkness, it's mouth full of jagged deadly teeth- ajar.
—And Victor jerked awake.
He was sitting in his chair, phone clutched in his hands. For a few seconds he didn't move. His heart was pounding hard, sweat sticking to his shirt.
The room was dark, only the streetlights outside glowing through the curtains. Everything looked normal. His desk. His bed. His school bag half-packed against the wall.
He looked at his phone.
3:56 a.m.
Victor let out a shaky breath, leaning forward.
"Again," he whispered.
It wasn't the first time. Not even close.
The nightmares had been going on for weeks. Always kind of the same, but also different. Running. Darkness. Weapons he didn't know but somehow did. That feeling like he was in the middle of something big.
The the nightmare kept coming back, he had told his family the first time it happened, Isaac; his youngest brother had laughed it off, Ezekiel his immediate younger brother only reassured him it was only a dream, his Mom and Dad told him the same, but it had a tone to it that made him feel either something was wrong with him or there were things his parents were not telling him, but he was always afraid to push them because whatever it might be -if they were actually hiding something- he was scared to know.
But every time it happened again, Isaac kept taunting him about it and Ezekiel -given his withdrawn character- didn't bother to say anything to him, his Mom and Dad kept repeating the same thing. He felt he had to push them, before the worn-thin layer that held his sanity gave way, and everything came crashing down.
After that, he stopped talking about it.
The nightmares didn't stop.
He checked the room again. No weird shadows. No faces. Just the creaks of the house and cars outside.
Still, his hands shook a little when he put the phone down.
He rubbed his face, stood up, paced the room. His body felt wrong. Not weak, but like it had leftover energy buzzing inside.
.
"It happened again?" The calm and gruffly voice of his father came from the entrance of his room. Normally, around this time of the night, he'd be scared out of his wits but he didn't think he could be more terrified than he was after the monstrous face that appeared out the darkness, it's mouth -that contained jagged deadly teeth- ajar.
His dad was there, leaning on the frame. Nightclothes, calm face. In his hand was a book Victor knew right away.
The diary.
Victor's stomach dropped.
"I didn't hear you come in, Dad," he said too sharp. "Good morning."
His dad didn't answer that. He came in, shut the door. The click sounded loud.
"What did you see this time?"
Victor hesitated.
Normally being caught awake would freak him out. But compared to the dream, his dad wasn't scary.
"It was a nightmare," Victor said. "Same as before."
His dad studied him, then sat on the bed. He looked tired. Older than Victor remembered.
Victor swallowed and told him everything. The running. The black clothes. The dagger. The face.
His hands shook as he talked. He gripped the chair.
Silence.
Then his dad said, slow, "I think we're experiencing the same thing."
Victor frowned. "What?"
His dad tossed the diary. Victor caught it clumsy. It was heavier than it looked.
"Read."
Victor stared. "How is your diary supposed to help?"
"It won't," his dad said. "But it'll show you I'm not crazy."
"That doesn't answer—"
"Just read."
Victor sighed, turned on the light, sat again, opened the diary.
Victor sighed and stood up, reaching for the light switch. The room filled with warm yellow light, pushing the shadows back into their corners. He sat again, opened the diary on his lap, and began to read.
I had a strange dream last night.
I was dressed in black gear, holding a sword etched with symbols I didn't recognize. I stood among others dressed like me—men and women from all over the world, it seemed. I felt important. Responsible. Like whatever this group was, it mattered.
Victor paused and glanced up. His father nodded once.
As I tried to understand where I was, a man appeared before me. I don't know if I can call him a man. He was dressed like the rest of us, but in gold. Everything about him was gold, even his skin—or at least it looked that way. The only thing that wasn't gold were his wings.
They were white.
Not just white, but white in a way I can't explain.
Victor's throat tightened.
When he spoke, it sounded like trumpets and music combined, loud but perfect. He said to me: "Blacksilver, you have to wake up. You have to break free."
Victor looked up slowly.
"Blacksilver?" he asked.
"Keep reading," his father said.
Victor flipped the page.
I had the dream again tonight.
This time, I was standing before the same group, speaking to them. Rallying them. I didn't know what I was saying, but it felt important. Among them, I saw my children—Victor, Ezekiel, and Isaac. They wore the same gear. They looked like warriors.
I felt proud of them. I don't know why.
Then the voice came again: "You have to wake up, Blacksilver."
Victor closed the diary slowly.
"You saw us," he said quietly.
"Yes," his father replied.
"How?"
"I don't know."
Victor flipped to the next page.
This time wasn't like the others.
I woke up fast, too fast, with a blade in my hand. I wasn't in my house, but it felt like home. Before I could understand where I was, something pulled me outside.
The streets were filled with bodies. Dead. Torn apart. Normally, this would've made me sick, but instead I felt guilt. Crushing guilt.
Then the voice spoke again: "This is what will happen if you refuse to wake up, Blacksilver."
When I woke, it didn't feel like a dream. It felt like a warning.
Victor shut the diary and placed it on the desk.
"How," he asked slowly, "does sleeping cause people to die?"
His father leaned back, rubbing his face. "I don't think it's about sleep. Not really."
"Then what is it?"
"I think," his father said, "that something in us is asleep."
Victor snorted weakly. "Oh. Of course. That explains everything."
His father shot him a sharp look. "Don't make a joke out of this."
"I'm not," Victor said quickly. "I just—"
He stopped himself.
There was something in his father's eyes that made him quiet.
"I've been drawn to a place," his father continued. "A cathedral. Around Baldel."
Victor straightened. "You went there?"
"I couldn't help it."
"That's stupid," Victor said before he could stop himself. "That place is dangerous."
"But it means something," his father snapped.
The room fell silent.
Then a voice came from the doorway.
"Yes, it does."
Victor turned.
His mother stood there in her pajamas, her face pale, her eyes tired.
"I know," she said softly, "because I've been dreaming too."
Victor leaned back in his chair, his mind spinning.
Whatever this was—
—it wasn't just his nightmare anymore.