Chapter 1

He could feel himself running again.

He was dressed strangely—in an all-black suit made of a material that was stretchy yet stiff. The top fit like a tactical jacket, and the trousers were heavy with utility loops and a thick, sturdy belt. The belt held weapons. Where had they come from? What kind of weapons were these? He had no idea, but this wasn’t the first time he’d experienced this, and he’d never been able to stop it.

He was chasing something he couldn’t clearly see, but he knew it was fast—because he was moving at an unnatural speed himself.

Reaching down, he drew something from his belt: a dagger covered in strange, etched symbols. He flung it into the darkness ahead of him and skidded to a halt.

Silence.

A moment later, a monstrous face lunged out of the shadow, its mouth pulled open to reveal rows of jagged, deadly teeth—

Victor jerked awake.

He was sitting in the chair in his room, his phone gripped tightly in his hands. He tapped the screen to check the time: 3:56 AM.

I must have fallen asleep, he thought.

The nightmare was the main reason he’d been trying to fight off sleep for days now. It kept coming back. He had told his family the first time it happened, but Isaac, his youngest brother, had just laughed it off. Ezekiel, his immediate younger brother, simply reassured him it was just a dream. His mother and father had said the same, but their voices held an underlying tone that made him uneasy. It made him feel like either something was wrong with his mind, or his parents were keeping secrets. He had always been afraid to press them on it—if they were hiding something, he was terrified to find out what it was.

Still, every time the nightmare returned, Isaac taunted him, Ezekiel retreated further into his usual withdrawn shell, and his parents repeated the same empty lines. Victor knew he’d have to push them eventually, before the thin layer holding his sanity together gave way completely.

“It happened again?”

His father’s calm, gruff voice came from the doorway. Normally at this hour, Victor would have jumped out of his skin, but nothing could terrify him more than the face that had just lunged out of the dark.

“I didn’t realize you were there, Dad,” Victor replied, adjusting in his seat. “Good morning.”

His father stepped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He was a man of average height, dark-skinned, with a clean-shaved head and a short, kept beard. He wore his nightwear, but in his hands, he held a leather-bound book Victor recognized instantly. His diary.

“What was your dream like this time?” his father asked, ignoring the greeting.

“It was a nightmare,” Victor corrected him. “And it’s still the same as before.”

He narrated the nightmare again, just as he always did. By the time he finished, he had to grip the arms of his chair to keep his hands from trembling.

His father looked down at the book. “I think we’re experiencing the same thing.” He tossed the diary across to Victor, who caught it clumsily. “Read it.”

“Will this solve my problem?” Victor held the diary back out. “How is your diary going to answer my questions?”

“Trust me, my boy. That—” his father pointed at the book “—won’t answer all your questions, but you need to read it.”

“How is it relevant to me?”

“Just trust me.”

Victor stood up to switch on the overhead light, then returned to his chair. He spread the book across his lap and began to read, acutely aware of his father’s gaze locked onto him. He pushed the discomfort aside and focused on the page.

I had this strange dream, his father had written. I was dressed in weird black gear, holding a sword etched with ancient symbols. I was standing among people from all over the world, all dressed the same as me.

Victor paused and met his father’s eyes. His father simply nodded, urging him onward.

It was strange, but I felt like an important member of whatever order or sect we were. I was still trying to process who these people were when a man materialized before me. I don’t know if 'man' is the right word. He was dressed like the rest of us, but he was entirely gold—his clothes, his skin, everything. The only exception was his wings. They were white, but a brilliant, incomprehensible kind of white. When he spoke, it sounded like the blast of a thousand trumpets, harmonic and deafening.

He said to me: “Blacksilver, you have to wake up. You have to break free.” And then I woke.

“Blacksilver?” Victor asked, looking up.

“Keep reading,” his father said quietly.

Victor returned to the diary and flipped the page.

I had another dream today, similar to the last. This time, I was rallying a group of warriors—the same people I saw before. I was trying to make them understand something vital. Among them were my sons: Victor, Ezekiel, and Isaac. They were dressed in the same gear as me. They looked like true warriors, and I felt a sudden, deep pride in them. It felt as if they represented harmony and dominance. Then the voice came again, ringing like trumpets: “You have to wake up, Blacksilver!”

“And you have no idea who this winged man is?” Victor asked.

“No,” his father replied. “I just have a feeling that whoever he is, he’s the reason we are... whatever we are.”

“You say that like you’re sure of it,” Victor said, a wave of suspicion washing over him.

His father stifled a yawn. “I can tell you right now, I don’t know what I’m sure of anymore. Read the last entry, then we’ll talk.”

Victor turned to the next page.

It was as if I was forced awake from a deep slumber. I sprang to my feet with incredible speed, a blade already in my hand. I took in my surroundings—it looked nothing like my home, yet it felt like where I belonged. I wanted to explore the building, but the same pull that woke me dragged me out into the streets.

There were bodies everywhere. Dead, mutilated, littering the ground. Normally, a sight like that would make me sick, but I didn't feel sick—I felt guilt. A crushing, impossible guilt, as if the weight of the world was collapsing onto my shoulders. Then the loud, trumpet-like voice returned:

“This is what will happen if you refuse to wake up, Blacksilver!”

When I woke up this time, it didn't feel like a dream at all. It felt like a warning.

Victor closed the diary and set it on the nightstand beside him. “How could the mass murder of people have anything to do with you sleeping?”

“I don’t think the dreams are talking about literal sleep,” his father said. “I think they mean something inside us is dormant.”

“Oh, I should’ve known,” Victor said, a sudden flat edge to his voice. His father gave him a curious look. “I should’ve known this is what all the 'wake up' talk meant.”

“What do you mean, Victor?”

“What else? We’ve been watching too many motivational speeches lately, Dad. 'Awaken the giant within,' 'rise from your slumber'—”

“Victor, stop,” his father cut in, his voice hard. “This isn’t a joke. Don’t try to make it one.”

Victor bit his tongue. He was trying to make light of it, mostly because the alternative was terrifying.

“Lately, I’ve been drawn to an abandoned cathedral in Baldel,” his father continued quietly. “I can’t explain it, but I couldn’t shake the pull.”

“So you actually went there?” Victor leaned forward in his chair.

“I had to.”

“What do you mean you had to? Dad, you could’ve gotten hurt! What if you ran into squatters or criminals out there?” Victor’s voice began to rise.

“Because it means something!” his father snapped back.

Victor recoiled slightly at the sudden yell, his expression softening into concern.

“Does Mom know about this?” Victor asked quietly, standing up and sitting on the edge of the bed near his father.

“Victor—”

“Does Mom know?” he repeated, his chest heaving.

“Yes, I do.”

His mother’s voice came from the dark doorway. She stood in her pajamas, framed by the hall light. She was taller than his father, with fair skin, and the heavy dark circles under her eyes proved she hadn't been sleeping either.

“God,” Victor muttered, throwing his hands up. “What are you two, Mr. and Mrs. Sherlock now?”

“You’re not alone in this, Victor,” his mother said softly, stepping into the room. “We get these nightmares too. I know it’s dangerous—you know I would never willingly let any of you near danger—but sitting still is going to do us more harm than good. The only way forward is to figure this out before...” She trailed off, taking a sharp breath. “...before things get out of hand.”

Victor stood up and began pacing the room, rubbing the back of his neck as both of his parents watched him in silence.

“Well, I’m helping,” Victor said firmly. “I want to—”

“No, Victor—” his father began.

“Yes, Dad,” Victor cut him off, stepping forward. “I’m doing this with you. If things go south, it’s not just going to affect you two. It affects all of us.”

His mother looked at him quietly. “What exactly do you think you can do to help?”

“I don’t know,” Victor confessed, sinking back down onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. “How did you two even know where to start?”

His father cleared his throat. “A gut feeling.”

“Great. I guess I’ll wait for my gut feeling to kick in, too.”

“Don’t do anything reckless, Victor,” his mother warned gently.

“I won’t,” Victor said, sliding under his bedsheets and turning away from them. “Get some sleep, you two. I’m going to try to get some, too.”

As they turned to leave, Victor raised his head off the pillow.

“Leave the light on, please. And tomorrow... you’re telling me everything you saw in Baldel.”