Ash.

  Fire.

  Charred corpses, crumbling into black dust.

  The wind screeches like a siren’s call. I look around at the burning village, the fiery rooftops, the screaming people.

  We are in the middle of this carnage—whatever this town square used to be. A stone angel sits naked at the top of a burnt-out fountain. One of her eyes is missing. She is the centerpiece of this square, where wives and husbands run through carrying buckets of water atop their heads, eyes red from smoke and tears.

  They sprint across the cobbled grounds and desperately toss water onto their burning houses. Futile, for the fire only rages stronger.

  “Of all the memories…” Thraevirula begins, startling me. I turn to find her standing, sword dropping from her hand. Seems like the fight is drained from her—out of pure shock and remembrance more than anything else. Her gaze is set on the fountain. Her anger is mute. “Of all the memories, you chose this.”

  I am tempted to attack her. But what would it do? Besides, I’m also drained from our hours of battling—I can’t imagine restarting our fight.

  So I shake my head instead. “I didn’t choose this.”

  Hypna did.

  At that moment, a sharp pain stabs my spine. At first, I think Thrae has somehow attacked me, but when Hypna’s Aether threads begin to detach from my back, I understand what this is.

  The rush of power that once flowed through me now fades as Hypna divorces herself from my form. Her body juts from my spine as she pulls herself out of my waist. Then, the Witch of Dreams and I are separate once more.

  I keel over, taking ragged breaths to steady myself. Hypna takes to the transition in a more graceful manner, her spectral form floating in front of me, turning material.

  She touches a hand to my shoulder. It's like a soft cushion that molds against my mind.

  I sigh. “Thank you.”

  She just nods and turns back to her daughter, back to Thraevirula, who still stares at the fountain, unmoving, unblinking.

  “Saegor told you that I killed a child right? Experimented on her body or something?” Thrae asks. “It's not the worst lie—a day before Cattlegrove burned, one of the village children died. A friend of mine. I tried to revive her, but my mother stopped me—told me it wasn’t going to work. At least, not the way I hoped. I cried and begged, but she just took me home. The next day, one of our customers told us that some people in the village saw me trying to revive the girl. They wanted answers. So, mother and I took another trip down the hill and she spoke at the Town House. Then…” she gestures to the destruction around us, finally turning to me. “Then this happened.”

  “I don’t understand: you burned down Cattlegrove? Or was it Hypna?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No. No it was them.” Her finger traces their group: a black-hooded horde of men with blades and torches.

  A father and child bars their path. Not purposefully: the child’s foot is burnt and he is weeping. The father begs with the robed men. One of their number steps forth, as if to help. He cuts a clean line across the father’s neck. The boy screams. Another robed man approaches the boy and hauls him over his shoulder.

  They continue marching down the streets in this manner, slaughtering all adults who pass, all who bar them, burning all in their wake. All except the children, whom they steal away.

  Hypna shudders next to me. “The Harbingers.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “You asked me who the Disciples were. Who the entity was. Well… this is one division of the Disciples. A rogue offshoot, at first. They wanted to bring the Entity back to life in his current state. Not his true state.”

  The lurid display of violence marches towards us and the robed men pass on by, ignoring our forms. They look normal under their robes. Some are even distraught. But many don austere expressions and their crazed eyes flit about the burning village, searching for more children.

  “What is his true state?” I ask.

  “The fifth season,” Thrae answers, still watching the robed men.

  At first, I don’t understand her. Then, it clicks.

  “Acromner?!? You’re telling me that you worshipped that… that fucking thing in the sky? The being that drops forth and kills anyone in the light?”

  Hypna doesn’t look ashamed. But I feel betrayed. I put so much senseless trust in her. For what? Instinct? My gut reaction? Because she treated me kindly? Are you this pathetic? This lacking in allies, that you trusted the mother of your enemy? She who was part of this cult of death worshippers?

  For that is what Acromner signifies: death. Senseless, brutal death at the hands of some uncaring evil thing in the sky. Something that could’ve killed me, had Sadai not saved my life as a child.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Hypna reaches for me. I pull away.

  “Raiten I’m still on your side—” Hypna begins.

  “Enough!” I yell. Hypna startles back. Thraevirula turns to me, her gaze still absorbed by this scene. Yet a flicker of understanding comes to her as she watches me squirm.

  I back up to the fountain. Run my hands through my hair. “I am sick and tired of being played with. By everyone. Hui, Kai, Pamela, Saegor. You two. I don’t want to be left squealing in the dark like some blind mutt. And I won’t be led by the nose either. Not anymore. I am not an idiotic boy anymore.”

  Hypna takes a hesitant step forward. “I didn’t say that.”

  “I don’t care what you said!” I yell, holding my hand out to keep her at bay. These witches. Their lies. Their bare manipulation. I’ve had enough of it. “Just—explain this. Explain to my why I shouldn’t just… just—”

  Just what?

  It's not like I can kill her anymore than she’s already been killed.

  It’s not like I can beat her—now that she knows she’s in a dream she could easily wipe the floor with me.

  It’s not like I can do anything. Anything of value or significance. No, like always, I am merely a witness to someone else's story. A consequence. A casualty.

  Hypna puts a hand on my shoulder. “Breathe, Raiten. Control yourself. I will explain it all. Just breathe.”

  I shouldn’t listen to her. She’s raked through my mind like a toy. She’s birthed my enemy who has tormented my dreams and tried to kill me on numerous occasions—my enemy who works with my prized target for reasons unbeknownst to me.

  Unbeknownst.

  Grow up. Gain some control. Knowledge is what you lack in, not allies.

  A lot has happened, sure, but you can endure this.

  After all, you must.

  I breathe deeply. And give her a nod.

  Thraevirula scoffs at the two of us. “Found another mommy, Raiten? Sorry that she’s just a deficient imitation of my own.”

  Her jibes are half-hearted. Forced. She’s too enraptured by the weight of this scene. It's a good thing, really. Our fight would’ve continued otherwise. To no end.

  “Raiten,” Hypna begins, turning my chin towards her. “The Disciples were a religious group, meant to bring the Entity back to his pure form. We believed that in that form, he could vanquish a great evil that will come to our worlds in many years time. Unfortunately, that evil has many allies of his own. Allies that needed deterring. I worked closely with Saegor to do so.”

  The conversation I first saw between them plays back in my mind. “So that was why you invaded the dreams of those people? The ones that ‘touched the Entity’s children?’”

  She nods. “Our belief started hundreds of years ago, when Acromner first descended upon this continent. It was not always a season of darkness. Rather, the Entity of Acromner used to be a good being: a primordial who ended wars and gave blessings of harvest. But he warned the people of Katal that his mind was ailing and he prophesized the coming of a great evil. He told us that to defeat such a force, his mind would need to be restored. Thus, the Disciples were formed. And our labor ever since has been to bring him back.”

  My mind races. Mostly with objections. But, the first question that comes to mind is, “how did you plan on ‘restoring’ an old primordial?”

  Her mouth forms a thin line. “That is where the divisions began.”

  A scream draws our attention. The robed men have come upon an unburnt house. They sack it and drag out many little girls and boys. The cacophony of wailing mothers is ear-grating.

  A mob of townsfolk gather on a far street. They forgo their water buckets. Take up arms.

  Start marching towards the square.

  “The Disciples believed that prayer was the answer. Spreading our knowledge, our temples, our lineage. Our goal for many decades was to produce children. Teach them the ways. Give charity. Establish ourselves in kingdoms and empires. But we were often opposed. Oppressed. And we barred ourselves from fighting anyone besides those who harmed our children and those whom we viewed as the ‘coming evil’ that the Entity warned us of.

  “But some of us began to have doubts. They thought we were wasting our time with missions. Rather, they wanted to look into the older ways. The darker ways. And they wanted to use those ways to revive our master.”

  As if on cue, the robed men come back into the square, forming lines and readying themselves.

  “And I assume they called themselves the Harbingers?” I ask.

  She nods.

  The villagers form an opposing line, with pitchforks and kitchen knives in hand, tears in their smoke-red eyes, anger on their tongues.

  A pitched battle begins. It is bloody. Unfair. And quick.

  The robed men slice through the townsfolk like pigs.

  I watch as a man crawls towards me, hand reaching out for the fountain. A particularly gaunt black-robed figure steps on his hand and sticks a blade through his neck.

  “While you were fighting Thrae in the sky, I caught more of that conversation between myself and Saegor,” Hypna says, her face wincing at the massacre around us. “Saegor said the Harbingers had become the dominant party amongst the Disciples. He warned me of a cleansing. Wanted us to leave with him. But, I refused. I wanted to protect the villagers.”

  She turns back to me, wiping her face. “I guess I failed.”

  I stiffen. I didn’t realize how this scene might affect her, given she knew these people. Given this is her first time witnessing all of this. It's amazing that she held it in this long, trying to give me an explanation. And now I feel selfish for acting out like some child earlier.

  I open my mouth, trying to think of something to say to soothe her.

  “You didn’t fail us, Hypna,” Thraevirula cuts in. She walks towards us, past us, taking a stand on the edge of the fountain.

  Then, she points to one of the robed figures. “He did.”

  I squint at the man, who is engaged in some ruthless scramble against two brawny villagers. They seem to overwhelm him, piling atop him, knives raised.

  He blasts them off with fire. They run screaming, flesh peeling, eyes melting.

  And the man stands forth, unhooded, eyes setting about in a feral search for something.

  I recognize one of those eyes at least.

  Saegor.