• Dreamers

    A soul figure stood upon the mere ashes that were left of a city as the wind flowed through its hair, clear against the dark sky. It seemed to reminisce in all the memories that were now but traces of its former existence. As from now on, this young lad, this boy, was to be known as one of the dearly departed. He stood but feet away from the boundaries of his former life, his home in hazardous war, a war that he would no longer take place in. He was unwilling to stay within the darkness that beset his allies and collaborated with his enemies. He wasn’t sure if his absence was going to be over looked with an ignorant eye, but he believed this was best. They would have to do without his aid, finding their own way to impound the darkness that so adequately beleaguered them. He couldn’t last much longer within the everlasting civil wars. Anyone who was intelligent enough had already been listed as deceased and had truly deserted the cause of their brethren. And now, in the presence of dusk, he was going to desert his home in its desperate time of need, turning his back on his brothers and ignoring their pleas. He was no longer what he once was, now a cold shadow of his former self. Destroying all bonds at any costs was his only way out... it’s what he had to do. He was too belittled by this war; he wanted to be known for something great not simply dying in a foolish war where many others had already taken his place.

    Turning his back away from the city, he stepped away and into the shadows of the evening sun which sent bloody streaks across the dying sky as screams of horror sounded after him, blood cloaking the streets he had just recently walked among and mimicking the dark omen of the cloudless sky above it. Blood ran deeply, its fresh scent wafting after his departing figure, his eyes blind to the pain of his home and the anguish of the dearly departing sun. But though his eyes looked away, his mind and being could not. Though he walked away without a second’s hesitation, his mind would not let go.

    Was he truly to abandon his previous life? The home he grew up within? The place where the rain would fall so freely and wash away the previous world and renew the next? Where the sun welcomed each new day and promised to rise again when that day died? But all the warmth, all the love, had been buffeted by the influences of war and no longer did it seem that the sun rose and fell. No longer did the rain fall onto the old earth and build the next. No longer was his warm home uneventful and quiet. War raged and with war came the tendrils of death; war was never uneventful but terrifying instead.

    Each footfall that led him further away, one memory grew stronger. Each footprint that was left behind, the memory grew to slowly overwhelm him. He finally stopped, his breathing slow with reminisce averting his gaze to what was behind him. As he stood there looking off into the distance, mesmerized, a memory came into view and all was lost. Screams no longer raked through his mind; there was no longer the smell of blood in the air. There was just a cloudy scene, smoke swimming around bodies that crouched in the deep soil, tainted blood mingling with the mix of mud created by the free falling rain.

    War was inevitable; violence was predictable but the hope of his people only grew even as those dark times were forced upon them. The future was set in stone, neither side would win but suffer agonizing loses. In war, the objective was simply to lose less men than the enemy but the loses suffered were uncountable so they simply no longer cared to keep track, no longer tried to identify the lost, and no longer tried to save the doomed. Unlike the darkness that beset them, the allies were slowly dispersed and the rule of ‘Every man for himself’ was realized. But there were those who banded together in a gossamer resistance against the black tide that slowly enveloped the city. The loses were unfavorable and the fight over ruler ship for the city was coming to an unfavorable end. The last battle would soon begin, and the fate of their dear city soon became clear:

    The rain pelted down upon their faces, forming around their knees as they crouched there in silence. The smell of gunpowder hung about the grizzly group of men who found shelter behind various encampments. The smoke from the earlier gunfire slowly melted away, dispersing to reveal what its kind tendrils had hid for fleeting moments from the eyes of mortal men. What they saw, they bore with agonizing witness to the fallen. Bodies lay about them, death glazed over in each eye; even in death their faces wore masks of emotion as they gaped soullessly, their crumpled bodies letting blood flow freely from gaping wounds. Women and men, it didn’t matter, but in the end death had ceased them. But the boy was a survivor. He sat by another’s side, transparent compared to the grown man beside him. All around, even in death’s wake, each person looked at the scene with trembling numbness, their own bodies, transparent to filled, shaking in fear of the death just hands away. Like ghosts they looked, an odd appearance compared to their enemies.
    The young boy looked up; his hands trembling even as he tightly wrapped his fingers around the head of the gun held steady by his knees. He was no longer as small and transparent as he once was, no longer as bewildered by everything around him. Why do we look like this? He once remembered asking such a foolish question.

    Look like what? His parent figure had asked.

    Like ghosts, phantoms, almost clear-like? But then why is everyone else more… filled than me?

    You are just little, you’ll fill in later. We all start out like you in our first beginnings.

    Fill out? What are we filled in with then? Why don’t we look like the others; the humans?

    Because, Kiel, we are simply not human. Our own story is what makes us fill in; our memories and dreams that are collected…

    Then what are we?

    We are…imaginary. We are in-between.

    In-between what?

    Life. Dreams. Memories.

    Even now he couldn’t understand what had been told but he knew, in time, it would soon become clear. But at the moment nothing was clear to him, his heart racing and blood boiling, clutched in paralyzing fear. War wasn’t what he wanted. Did they really have to fight the humans in such a manner? Yes was what the adults said. But weren’t they always saying that violence wasn’t the way to go? Compromising was what let people live their lives in peace?

    The man beside him stood up, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder to cease his trembling. The warmth of the hand was what comforted Kiel rather than the firm grip placed on his shoulder but even so, his trembling would not stop. After long moments, many still held in remorse, the young boy looked up at the man. “Now what’s going to happen, Kagai?”

    “It’s simple to see, isn’t it?” Kagai stared down at Kiel, eyes unreadable though it was easy to infer all the pain that he withheld. “We simply move on… There’s nothing we can do at the moment and we are needed elsewhere. Others are in need and desire our help…” He looked back up and moved away. As if an inaudible order had been commanded, the others separated from the fallen and followed wearily after the tall, thin man. Kiel was one of the first to take up gun and follow after the man.

    “Where are we going?” Kiel couldn’t stand the unknown. It was like a blanket had been wrapped around his senses and all he could see was foreboding darkness.
    “If all has gone well, and the rebellion has yet to be sundered, we will meet up with the rest of the rebels who’ve made it this far.” Kagai answered without looking down at the young boy.

    “But where, exactly?”

    The man sighed, deep and long. “To Sundance Square. At the intersection of Lunar crest and Solar falls—we’ve been there before.”

    Kiel could sense the man’s unease. And he could feel its source. All around the ghastly group, the city was scattered. The once paved road was asunder, exposing its underbelly of dirt and riddled with parasitic weeds. The once gleaming buildings were now littered with dirt and shrouded in an ashen gray- all color having been washed away long ago. It was a scene all too familiar, a violence he only knew too well. If rain had washed away the dirt from the cracked walls around him, he would see blood. Caked blood, prints of the monstrosities that occurred after night’s awakening.

    Streets slithered off in opposite directions, adding to the confusion of the inner working of the city. The wide, dirtied streets wound about the crippled buildings. Along these winding roads, the group trailed one after another—the air still but for their muffled shuffling. Street after street—corner after corner they turned only to lay eyes upon more tormented homes. They all looked the same to him; he never really cared to memorize the turns and winding endlessness of the streets. Passing a small, pale hand through his course black hair, his brilliant, ruddy eyes wandered along the upper windows of the closely packed two storey buildings that surrounded them on both sides. Standing beside Kagai, Kiel only reached past the man’s elbow. Side by side, they seemed almost identical, the only difference lying in the greater height of the older figure.

    Black and white—something moved.

    Kiel paused mid stride, staring up at the shattered windows above. He blinked. Once, twice—but nothing seemed out of place. He could have sworn he saw—

    “C’mon, hurry up.” Kiel was pushed ahead again, given no time to stop and think. Instead, he jogged back to the head of the ranks, tramping beside Kagai as they rounded another bend: a gruesome sight waited to greet them.

    In this place, his entire world lay in pieces. Broken, devoid of all life. Something clutched him, constricted his sight. An emotion welled up inside him, growing ever stronger until it tore at his insides. He saw, now, for what the world was truly made of: the blood of the weak. Just beyond the circle of black that encroached upon his vision, the forms of bodies lay scattered on the cracked and conjoined pavement. The boy stared down at his hands, feeling his grip loosen. Those weren’t his hands, were they? Pale flesh lying upon brittle bone. Everyday he seemed to grow more numb, drowning in the emotions that pooled over in his heart. He was too young, too young to know what to do with all these emotions. What he knew was only memories, images that would encase themselves inside of his mind. He felt everything his counterparts did, everything the humans did, except for one thing: he had no fear of the dark. Such a simple distinction between those who were ghosts and those who were mortal. With the fear of the darkness came the fear of death. The unknown was dangerous, and darkness was simply something that no one could truly explain.
    They were immortal, these phantom-like people as long as they remained a ghostly shade. And that is why they were hated so. They had no reason to fear the blackness, no fear in the dark wings of death. And so they were labeled as something unnatural, something that was to be disposed of as soon as possible. But the humans soon realized that these ghosts, these beings that they hated so, could indeed be killed. The emotions that were known as human, and which made these phantoms appear to be human as they grew, made them mortal.

    Kiel now stared down at his hands, no longer as clear as they once were. He would give anything to lay down the heavy metal and walk away from the sea of lifeless bodies but there was still a sense of justice that stirred within. He was only a boy, too young to understand the fear of loss. With his spirit still ripe with young age, he had yet to realize his own mortality. He was a child as all children seldom think of the future. Their innocence leaves them to enjoy themselves but the day they fret about the future is the day they leave their childhood behind.

    He was just like them, the boys who lay slain on the ground around him. It didn’t matter if they were young or old, you couldn’t tell them apart from their human counterparts. He was just like them, a boy without a name. They would never be remembered, their bodies would lie still for all eternity and the sound of their names would never again dispel the silence of a lonely day. Washed with displaced grief, his hands caressed the nearest stoic face, feeling the chill, stiff skin beneath his finger tips. Staring into the boy’s fixed gaze, he noticed the stain of red that hovered over his once pounding heart. Where the stain was, the shirt had turned a ruddy color, caked in crusted blood.

    Kiel looked down at himself, noticing how similar he looked. He was wearing a blue shirt, the color long faded and mingled with ruddy blood, followed by sooty pants and mud-caked boots, each of which were faded and torn, showing years of continuous wear. Washed out, discolored—his orange opals continued to stare down at the dead figure while a dark hand absentmindedly stroked a frayed edge of the almost pristine scarf that was wrapped around his own throat. It was odd, this pure white cloth draped around his dirtied shoulders. It didn’t belong; it didn’t fit in the hands of someone with such a soiled parlor.

    Lifting the scarf, he breathed in the sweet scent that lingered in the immaculate fabric, each thread unspoiled as they wound about one another in a surely pure embrace.

    So familiar, he thought. It’s so familiar, but what does it remind me of? Nothing but the thought of blood came to mind. Dried blood. Crisp. Sweet smelling blood. Perhaps, if he was still a child, he would have thought of the crisp sheets on his bed or the smell of his father’s shirt after it had been hung outside to dry. But that memory had been forgotten. Such memories would always produce wistful thinking and fabricate painful fantasies. So he left them behind.

    Perhaps the greatest faculty of our minds is its ability to cope with unbearable amounts of pain. In this, life reveals four doors that we eventually meander through according to our needs.

    The first is sleep. The door of sleep is a retreat from the vicious sting of pain. It marks the passing of time and as most know, time heals most wounds. But not all. Some wounds are simply too deep to erase. This is the mind’s way of protecting the consciousness from pain. Unfortunately, sleep is only temporary and the person awakes to the same ache.

    Second is the door of forgetting. Wounds that surpass time are easier to forget than to live with. Memories are simply too painful and only leave the wound raw. Damage that exceeds the healing discipline of time are hidden behind this door.

    Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt a blow that renders the first two doors useless and bars the way to healing. These are times when reality is cruel and nothing but pain interludes with the necessities of life. So the mind feels it must leave this reality behind in order to find peace.

    The fourth and final door is the passageway to death. The last resort. Nothing can hurt us beyond death.

    The first time the boy killed he had let sleep take him. The day came when he found he couldn’t bare the memories any longer and locked them away behind the door of forgetting. But how far was he from the third door? Perhaps he was already mad and this world was just something that existed in his own, pain stricken mind. Maybe he was at home now, safe with friends and family. Or maybe he was on the verge of sanity, one foot teetering off the precipice of insanity. His thoughts told him otherwise, so weary and yet aware of everything about with the sharp instinct of survival.

    Looking at himself now, he noticed how young he was. He didn’t feel young, nor did he look it. His opaque skin was riddled with scars, his hands red with strain and the blood of others. Maturity had been thrust upon him too early, creating an awkward creature that was neither boy nor man, just a miserable misfit.

    Why me? What did I do to this world? I was just born in it, and now I have to fight for it? No one asked me if I wanted to, his thoughts were becoming more and more hysteric. Why, why, why… No, no one cares for some one like me. So I’ll die, just another body to litter the ground with my insides. Die, die, die without being remembered in this world. Die-

    “Kiel! Get down-“

    Click. There was a deafening sound. His thoughts stopped, all but instinct dying away. Heat was awash against his skin, pain rattling through his limbs as the ground met his back. Warmth met his eyes, casting his sight in red. Blood soaked his shirt, warmth sifting through his flesh where it touched skin. This arid feeling wasn’t uncomfortable; there was no pain other than the feel of skin against grainy cement. There did happen to be something else—a great weight on his chest while the world was drifting in black. Black? He quickly opened his eyes to the sight of a consuming red and gray lump. His eyes fought against the light of the eddying sun, streaks of red riddled the sky, the last glimpses of sunlight glinting over the gray horizon as the sun was pulled under to make way for the encroaching darkness.

    The moments caught up to him, his brain riffling through the last few seconds. It took him time to understand what had just happened: A gun had been shot. And he was pretty sure it had been aimed at him. Something’s not right. Why am I not dead? Or at least in pain… To answer his own question, he tried to get up but only got so far as to prop himself up on his elbows. A body lay across his lower half, a single dark stain resting above the body’s dead heart. But something was familiar about this dead lump, this still man. Yes, very familiar.
    Brother? Kiel stared at the man’s face in fright, his heart quickening at the sickening scene. The man who saved him from the whispering bullet was indeed familiar, the only man who mattered in his dreadful life: Kagai.

    Click. The ground beside him exploded in a plume of dirt and grit, a bullet burying itself in the wasted soil. Following the line of fire, his eyes caught the glimmer of iron from above. A man could be seen, just inside a window pain, the glassy material long gone leaving a hole in the wall of the building. Black; the man wore black. White; the man was pale white. He had seen it before, another one of his kind peering out the window of another house. That’s what had caught his attention.

    Now he felt stupid. Now he felt sorrow. Now he felt anger, bubbling, brewing anger. The man above saw Kiel’s stare, and he met the boy’s eyes with a toothy grin. Raising his arms, the man brought the gun up, relaxed against the inside of his shoulder and aimed.
    Kiel saw this, he expected it. And he wouldn’t allow it. Before the man could give off another round, he slipped from under Kagai’s dead weight and rushed to the corner of the nearest building, his legs fueled by the hate that consumed his thoughts.

    Dust littered the air where his feet met dirt. Another bullet pelted the ground beside him, only a few inches away from his head. In response, he ducked his head down. A hand suddenly caught his arm and pulled him aside, back into a doorway and into a grungy building. Spinning around, his senses heightened by anger, he brought his clenched fist down upon the figure which had pulled him into the house. Feeling the impact of flesh beneath his knuckles, he inwardly grinned, readying his other fist to—

    “Stop… please…” The small figure whimpered, shielding its face with two pale hands.
    Kiel hesitated, seeing through his own hate and realizing who the cowering figure was. A boy stood before him, a boy just like him. Black hair, white parlor, similar clothes—the boy before him was just another helpless recruit in the war.

    The boy, seeing Kiel hesitate, removed his hands from his face and raised them in the air. “I didn’t mean you any harm. I was only trying to help!”

    Still in a daze, Kiel just nodded to the boy’s words, not truly comprehending their meaning. His eyes wandered the rest of the room, curiosity lighting up his dull eyes. They weren’t the only ones in the small front room of the building. Another face stared at them from the gloom, two eyes filled with a weary apprehension that only came from witnessing the ghastly sights of war.

    “By the way… I’m Jink.” The boy held out his hand, using the other one to wipe away a trickle of blood that threatened to collide with the white of his rather clean shirt. Seeing Kiel’s attention turn to the other person in the room, he placed himself between Kiel and the stranger, “That’s Ave’us. Don’t mind him, he’s a friendly.”

    Kiel continued to look from Ave’us to Jink, a sense of nostalgia ripping through his mind. Where had seen those two faces before? Those eyes, those voices, they were too distinctive, too familiar.

    Seeing Kiel’s pondering expression, Jink let a smile slip across his features. “I’m surprised you don’t remember us… We’re from Kagai’s band.” The simple grin only grew as Jink deciphered the recognition that lit up Kiel’s face. But that happy gesture died away, eddying back into the compounds of the child’s mind to expose a frown of consternation.

    “So, who’s in command now? What are we suppose to do?” A gruff voice whispered from behind Jink. Ave’us moved so he was positioned beside the small boy, standing only a few centimeters taller than the boy but outnumbering him by years of experience.

    Before Kiel could answer the older man’s questions, a noise drifted to them from outside. Footsteps pounded along the road, the repetitive throbbing growing louder and louder. Looking back over his shoulder, Kiel ran towards the back of the room, finding a door that lead to a back room of sorts. Two pairs of feet hammered after him, Ave’us and Jink racing to catch up. They all knew what was coming and none of them wanted to be there when it happened.

    The room was bare except for a few pieces of furniture here and there. On the opposite side of the room, there was a window and a door looking out into an alleyway between the house they were in and another, taller building. Gradually, Kiel made his way to the doorway. Curiously, he placed his hand on the metal body. It wasn’t very impressive. The iron had rusted, weathering could be perceived, and grime covered the hinges of the threshold. But, if you grazed your hand across small sections, the tips of your fingers would glide across fine grain, as if it was once made of some fine metal. “The golden days have long since vanished.” He sighed, noting the stubble. He reached out for the handle of the doorway and pulled. It held firm. With a bit more strength, he pulled the heavy doorway open with the occasional shrieks and squeaks.

    The alley way was shrouded in shadows, cool and dark. The musty smell of mold hung in the air, silence slowly crumbling away as that same sound met their straining ears. Footsteps echoed against the buildings’ walls and cloaked them in fright.
    “We have to get out of here,” Kiel stated, gritting his teeth as he made his way down the alley way.

    “And where do you suppose we go, huh?” A hand caught Kiel’s shoulder, turning spinning him about to stare into two sapphire eyes. Leaning closer, blue eyes streaked with the tendrils of hopelessness, Ave’us waited for the boy’s response.

    “We have to get out of here!” He restated, ripping the older man’s grip from his shoulder. “To the marketplace—that’s where we’ll go.” Their questioning looks spurred him on to further explain his thoughts. “That square in the richer part of the city; the part where there are still bystanders. The marketplace is always crowded at this time. We could hide there, amongst the other people there! No one will ever know!” Kiel’s eyes lit up with aspiration, turning around again and, this time, running down the alley way.

    Ave’us and Jink exchanged an anxious glance, but followed after Kiel anyways, all the while hoping, praying that the young boy was right.

    A shadow passed over the ground, no sound but the whispering of the nearby entryways. Enveloped in darkness, the animated figure was all but invisible inside the compound of black that swept across the skirt of dirt. A single, uneven road lay between the entryways, their rooftops plastering stoic shadows on the disorderly road. Eventually the black sprawl of dirt came to and end, the comfort of shadows missing along with the ancient jumble of houses. All that lay ahead was a misshapen road which eventually led to a paved road of sorts that led even further into the more looked after part of the city—the part that was actually inhabited by the innocent. This was where the shambled houses ended; this was the place where his fear started. The dirt road gleamed white in the sun, revealing the cracking, mistreated houses in all their misery. It may not look like much, but it was home—these small, mistreated houses sat on native soil. A place one could hide from society. Just a speck in the deepest, darkest corner of the world.

    Moments later, two more shadows came to linger next to the first, black against black. Eventually, figuring there was nothing else to do in this situation, the figures slipped out into the stream of light. Standing there, blinking sharply against the might of the sun, washed out, discolored orange opals watched the dirt road ahead. A dark hand absentmindedly stroked the frayed edge of the almost pristine scarf that was wrapped around his neck.

    “Hey! You, stop!”

    Uh-oh, Kiel thought, looking over his shoulder to see three men, clothed in black, rushing down the decapitated street towards them. His eyes swiftly looked over the weapons in their hands and immediately turned back to the road before him.

    Wild eyes, he raced down the dirt road, bounding over each irregularity along the path. He refused to look back a second time—he already knew who ran after him and that Ave’us and Jink were right behind him. Pounding feet could be heard behind him, multiple pursuers attempting to keep up with his quick pace. Quick as he was, he heard bullets pelting into the nearby ground, seeing them fly past his head and out of his periphery vision. And he was without a gun, having forgotten all about the weapon after Kagai had been shot.

    A smile spread across his face, imagining how he looked sprinting down the dirt road. Comical. Not that he looked silly but rather how the soldiers, who desperately tried to catch him, looked as they ran after him, tripping and stumbling, not use to such uneven terrain. Laughing out loud, he numbly lept over and old, forgotten cart that had broken down years before. He landed on the other side, his feet light as his pace increased. Winding roots wormed through the dirt, parasitic weeds pricking his shins and leafy debris crackled underfoot as he launched restlessly down the dirt road. The air whipped at his scarf, gusting past him, tugging at his hair—he felt unstoppable, so gree and light that nothing could possibly-

    Whap.

    Nothing noticeable had changed. The wind rushed past him, screaming in his ears, his scarf trailing behind him, the leaves crunched beneath him. Except, now, his feet were no longer parallel to the ground. Instead, his face was firmly planted into the debris that littered the trail, the tang of dirt offsetting the acidity of his saliva.

    He had tripped.

    He would have normally stayed where he was, too embarrassed to face the world. But now wasn’t the best of times. Footsteps could be heard just behind him, heavy against the solid ground. The pounding steps were enough to spur him back into action and this time he was careful not to let his rebellious side take control.

    And then he heard a cry, a scream punctured him hearing. Glancing back over his shoulder, still running full tilt, he watched as Jink fell to the ground, clutching his thigh. Ave’us was now kneeling beside the hit boy, trying to get him to get back up. Then the older man was yelling out Kiel’s name, pleading for the boy to come back and help them. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t got back. Not when he was so close.

    Feet met the paved stone that washed across the city’s road. Slowly, the streets began to host more and more clutter. In some cases, he resorted to loping down an alleyway and bounding over stalls set up long ago for selling various trinkets, but the soldiers were persistent. Eventually, sounds broke the dull slap of his feet against the ground. Voices drifted on the breeze, abuzz with noise, from people conversing between one another to merchants shouting at the top of their lungs to inform the inhabitants of the street on what goods they were selling. With the noise came a mob of people and this was what he needed.

    As he swiftly approached the mass of people, he gave the soldiers and backhanded wave goodbye.

    A hundred feet-

    Fifty feet-

    A few yards-

    So close-

    Pain splintered through his shoulder, an audible crack ringing in his ears. With one hand gripping his arm, he crashed to the ground in a heap. Breathing became labored as the pain rose in sharp intervals. His hand gripped his shoulder, red bodily fluid seeping through his plastered fingers. Wounded, his arm refused to move, numb and useless. Yes, he tried to stand but his legs couldn’t hold him upright, his feet couldn’t balance out his weight. His whole system was torn apart by pain and the sudden sense of misfortune. Such a lucky shot….

    With his ear pressed against the ground, he was alerted by the ringing footsteps of a single pair of boots. Lifting his head, he gritted his teeth against the sudden increase in pain and watched as a black figure slowly crept towards his crumpled form. The man wore the typical attire of a soldier, only that he wore a ball cap on his head. The approaching figure intentionally caught Kiel’s gaze, his brown, almost black eyes stared into those of fiery orange.

    Waiting was the hardest thing. As Kiel watched the man slowly walk up to him, he couldn’t help but go over what would happen next in his mind. He knew the time was nigh, but he still had a hidden hope that the humans still had a spark of mercy left in their contaminated hearts.

    The footsteps stopped, cut off to let the noises of the marketplace reign the air once again. The man who owned those large, brown boots stared down at the young boy with worry in his eyes. It almost made Kiel believe he would be saved from the end. But his hopes were dashed when the human unstrapped the holster of his pistol that rested against his thigh. Cocking the gun, the soldier kneeled down next to Kiel’s head, placing the tip of the barrel against the boy’s temple.

    Kiel felt the chill of the metal as the soldier placed the barrel of the gun against his skin. Watching, he witnessed the man murmur beneath his breath, tracing an invisible cross against his chest. “Close your eyes.” The man whispered, now speaking to the young boy. Kiel did as he was told. “I hope you’ll forgive me for this.”

    Finally, the fourth door had been opened.

    Now, with the dying sun at his back, the bloody light sifting through his transparent glamour, the boy was ready to face another world. This place would be forgotten—it was time to ascend to the next known reality.