The dreams were getting worse.
At first, they had been just flickers, colors, sounds, feelings he couldn't explain. He'd wake up bewildered, the images slipping through his fingers like smoke. But as the days got closer to his birthday, the dreams sharpened, became clearer. Louder. More real.
Five days left.
Five days until he turned 16, and it felt like his mind was trying to tear itself open.
He started having night sweats, even on cold nights, his heart pounding like he'd ran a marathon in his sleep.
The dreams didn't just show things , he was dragged into the them, body and soul. He saw places that didn't even exist on any map he knew — stone fortresses burning beneath a violet sky, rivers that glowed with silver light, forest filled with creatures whose names he didn't have.
He heard voices yelling in languages that sounded ancient and unknown but also powerful. He smelled smoke, blood and salt water.
One of his visions was about a battle, he stood there with a sword in hand, surrounded by warriors whose faces shifted like shadows. The air was so mystical, filled with magic, the sky was spilt by fire.
He wasn't himself in the vision. He was older, stronger, filled with courage and certainty that he had never felt in reality.
He gave orders and people listened. Then a betrayal— sharp and blinding. Someone close.
A friend .
A blade driven through this back.
He woke up gasping, clutching his chest where the pain still echoed.
And a word on his tongue.
"Velthar"
.....
Lola had always known Jack was a little... weird.
Even when they were kids, he was different. Not the loud, attention-seeking kind of weird—more like the quiet, thoughtful kind. The kind of kid who'd stare too long at the clouds, or ask strange questions like, "Do you think dreams are just memories from another life?"
She used to roll her eyes at him. Still did sometimes. But there was something about him—a kind of quiet gravity, like he belonged to another world but hadn't figured it out yet. And even then, even when he said things that made no sense at all, there was this ease around him. Like when he was near, the world tilted slightly back into place.
But he was also the kind of kid who refused to fight back.
She remembered being ten, when one of the older boys tried to take Jack's lunch. He just stood there, calm and soft-eyed, as if he didn't mind losing it.
She'd stepped in, fists clenched, rage in her chest like fire. She got a black eye and a trip to the principal's office, but the boy never touched Jack again.
She was always stepping in. Always the one throwing punches while Jack stood behind her, wrapped in his strange peace.
It scared her sometimes—how easily he surrendered, how detached he could seem. She used to joke that one day he was going to get himself killed because he wouldn't lift a finger to defend himself. But it wasn't really a joke. Not deep down.
And yet, despite it all, she couldn't stay away. She didn't want to.
Because underneath his weirdness, Jack had a kindness that was rare. A quiet loyalty. And she made a promise to herself, years ago, that no matter how strange he got—or how far away his mind drifted—she'd always be there for him.
To fight for him, if she had to.
To remind him he wasn't alone.
That's why she noticed it right away.
Something had changed.
Jack was slipping.
.....
"You look like you haven't slept in days."
She said nudging him with her shoulder as they walked.
"Seriously Jack what's going on?"
He wanted to tell her. But how do you explain that your dreams felt more real than your waking life?
That sometimes, in the middle of the day, a vision— because that's what it had to be— would strike like lightning.
The teacher's voice would fade, and suddenly he'd see flashes— a hooded figure in a torch lit corridor, a golden ring shattered into pieces, a girl with fire in her eyes.
Whispering.
"Awaken Thalor awaken"
The scariest part wasn't the dreams and visions.
It was the bleep.
It was how—of late, his thoughts were becoming a reality.
How sometimes, when he imagined something— like a book falling from a shelf, or a bird crashing into the window. It happened.
Exactly how he'd pictured it.
Once, he imagined his desk drawer shaking, and it did, trembling like something inside was trying to get out.
He stopped arguing with the idea that this was normal.
It wasn't. The veil was becoming thinner and he had no freaking clue why .
All he could think of was:
Five days more.