As I drifted off to sleep, images flashed through my vision of snow-capped mountain ranges with enormous cities scattered throughout their hills. Their palaces were shining gold in the snowy terrain and were built with architecture rivaling the elves of fantasy, but what was most surprising were the planes flying above and between the cities. Other images were clearer and closer to one of the cities, revealing modern power lines and street lamps. These street lamps were certainly more fancy than the wooden ones I remember back home, planted along normal looking streets, aside from the fantastical buildings lining the roads. These light poles were made of a spotless, shining metal so glossy it was almost a perfect mirror, if it wasn’t for the distortion at the edge of the poles.

  Unfortunately I couldn’t linger on a scene on demand; most of the images and scenes were bloody scenes of raging chaotic battles staged in open desolate terrain. People -if you can call them that- were being torn limb from limb. I hesitate to say people because many of the participants of these battles were very human-like, but for a few minor details. Many were normal-looking people on the top halves, aside from the horns, but had goat legs and hooves. They were carrying either maces or clubs covered in nails.

  They fought against foes that had black shadowy faceless heads, that twisted and varied with the wind and ensuing battle, while their bodies and limbs were shrouded in a black cloud that seemed to seep from their joints. One of these shadow-foes slashed at the enemy in front of them and the foe slowly dropped to his knees while the top half of his body toppled and rolled a few feet closer to the shrouded figure that made the attack in the first place. This defeated adversary wore no armor, and no shirt, but had a well defined six pack and pecs with broad muscular shoulders, and had what looked like a set of black wings folded like a falcon behind his now severed torso.

  Whole lot of good those muscles did you, huh? I thought it was stupid not to wear armor, or even bring a shield, at least. My point was proven when the next swipe by the shrouded figure was intercepted by a shield made of what seemed pure gold, held by a woman of broad stature with golden blonde hair glistening in the setting sun. A quick slash of her sword, which seemed also to be of gold, and the shadowy figure dissipated into nothing.

  I couldn’t help but notice that most of these images I made no connection to. I had never seen these places, and things and events, nor felt these emotions, or thought these thoughts before in my life. Many of these things were of a more gruesome manner than even the scene of Zeta’s death and unbelievable resurrection.

  That was still a confusing matter for me to wrap my head around, but at the thought of Zeta, I’d made the connection to the images I was seeing before me. What I was seeing, and feeling, was Zeta's memories and history.

  ■

  These scenes suddenly began sprinting past as if they were scenes outside of a moving car. Now that I knew that I’d been seeing Zeta’s memories, I started noticing the blank spots in between the memories, as if there were supposed to be memories there but they were missing, or hidden. I could see his memories from about 3 years old, all the way to his 13th birthday. Then there are gaps and, with no way of knowing how much time had elapsed between the next memories, I see the next scenes that were familiar from when I touched Zeta earlier; the scene of him running from the castle, followed by the crash and otherworldly resurrection. I see the battle, and the backstabbing. There is another gap, then I see the scene of him in his bed and those around him are speaking of some spell.

  First I find out people with superpowers are real. Am I really about to find out that magic is real too?

  It seemed I wasn’t going to get any more memories of Zeta’s. I was either locked out of them or they were missing entirely, so I decided to focus more on that last memory where a woman and man were talking of that spell. I found it relatively easy to navigate this dream state and mostly bend it to my will now that I knew what I was seeing, and that I was dreaming it. However, just because I was dreaming it didn’t make it any less strange.

  The Woman was the same one from the earlier battle scenes; the one that struck down the shadow-demon. She had milk-chocolate skin that the flickering light from candles and braziers danced on, and her hair could have been mistaken for ropes of real gold. She, at least, wore leather armor covering and protecting her torso and she wore her golden shield on her back, which almost made her look like a ninja turtle standing on two legs. Her sword was sheathed away on her left hip, the sheath decorated with ornate gold trimming, and the handle looked like silver. I assumed the gold and silver was real at this point.

  She was talking in a low, hushed voice to a man who was leaning against the bed so I couldn't quite make out his features. He was darker than I imagined skin could get, as if the space between the stars was gray in comparison. His skin seemed to twinkle - no it did twinkle. His skin was literally void with stars dotted across it, moving slow enough you’d never know unless you were looking for it, though the starlight that emanated from his skin was easily drowned out by the surrounding lighting within the bedroom. He was tall, too. Even as he leaned- nearly sitting- on the bed, he still towered over the woman by a solid 2 feet, though he leaned in close to her to keep conversation at a low volume so as not to wake Zeta, sleeping in the bed being leaned on and conversed next to.

  It was difficult to understand what they were saying as it was such a low whisper. They were very obviously trying not to be heard, but, after a time of essentially rewinding and replaying the memory over and over I was able to make out most of what they were saying, filling in the blanks the rest of the way. I’d never heard any of the names before, but I don’t think I misheard.

  “We must rely on his expertise in spellcasting, yes.” The Galaxy Man cut The Woman off, but what she was saying before, I was unable to make out regardless of how hard I tried. “But we cannot trust him enough to allow him to sit upon the throne.”

  “But it's your throne! No one has been able to overthrow The Legion, why would it be him, you suspect, to be the first?” She snapped these words, then quickly pursed her lips and looked past the star-covered man. She stared at Zeta for a few moments then continued the conversation at a more hushed volume, but I was focused enough now that I was able to hear. “He’s nothing more than an old man who’s studied old spells.”

  “Do not underestimate the Sage.” The Star-Man’s voice sounded closer to a breeze with the words and syllables being easily mistaken for shifts in the wind if not for careful attention. “His motives are yet unknown and he is shrouded in a darkness you cannot see. He carries a weight that has substantial sway over fate that you cannot sense. I am forbidden from sitting upon the throne without a host binding me to the mortal realm, you know this, and so does he.”

  “Okay, so we defend the throne until we can find a host like we’ve done for the past millennia, what's the deal now?”

  “The throne is at greater risk than it has ever been in history. We do not have time to look for a proper host, we must work with the best available now. You, Aleshia, are the only one who this has a chance of working with. None of the others’ blood contains enough of the Line of David to be a worthy host.”

  Aleshia lowered her jaw and pursed her lips together, then clasped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “You can’t mean… But my bloodline is still nowhere near Zeta’s potency!”

  “Yes, there is certainly still great risk involved. I cannot foresee what may befall the throne, and I may be able to help in some small way without a host, but I cannot help in the way I may be needed if the throne is truly in the peril I believe it to be.”

  Aleshia stared silently at the floor, and the Star-Man continued to half-sit on the end of the bed while leaning close to her. She fidgeted with her hair and peaked over at Zeta to ensure he was still dozing and not rousing from their conversation. He looked fast asleep. She opened her mouth a few times, then continued to ponder the floor, then her hands.

  Before she had a chance to say anything, the Star-Man spoke up. “Whether the Sage’s spell saves the King or not, we must still do everything in our power to protect the throne. Think over it tonight, however I require an answer by morning. We must be swift and cannot indicate, in any way, to the Sage what we plan.”

  Aleshia stood straight and brushed her hair behind her ears with her hands. “Then go and fetch the Sage.” She sniffled, and glanced at Zeta, then the Star-Man. “Let me pray with the King before we begin the preparations for the spell.”

  With this the Star-Man stood, bowed to Aleshia, though still towering over her, and strode past her to the large mahogany door at the front of the room. He opened it slowly and the hinges creaked as it swung. He walked through slowly, swinging it behind him, and the bolt shut with a soft and quiet click.

  Aleshia closed her eyes and let out a shaky sigh, then somberly walked over to the side of the bed and kneeled with her forehead resting on the edge of the mattress, her hands clasped together and pressed against her chest. After a few moments of silence she lets out a few soft, reluctant sobs. Still bowing, she took one of her hands and rested it on one of Zeta’s arms, which he had crossed, resting over his stomach.

  “Give me strength, my King.” Her voice was quiet and shaky, soft, yet her words had a firmness to them. “Dark times have been prophesied, and the markers reveal themselves. It was with your strength we united the nations, and it should be with your strength we prosper.”

  The bedroom door creaked open loudly. “Sorry to interrupt, Priestess, but we really must get on with this spell before the night is up. We have not the time to wait for the next new moon.” The voice was eerily similar to Martin’s, I realised at this point, though it had a more shrill peak to it, and he had a long draw with his “R”s so they almost sounded like a “W”.

  Aleshia stood and turned around, shifting her belt around her waist. “This is the only way, Sir Galland?”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Of course, child! If there were any other way we would not be in this predicament, now would we?”

  Aleshia stepped aside and gestured with her hand to Zeta. Sir Galland strode to the bedside Aleshia was just at. She walked to the opposite side of the bed as the Star-Man walked in the room after Sir Galland, and walked to the opposite side of the bed of him, as Aleshia and the Star Man shared passing glances and nods.

  Sir Galland shook Zeta’s shoulder and roused him awake. When his eyes opened and he grumbled in discontent, Sir Galland leaned in and spoke clearly into Zeta’s ear. “We must continue with the spell, my Lord. If we don’t, you will surely succumb to the sickness.”

  ■

  “Wait, wait, wait. So, lemme get this straight.” Dalton took a huge swig of his forty-four ounce soda, “You touch someone, and you can control them completely?”

  “I mean, it's a little more complex-”

  “Dude! That’s sick!” He punched my shoulder and almost knocked me off one of the bar stools we both sat on in the back of the Popeye’s.

  “Yeah I guess, but it’d be more sick if I could figure out how to do it on command.” I stuck my index finger and pointed it at the back of Dalton’s neck as he leaned in for another bite of his chicken sandwich.

  “Nuh-uh!” Of course with his ability he could see me a mile away. He turned and swung his barstool- that was attached to the bar, hung by a swivelling rod- and gulped the rest of his food down. “You can try that with someone more willing at training. Remember your schedule?”

  “Of course!” I take another spicy chicken strip and dip it in some ranch before biting half the tender away. Bringing my left wrist up to my view, I check the new smart watch the bunker gave me after orientation. It looks an awful lot like an Apple watch, like, tit-for-tat like an Apple watch, just without the logos or serial numbers anywhere; Almost like they got them fresh from the factory before they even got stamped. The similarities with an apple watch end when I get to the software, though, as it runs a very basic version of Android Wear OS. I fiddle with the menus and pull up a calendar which displays the hourly schedule when I click on a day. I finish chewing the strip and swallow, “Yeah, I gotta be there in an hour.”

  “Then finish the dishes and head out early, so you can shower,” Dalton grabbed his undershirt below his uniform and pulled it over his nose, “you reek from cleaning the fryers.”

  We shared a laugh then I sprinted through the dishes- washing, restacking, and reassembling the equipment- which left me with a spare fifteen minutes to shower once I got to my apartment. It felt weird, a fast food joint closing at seven in the afternoon, but I guess it makes sense when the customer base all eat at the same time. Once dinner is over, there is no one else to serve, as everyone either goes to their apartments to sleep, or training before following the rest. I was one of the unlucky few who had to go to training before getting to go to bed.

  And when I say few, I really mean it. Only 20 of us were in attendance for the evening training class, and the instructor looked like she was about to fall over tired, though she stood firm in her Army fatigues that were stained with sweat. At least I recognised Macy in this small crowd. However small, I don’t do crowds; so a familiar face was welcome in this unfamiliar purgatory of a bunker. The instructor, Lieutenant Cold, directed us from the basketball court, where we were to pair up and test our abilities against each other with our best effort without killing each other.

  We were accompanied by two senior cadets that assisted the Lieutenant with supervising us to make sure we didn’t kill each other like the pair on one end of the line. Two boys, about my age, that looked almost identical with their shoulder length straight blonde hair produced six inch blades from each of their fists and started throwing them with an obvious lack of skill which launched blades left, right, and some clanging in mid air, then clattering to the floor. Some students dropped and sheltered themselves while others stood relieved, awaiting their impending doom. Before any blades met flesh, they were stopped abruptly, hovering only feet away from their potential victims before finally clattering to the ground all at once.

  “Flinging deadly weapons at your partners is what I warned of before we began!” The Lieutenant’s voice rang sharp through the gymnasium, echoing off the walls for a few extra seconds. May be why she chose the gymnasium for training: Gives a few extra chances to let it soak in for the morons in the room.

  “So aside from avoiding certain death with someone like them,” I gestured to the blade boys while turning to Macy, who I was lucky enough to want to partner with me of her own volition, “why’d you partner with me? I don’t know what your brother would think about me using my power on you.” I gave her a smirk.

  “I’m my own person with my own choices that are none of his business.” She gave a smug grin with a sly giggle into her shoulder. “Anyway, from what I hear from Dalton about your power, I figure it could be useful in helping me discover what my power is.”

  “You’ve not figured that out yet?”

  “No, I’m just testing you to see if your power really works.” Her sarcasm was palpable.

  “Okay, you got me there,” I let out a chuckle. “That one’s obvious. I meant you and Dalton have been here so long, I would’ve thought you’d have yours as figured out as Dalton has his.”

  “I probably would be if I knew what mine was as long as he did.” Her shoulders dropped and smile faded. “He knew before we even made it to the hospital after the accident.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.”

  “No, they were at the surface already.” She sniffled, then wiped her cheek on her sleeve. “Dalton already shared with me how your power works, for the most part, so I’m prepared to let you see the shitty parts of my life, I don’t share with anyone.”

  “So he told you already my power lets me see your memories, cool. Did he mention that I can control your every move too? From what Martin tells me I can make zombies.” I put both my hands up next to my face imitating claws and gave out a fake snarl.

  “Of course he shared that too.” She giggled and blushed. “Dalton and I are twins. There’s not a single secret you’ve shared with him that’s safe from me!” Her giggling devolved into convulsing laughter and the blushing cheeks were replaced with a pearly-white toothy smile.

  I couldn’t help myself anymore. I found myself moving without thinking. I took two steps forward and put one hand in the arch of her back and the other cradling the back of her head and kissed her. Instead of pulling away, she pressed against my lips harder and wrapped her arms around me, leaning into my chest. The world around us faded, figuratively and literally.

  When I opened my eyes, the training class and gymnasium were replaced with a living room and a mother frantically packing 3 suitcases as a young Dalton and Macy clutched each other crying on the sofa. They were about 3 years younger than I knew them.

  A pair of headlights illuminated the windows behind the couch the children were huddled on. The mother quickened her pace, hastily fastening the zippers on two suitcases and cursing under her breath as she fiddled with the stuck zipper on the third suitcase. A pair of booted footfalls clomped to the front door. The door handle rattled and the mother stood frozen in front of the children as the door swung open and a man stepped through.

  The door swung shut with a squeak, and latched shut behind the man with a click that echoed within the walls of the house. It was so silent, the click sounded like a deafening crack of a whip as the man stood in the entrance way silently staring at the woman and children. It felt like an eternity before the man broke the silence. “Dalton, Macy. Go to bed.” His voice deep and full of bass sounding from the shadows of the entrance. “Your mother and I need to have an adult conversation.”

  “No. We are leaving. I’ve already called a cab.”

  The man said nothing, reaching behind him to lock the door, then strode to the woman and kids. He grabbed the two small suitcases and turned away, “No one is coming for you, whore.” He growled the last word out so harsh you could mistake it for the growl of a wolf; a sound fitting to his mane-like appearance with his long golden hair, sideburns, mustache, and beard down to his collarbone.

  The mother stared down at her husband’s fists wrapped around the carry handles of the suitcases with a mortified look, “What have you done, Michael.”

  I notice it too when she speaks. His knuckles were broken open and bleeding, dripping blood on the suitcases with a few streaks of red down their sides.

  “Your boy-toy left town without you, so I guess you’re walking.”

  He carried the suitcases out of the room. The mother hugs her children and reassures them, “It’s okay, we’ll get through this like we always do.”

  Michael returned a few moments later, flicking the overhead light on as he entered revealing the blood splattered across his plaid shirt. “Dalton, Macy,” His voice boomed in the terrifying silence, loud but not yelling. He spoke with presence, “I won’t tell you again. Get in bed before you see something you don’t want to.”

  “Don’t do this, Michael!” She put her arms out to stop the children moving from behind her, but neither budged anyway. “Just let us leave.” Tears streamed down her face and puddled on the hardwood floor at her feet.

  After snatching the baseball bat that leaned against the wall next to the front door, Michael swung it over his shoulder. “You are leaving, right after the kids go back to bed and I have a talk with you.”

  The mother scooped a mug off the coffee table in front of her then threw it, with precision, at Michael’s forehead. It makes contact with a thud, then shattered as it reached the floor. “Run, kids!” Macy and Dalton’s mother sprinted across the room to follow up the hit from the mug with a tackle.

  During this, Macy is burying her head in her knees with her arms wrapped around her head. Dalton is carefully inching his way to the fireplace. His mother and Michael came blindly barreling toward him as he reached the fireplace with barely enough time to snatch one of the pokers before the rest came clattering to the floor.

  Rolling out of the way back behind the coffee table with inches to spare from collision, Dalton grabbed Macy and pulled her off the sofa, towards the front door. Macy is sniffling behind him as he grabs the turn-knob to unlock the bolt and open the front door. He ushers Macy out of the door and begins out the door himself.

  TWACK

  Dalton froze in the entryway before turning back and closing the door.

  “No!” Macy turned as the deadbolt clicked shut. “Don’t leave me!” She tried pushing the door and rattling the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Ten seconds passed, then fifteen. Macy began to make her way off the front porch, when the lock clicked open and the door started to open. She ducked behind the bushes lining the front railing.

  “Macy, it’s okay. Its over”

  Dalton and Macy wrap their arms together and start down their long and windy gravel driveway, snaking to and fro in the moonlight until they reach a highway. They stop for a brief moment to sit and lean against the mailbox while Macy dried her tears with her sleeve and Dalton uses handfuls of grass to scrub the blood off his hands.

  The memory fizzles and Macy and I are ripped apart.

  “I didn’t think I’d have to specify no kissing, either, trainees!”

  ________________________________________