Arlo Sarsons - Wrath of Amaterasu

7) I meet my estranged family

Ever had that falling dream? You know, the one where you're peacefully snoring away, maybe dreaming about something random—like, I don't know, riding a pizza slice across the galaxy—and then bam, you're plummeting through nothingness? Yeah, that used to happen to me all the time. Except this time, I wasn't dreaming.

Or at least, it didn't feel like a dream.

I was standing at the edge of this massive black chasm, the kind that makes your stomach drop just by looking at it. The air was thick, sticky, and hot like the world was running a fever. I couldn't see the bottom—just endless darkness that seemed to swallow everything, even the sound of my own breathing. I wanted to back away, but my legs weren't cooperating. I was stuck, like my feet had melted into the ground.

Then, a voice spoke from behind me.

"It's terrifying, isn't it?"

I froze—well, more than I already was. I didn't recognize the voice exactly, but something about it scratched at the back of my brain, like I should know who it belonged to. But when I tried to turn around and look, my body refused to move. Awesome.

"I've been watching you for some time, Arlo Sarsons."

Okay, that was creepy. I mean, who starts a conversation like that? Also, how does this guy know my name? I wanted to ask him, but—big surprise—my mouth wasn't working either. Guess I was going to have to rely on mental telepathy. Spoiler: that's not one of my strengths.

"It's good to finally meet you, though our time here is limited."

Oh, great. Cryptic dream dude was on a schedule. Fantastic. Meanwhile, I was still stuck on the edge of this giant pit of doom, trying not to freak out.

"They're going to try to control you, Arlo. To smother who you really are. You can't let them. You need to find me. Trust your instincts. And whatever you do... don't burn."

Don't burn? What does that even mean? Before I could ask—or, you know, even think about asking—the ground beneath my feet gave way. I tumbled forward into the void, and the last thing I saw was the blackness closing in around me, swallowing everything.

My eyes shot open, and for a second, I thought I was still falling. But no. Now I was staring up at a ceiling that looked way too fancy for my life. I blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the light, which was doing a great job of blinding me. It was like someone had put the sun on high beam and aimed it directly at my face. Perfect.

As my brain slowly booted back up, I realized I wasn't in my room. Or anywhere I recognized. The walls were this pale peach color with golden trim, like I'd woken up inside a mansion—or maybe an old-timey hotel where they probably charge you for breathing too loudly. Everything looked weirdly expensive, but in a "rich people from 200 years ago" way. Not a flat screen TV in sight, just lots of stuff that looked like it belonged in a museum.

I tried to sit up—bad move. My head immediately started pounding like someone had stuck a drum inside my skull and was practicing for a rock concert. My stomach wasn't doing any better, flipping like it was auditioning for a circus.

"If you're gonna puke, aim for the bowl," said a voice, calm and uninterested, like they'd seen this before.

Startled, I turned my head (too fast—mistake number two), and there she was. A girl, sitting in a chair next to me, casually scrolling through her phone like she didn't have a care in the world. She had this long, tight braid of brown hair, and these hazel eyes that kind of glowed in the weird light, making it feel like she could see straight into my soul. Her makeup was all smudged eyeliner and dark lipstick, the kind that says, "I don't care," but you know she does. And then there was the nose ring, which pretty much completed her whole "don't mess with me" vibe.