Awakening The Sleeper

Chapter Two: Echoes in the Silence

        Vessel stood on the balcony of their small apartment, staring out at the city beneath the dim glow of streetlights. The clock tower in the distance struck midnight, each chime vibrating in the heavy air, echoing across the empty streets like a call to something unseen. Yet, even with the city at rest, Vessel felt no peace. They hadn't slept since the dream–that dream.

         A cigarette burned slowly between their fingers, its smoke curling lazily into the night sky. Vessel wasn't much of a smoker, but tonight was different. Tonight, the silence felt too oppressive, too loud, like it was pressing in on them from all sides. Every sound, every distant car horn, every gust of wind seemed to carry the faint echo of that voice. "I have chosen you."

        The words replayed in their mind like a song on repeat, refusing to fade. It was absurd, wasn't it? Some dark figure in a dream claiming to be an ancient deity, offering power, promising a destiny? But as much as they wanted to dismiss it as some strange hallucination or figment of their stressed-out mind, Vessel knew better. They had felt something real in that dream—a force that reached beyond the ordinary limits of consciousness.

        Their fingers drummed absentmindedly against the balcony railing in time with the rhythm still pulsing in their chest. The heartbeat from the dream hadn't left them, a persistent, slow thrum that followed them through every waking hour. It wasn't loud, but it was there, like a second pulse beneath their own. Sometimes, they wondered if it had always been there, just waiting to be noticed.

        With a deep sigh, Vessel crushed the cigarette underfoot and stepped back inside. The room was dark, the only light coming from the dim glow of their laptop screen, its soft hum filling the air. They glanced at it, the cursor blinking in a half-finished email. It was supposed to be to the band, about the new material they'd been working on. But every time they tried to finish it, the words escaped them, replaced by flashes of the dream.

       They sat down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through their hair. It had only been two nights since the dream, but it felt like a lifetime. Vessel had tried writing, had tried channeling the flood of emotions and confusion into music like they always did. But something was missing–like they were reaching for a melody that was just out of their grasp.

        In the stillness of the room, Vessel felt it again: the presence, the same one from the dream. It was faint, a whisper at the edge of their senses, but it was there. Sleep. Watching. Waiting.

Vessel's phone buzzed on the bedside table, breaking the silence. They reached for it, glancing at the screen/ A message from one of the bandmates, Liam.

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Liam: Yo, you good? You've been quiet. We still on for rehearsal tomorrow? Got some ideas for the new track.

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        Vessel stared at the message, their fingers hovering over the keys. What could they say? That something had shifted inside them? That they felt like they were standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable?

Instead, they typed a quick response.

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Vessel: Yeah, all good. Rehearsal's on.

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        They hit send, tossing the phone back onto the bed. What else could they say? They didn't even know how to explain what was happening to themselves, let alone anyone else.