The Catalyst

Chapter 47

The dreams came and went like waves at high tide, and all he could do was observe and listen. He couldn't remember who he was, which filled him with serenity.

Even as awareness of his own identity eluded him, he came to know the elves from his dreams intimately. He could understand their language, and felt deeply connected to them.

They worried about a breach between worlds. Since it was their mistake, a consequence of their haste in administering punishment, they strived to fix it, or at the very least provide a solution for humans in the years to come. But they had many concerns. What if the evil beings returned at a time when no human could wield their power? And even if someone did possess the necessary potential, there would be no one left to teach them. What if, despite their best efforts, the instrument they'd just crafted wasn't enough?

At some point, a nightmarish scene eclipsed the dreams. He saw a burnt-black, wrinkled shape on the ground, surrounded by night-shrouded woods. A woman's scream pierced the air, though he couldn't see her anywhere. Hers was a long, throat-wrenching, horrified wail. He didn't understand it, but it froze his heart all the same.

A young man leaned against a tree, pale and weary, heart heavy with guilt. And he knew him. He remembered. And somehow he experienced Jaden's anger, his anxiety, his frustration, his regrets. These emotions hurt him as if they were his own. He wished he could help. Tell him everything would be all right. What could he have done that was so terrible?

The scene transformed. Now Jaden loomed over a young girl who lay unconscious on a bed. His little sister Sofi. She was at death's door, but Jaden was helping her. Bringing her back. With what power, he didn't know. Yet somehow he knew then that Sofi would wake up safe and sound. Such certitude filled him that he experienced a warm joy and a burst of affection for Jaden. He had saved his family when he couldn't do it himself. He owed him a great debt.

Then the image deconstructed and escaped his mind like a flock of frightened birds. He lost grasp on who he was again, and the other dreams returned, but made less sense than before. Deep inside him was an unsettling sense of loss. Something, or someone precious was gone. He didn't know what it meant, but this loss haunted him regardless.

A fever claimed him for many more hours, and sometimes he'd hear concerned voices, or he'd feel a cool cloth on his forehead. And always, the sense of loss came back, and with it a crippling loneliness. He was afraid to wake up. He didn't want to know.