We had no prep assignments that evening, so I collapsed into sleep earlier than usual. My body felt hollowed out—not tired, but drained, as if something had been siphoning energy from me all day, leaving me running on empty.
I knew I was dreaming because reality had rules, and this place had abandoned them entirely. Everything felt simultaneously too loud and too quiet, like being submerged underwater where you can hear your heartbeat thundering but nothing else penetrates the silence. Except this was worse—much worse.
The ground beneath my feet was cracked obsidian, scorched and lifeless. Above, the sky looked like it had been torn apart by claws and hastily stitched back together by a blind surgeon—jagged purple scars slashing across a nauseating yellow backdrop. This wasn't Central. This wasn't anywhere that belonged to the world I knew.
Then I saw them. Gods. There was no other word for what stood before me. Seven impossibly massive beings arranged in a perfect circle around something my mind refused to focus on. Each one towered above the dead earth, floating as if gravity was merely a suggestion they chose to ignore. Their forms shifted constantly—my dream-addled brain apparently incapable of processing their true nature. One moment they appeared as towering humanoids wreathed in starlight, the next as abstract geometries of pure energy.
But despite their divine power, they looked... exhausted. Afraid, even. And if gods could feel fear, that was definitely a catastrophic sign.
At the center of their circle stood another figure—one of them, yet fundamentally different. This being was constructed from living fire and crystallized rage, emanating something far worse than either. He possessed no proper face, just a grin that stretched impossibly wide across features that shouldn't exist, and eyes that held the cold light of dying stars.
"You're all pathetic," the fire-entity said, his voice like continents grinding together. "You surrendered your fangs when the Universe needed them most. I kept mine sharp."
One of the encircling gods raised a hand—not in greeting, but as a warning that made the air itself tremble. When she spoke, her voice shook the foundations of the dream, causing the obsidian ground to crack further.
"You've shattered the earth six times over, brother. All because of that cursed system you follow."
"You devour everything," accused another, this one shimmering like liquid starlight given form. "The oceans, the atmosphere, humanity itself—they're all withering because of your endless hunger. The Pact is using you now, can't you see that?"
"We entrusted you with the power of the ancients," whispered a third, and somehow that whisper carried more weight than the others' shouting. "And you've become the very apocalypse mortals needed protection from."
The seven gods began to glow with increasing intensity, their combined power building like an approaching supernova. I could feel the energy crackling through the dream-space, making my teeth ache and my bones vibrate with frequencies that shouldn't exist. They were preparing for war.
That's when the fire-god's head snapped toward me with predatory precision. Not a general glance in my direction—he was looking directly at me, through the dream itself, as if I were standing right beside him.
What the hell?
"There you are," he said, that impossible grin stretching wider. "You're watching, aren't you, little thief?"
Terror flooded my system. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't even blink. I felt trapped in amber, paralyzed in my own dream while this cosmic horror studied me with eyes like collapsing stars.
This is just a dream. Wake up, Ernesto. Wake up now.
"You're carrying the Pact," he continued, taking a step that seemed to cover impossible distance. The other gods continued their preparations, but he dismissed them as if they were gnats. "A fragment that doesn't belong to you. You'll surrender what you've stolen, because I am about to awaken."
Take whatever you want. I didn't ask for any of this divine baggage.
His fire flared brighter, and I could feel the heat searing through the dream-barrier. It burned with the same golden intensity as the liquid those cradlewalkers had forced down my throat—the same power that had exploded from me in that grave.
"Don't forget who I am," he said, his voice gaining substance, becoming more real than the dream around us. The other gods were moving now, positioning themselves like celestial warriors preparing for the battle of existence. "I am Ramapho—"
Then they struck. Seven gods moving as one, faster than thoughts, like a net of pure creation snapping shut around their corrupted brother. The combined force of their assault hit him simultaneously—every ounce of divine power they possessed focused into a single, reality-ending blow. The world didn't just explode into light; it became light, became sound, became the birth-scream of universes. The blast wave struck me like a physical mountain, and I was falling, burning, screaming through collapsing dimensions—
"RAMAPHOSA!" The name erupted from my throat as I jolted upright.
"Nesto! Nesto, wake up!"
Someone was shaking my shoulder, dragging me back from cosmic annihilation. My eyes snapped open and I was gasping, drenched in sweat that glowed faintly golden in the dim morning light. My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged animal, and that alien energy was flickering beneath my skin again, visible through my pores.
Derrick loomed over me, worry etched deep into his features. "Jesus, dude, you were convulsing and screaming. Are you okay? You sounded like you were being murdered."
I sat up slowly, the morning light streaming through our window feeling harsh after the alien illumination of the dream-realm. Usually I was the first to wake, but apparently divine nightmares had their own schedule. I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to force the golden flicker back beneath my skin.
"What time is it?" I croaked, my voice raw from screaming.
"Almost seven," Derrick said, settling on the edge of my bed. "James left early for his final processing, and Clinton's been in the shower for twenty minutes. I've been trying to wake you for ages—you were completely gone."
Ramaphosa. The name reverberated through my skull like a warning bell. The fire-god from my dream hadn't felt like a product of my subconscious. He'd felt real—more real than anything I'd ever experienced. And he was waking up.
"I'm fine," I lied, running trembling hands through my sweat-dampened hair. "Just a nightmare."
"Must have been apocalyptic," Derrick said, his eyes searching my face. "You kept repeating some name over and over. Rama-something. You were terrified, man—I've never seen you like that."
Shit. "I don't remember," I said quickly. "You know how dreams fade."
But I remembered everything. Every word, every sensation, every moment of that cosmic confrontation. And the terrifying certainty that it wasn't just a dream—it was a glimpse into something real. A warning. A countdown.
Ramaphosa was coming. And when he awakened fully, he was going to reclaim whatever power they'd poured into me. The divine essence I'd never asked for and desperately wanted to return.
"Nesto," Derrick said, studying my face with uncomfortable intensity. "You sure you're alright? You look like you've witnessed the end of the world."
Not witnessed. Previewed.
"I'm fine," I repeated, forcing what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "Just need some coffee and I'll be back to normal."
But as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I felt that strange hunger stirring again—stronger now, more demanding. It wasn't just craving energy anymore; it was craving purpose, direction, action. And somewhere in the depths of my mind, I could swear I heard the echo of grinding stone laughter.
Whatever was growing inside me, I had a sinking feeling that coffee wasn't going to be nearly enough to contain it.
The real question was: how long did I have before the dream became reality?