The moon cast silver light through the bedroom window, illuminating a little girl who twisted beneath her blanket like a fish caught in a net.
"No… don't go…" she murmured, her voice small and trembling.
Another mortal losing their dreams to the darkness.
I watched from the threshold between worlds, my luminescent skin glowing with faint, cloud-like patterns that swirled around my arms. I was the only Somnian born different—the only one whose powers flickered and surged beyond control. And now, when I needed them most, they refused to answer my call.
"Amelia!" The Sandman's hiss cut through my spiraling thoughts. "What are you doing? Pay attention!"
I looked down at my hands, still extended over the sleeping child. My light—it was flickering. Stuttering like a dying candle.
No… no, no, no—
"This is your final training trial, Amelia." The Sandman's voice held a warning edge.
I forced myself to take a sharp breath. He moved closer, his ancient presence steadying.
"Remember," he said softly, "breathe. Be one with the dreams. Guide them as they sleep. Don't let them be afraid—"
"Don't let them weep." I finished the mantra automatically, and a faint light bloomed in my palms.
The Sandman held his breath. I turned to give him my brightest smile.
"Careful, love." A voice whispered through my mind—not my own, not the Sandman's.
"Oh, I will be!" I said aloud, my excitement getting the better of me.
The Sandman looked at me, confused. "What?"
My own confusion must have shown on my face, because his eyes suddenly went wide, fixed on my hands. I turned back to see what had alarmed him.
My light was dying. Flickering like a star on the verge of collapse.
"Focus, Amelia," the Sandman said firmly. "Or else—"
Too late.
The child's breathing turned ragged. She thrashed beneath her sheets, small limbs fighting invisible demons. From the shadow cast by her bedside lamp, a thin ribbon of black sand began to rise—slithering, seeking, hungry.
Oh no. What do I do? I can't focus. I can't—
I squeezed my eyes shut and dragged in a deep breath, centering myself in the stillness.
"I'm not letting the shadows give you nightmares," I whispered to the sleeping girl.
I pressed my palms toward her forehead and let myself slip into her dreamscape. The world shifted around me—I was standing in a dark forest. The little girl ran ahead, her mother's hand clutched tight in hers. Behind them, something massive gave chase. A demon, all teeth and shadow and rage.
I stepped forward and raised my hand. The demon skidded to a halt, snarling. As my light grew brighter, it began to shrink back, hissing and spitting until it dissolved entirely into wisps of smoke.
The little girl turned to me, her dream-self smiling. "Thank you, Miss!"
"It's nothing," I said, kneeling to her level. "Don't be afraid of them. Let them be afraid of your light."
Her breathing steadied. The dreamscape brightened. I felt warmth spread from my palms—real warmth, not the flickering uncertainty from before.
Then came the tug. Sharp and insistent, yanking me back across the veil.
I stumbled as I materialized in Somnia, our realm between dreams and waking. The Sandman stood before me, his mouth open in shock.
"How on earth did you do that?"
I caught my balance, blinking. "I thought… I thought all Somnians could do that?"
He took a step toward me. I took one back.
"Amelia." His voice dropped to something grave, almost frightened. "You're no ordinary dreamkeeper. You have the rarest gift of all Somnians." He paused, his ancient eyes boring into mine. "No one can ever find out."
"What do you mean—"
But he had already turned away. Over his shoulder, he said, "All of us are losing our touch. The Fading has begun. Watch yourself."
Then he dissolved into golden sand, leaving me alone in the shifting mists of Somnia.
Hysterical laughter echoed through the emptiness.
I whipped around toward the sound. A shadow stood at the edge of the dreamscape—tall, dark, unmistakably watching me.
Why does he look familiar?
"You're not wrong," the shadow said, answering my unspoken thought. All I could see were two glowing red eyes burning in the silhouette of a man.
I thrust my hand forward, summoning every ounce of strength I had left to conjure my light—this time as a weapon.
Nothing happened.
"Your light burns too fast," the shadow murmured, now beside my ear. His voice sent chills racing down my spine.
I spun to face him. "Wait. It's you! You're the one who told me to be careful earlier."
The shadow shifted, taking on a more defined form—still wreathed in darkness, but distinctly Somnian. He circled me slowly, a predator toying with prey.
I tried to step back, tried again to summon my light. My palms remained dark.
Panic clawed at my chest.
"Relax," he said, and I heard the smile in his voice. "I'm not here to kill you."
"Then why are you here?"
He stopped directly in front of me. As the shadows around him thinned slightly, I caught a glimpse of sharp features, dark hair, a cruel curve to his mouth. Handsome in the way a blade is beautiful—all edges and danger.
"Why, thank you," he said smoothly. "Not too bad yourself."
I gasped. "How—did you just read my thoughts?"
"I mean… we are Somnians, after all—"
"I never gave you permission."
His grin widened. He stepped closer. I refused to retreat, lifting my chin in defiance even as my heart hammered against my ribs.
He leaned in—past my lips, past my cheek—until his breath ghosted against my ear.
"I've been inside your dreams," he whispered.
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his grin maddeningly smug.
"You dream louder than you think."
Heat flooded my face. I shoved him backward.
He laughed—and vanished like smoke.
I stood alone in the mists, my hands still trembling, my pulse still racing.
What have I gotten myself into?