There was a knock at the door. Proto blinked. Yemos didn’t say anything, and his facial expression was hidden beneath the mists.

  Then, abruptly, the dark-haired man was standing and striding down the hallway toward the door. He didn’t meet Proto-Mannus’ gaze as he did so.

  Not sure what to do, Proto followed him. Meanwhile, the mists sank to chest level.

  Yemos reached and opened the heavy industrial-looking front door.

  Outside stood a woman dressed neatly in a little hat skewed sideways and her Sunday’s best. On her face was a prim and genial smile, and swept over one shoulder was long blonde hair. It was Dahlia.

  “Good morning!” she declared sweetly. “It’s just a blessed day, isn’t it?”

  Yemos sighed and gave Proto-Mannus a glance.

  “Finally some sun,” agreed Proto. “Let there be light, huh?”

  “I know, right!” agreed Dahlia eagerly.

  Yemos gave Proto-Mannus a baleful look, then faced the visitor.

  “So I’m here, first of all, to wish you the very best on this downright miraculous seventh day,” said Dahlia. “Second, there’s a question I wanted to ask you.”

  Miraculously, during this exchange, the mist had begun dwindling—first slowly, then rapidly. It now was at their ankles.

  “Let me stop you right there,” Yemos broke in. “I have a lot to think about today. And, no offense, but I’m just not going to add this to the list.”

  “I understand!” replied Dahlia chippily. “Everything has its time and place. So, let me ask you instead, if you could find it in your heart of hearts, to consider a small monetary contribution—”

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” grumbled Yemos impolitely.

  Dahlia tilted her head at him and smiled. “Exactly!”

  Then, she looked over Yemos’ shoulder at Proto. “What about you back there? Care to make a contribution? You’d help feed the hungry. Including myself.” She beamed sunnily. “Or, better yet, you could just buy me lunch.”

  Yemos turned to Proto-Mannus and gave him a disgusted and envious smile. “Even one of them! Some things never change, eh?” Slapping his twin brother on the back, he walked back toward the other room.

  Dahlia winked at Proto. “I’m free this afternoon!” she declared cheerily.

  Proto pointed at her. “We’ll talk in a bit.”

  She nodded happily and waved, as Proto closed the door and headed back to the other room.

  Inside, Yemos was staring out the window at an enclosed garden. “It’s funny,” he said to his brother—that is, to Proto. “I spent years on this garden. Literal years of spare time. Spare life. And here’s what they went toward: Hedges. Rare plants. An apple tree. A tire swing used by no one. Except me.” He smirked sadly.

  “Hey,” said Proto-Mannus, improvising a little. “I’ll have you know I’ve used that swing.”

  The mist swirled up a few inches, but Yemos smiled. “Oh? Snuck a ride or two? In that case, it all feels worth it.”

  A quiet moment passed. Proto felt sure the issue they’d been discussing—Yemos’ three options—was central to resolving this dream. But, given his close call with the mists a minute ago, he was reluctant to raise the issue. Not yet, anyway.

  “What do you think our odds are?” he asked instead. “To turn back the invasion, I mean.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you this,” replied Yemos. “Win or lose, there won’t be a city left here. Win or lose, this will become a ghost town—all too literally. We had dreams for this place. They won’t come to pass. Win or lose, this will be a place of fire and ash. It’s just a question of who’s burning amid the rubble and who’s limping away from it.” He smiled ruefully. “And apple trees and tire swings? They’ll be memories. If we win.”

  “Alright, that’s enough of that,” Proto broke in, holding out a palm. “You’re right, of course. But there’s no point dwelling on the inevitable. Have a drink or something.”

  Yemos raised an eyebrow. “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow—”

  “For tomorrow, we turn back an invasion and achieve glorious victory. Or not,” declared Proto. “We’ll make it or we won’t. We’ll do our best, and in the end, things will get sorted out.”

  “That’s well and good,” sighed Yemos. “But some decisions still must be made before tomorrow.”

  “Where are the drinks?” asked Proto firmly.

  Yemos chuckled and thumbed toward a closet. “Get me a bourbon, will you.”

  “Sure, if mine’s on you,” replied Proto, strolling to the closet and opening it.

  Behind the door stood Mayger, poised stiffly in a gap in front of the shelf. The space was so tight that his pink pompadour had been flattened against the door.

  Bloody Hell!

  Proto resisted the urge to turn and check if Yemos was looking. Doing so would only increase the likelihood that he’d glance over and see what was right in front of him.

  Mayger slowly reached for a brown bottle and handed it over, followed by two glasses. He gave a thumbs up.

  “Nice selection here,” called Proto as he closed the door.

  Yemos looked up as his brother approached the table. He gave a guffaw of disbelief upon seeing the bottle. “The sky’s about to fall, and that’s what you pick?” The mists rose. So did Yemos, who started toward the closet. “Are we really related? Do I even know you?”

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake!” replied Proto nervously, waving the bottle in Yemos’ face. “Armageddon’s here, your brother’s sharing a drink with you, and you’re whining about his tastes in bourbon?”

  “Alright,” laughed Yemos, “alright.” He sat back down, as Proto poured two generous glasses.

  They sipped in silence. After a few minutes, the lines on Yemos’ brow started smoothing. His breaths grew longer and slower.

  “Good call,” he eventually remarked, lifting his glass.

  “Like a charm, huh?” agreed Proto.

  The dark-haired man nodded, eying his whiskey. “It makes some details blurry. But that just forces you to look at the big picture.”

  Proto wasn’t sure what that meant. But he felt the time was right now. “So, as I was saying earlier, you should let me take your place—”

  “The answer is no,” Yemos replied firmly. “You’re not going to make my sacrifice for me, any more than Ausrine is.”

  “Yemos, I can lead—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “Yes, you could lead them valiantly and well. But no, you will not.”

  The dark-haired man looked out the window again. “No, when the fires fall, and the lights streak across Heaven, and the redounding blasts rock the earth, and all is pandaemonium, I’ll be in its midst. And you will not.”

  Resolution showed in his eyes. But was this really the right resolution?

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Proto shook his head. “You’re being fatalistic. Be creative. There must be other options.”

  Yemos smiled sadly. “Sometimes, life calls for a tragedy. And trying to avoid it will just make it worse.”

  A darkening in the window caught Proto’s gaze. Grey clouds were bulging and weltering toward them from afar. “The point of no return,” Astrid had called it when those clouds arrived.

  “I—” Proto started.

  “Don’t argue. I need you to promise me something important. It’s about Ausrine.” Yemos’ dark gaze had taken on a narrowed zeal. “I know you feel the same about her now as a decade ago. Even if you’re too noble-hearted to say anything. And I’ve always wondered what would’ve happened if you’d gone on that first trip with her, instead of me.”

  This was getting weird. Proto felt he like he was watching a train derail. But what words could stop a train from derailing?

  “I need you to promise me, Mannus, that you’ll take care of Ausrine like your own family. Whether as a sister or . . . ” Yemos shook his head. “Just promise me, okay?”

  Proto-Mannus stared back. With strange and abrupt certainty, he sensed that his response here would determine something very important—something whose consequences would redound far beyond this worn man facing him.

  He had no idea why that’d be the case. This whole dream of an impending invasion was a fiction. Why would it matter what relationship two of his childhood acquaintances had with this Ausrine? Assuming she even existed?

  The sober and cerebral part of Proto told him that, most likely, Yemos had been carried away by fatalistic hysteria. He’d been swept away by a delusional belief that he had to undergo some tragedy; that he had to lose his love; that his brother was meant to succeed in his place. The rational part of Proto told him that Yemos probably just needed to calm down, put things in perspective, and keep seeking solutions for whatever real problems he faced.

  But that wasn’t the part of Proto that spoke. “I promise,” he replied.

  Yemos smiled grimly and clasped Proto-Mannus’ hand. “I knew you would, brother. And I know you’ll keep your promise.”

  He turned to stare out the window. The burgeoning clouds were close now. They’d darkened since a minute earlier, and flames now fringed them. The sky itself was reddening ominously.

  “Something is coming,” spoke Yemos, sounding far away. His military uniform was blurring away, and the world was turning shadowy. “Something beyond what you or I understand. We’re just players on a stage. But I’ll play my part. I’ll play my part.”

  Proto stared. What was he talking about? This was unlike any other dream he’d visited. What were those fires lacing the heavens?

  But even as he pondered this, the dark mirk bulged and sweltered into the quaint little dining room, obliviating the hues and forms of the dream.

  And abruptly, Proto was hurtling through grey obscurity, as flecks of starlight spun in silent parallax.

  He lurched back into being in the misty blue hallway of Somnus’ Palace.

  “Oh!” cried Dahlia as she apparated beside him, flinging a hand out as she stumbled forward in her Victorian robe. Apparently, she’d lost her Sunday’s best along the way.

  Catching her balance, she clasped her hand to her bouncing breast and took a deep breath. “Well, that was exhilarating, wasn’t it?”

  Mayger, in contrast, had landed smoothly and stood a few steps ahead of them. He was looking thoughtfully at nothing, his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket.

  “Nice move back there,” Proto told Dahlia. “‘It’s just a blessed day, isn’t it?’” he mimicked cheerily.

  “Wasn’t it though!” she cried. “I was near-drowning in mists when I decided I’d better do something. Thank Heaven it worked.”

  “Thank Lady Luck,” corrected Mayger, glancing skyward.

  “Luck, you think?” She turned to him, hands on her hips. “Funny how I, the shadowseer, had to help out our provisional visitor. I wonder, where were you? His mentor. Supposedly.”

  “Stuck where I couldn’t do anything,” said Mayger. “In the closet.”

  Dahlia tilted her head at him. She smiled.

  “Don’t even,” said the pink-haired man.

  Dahlia beamed. “I said, where were you, not—”

  Mayger took Dahlia’s book out of her hands and bonked her lightly on the head with it.

  “An attack! On a lady!” she cried, seizing the book. She started to swing it toward Mayger’s pompadour, but made it bounce backward as it struck the springy pink form. “Deflected? What is this fell sorcery?”

  “I always wear protection,” repeated Mayger, patting his pink head.

  Dahlia tilted her head and smiled again.

  Mayger pointed at her. “Don’t even!”

  “Hm. Is that a lump?” said Dahlia, rubbing above her forehead.

  “Now we have a matching set,” noted Proto, patting his own head.

  “We do, don’t we?” she enthused. “Well, as they say, life’s best pleasures are shared. And books are a close second.”

  “Dare I ask what’s number one?” said Proto.

  “Apples!” she replied instantly, retrieving one from her robe’s pocket. She tossed it far above him and out of reach, then snatched it just as it was about to land in his waiting palm. She winked at him.

  “Not oranges?” he replied.

  She waved dismissively. “One taste will disabuse you of that notion.”

  Now it was Mayger tilting his head and smiling at them. He looked thoughtful. “Speaking of pink lumps on heads,” he said after a moment, “that closet door messed up my hair. I’m going to stop by my room. See you two in a bit.”

  “Yes, you’re looking a bit flat,” affirmed Dahlia, smoothing her robe and not looking very flat at all. “Off with you!”

  Mayger chuckled quietly and strode off, hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket.

  Part of Proto was pondering what’d just happened in that dream—the fiery skies, Yemos’ ominous speech, and the bizarreness involving his brother and Ausrine.

  Is something going to happen to Yemos? Or is it broader than just him? Why is it him in particular that’s dreaming this? Is it tied to me? Could it really be coincidental?

  But, as important as these questions felt, it was getting hard for Proto to focus on them, now that he found himself alone with a certain shadowseer.

  She was intently regarding him and twirling a strand of blonde hair around her little finger. He felt like he was that lock of hair.

  “So!” She preened, eying the provisional visitor. “Back to our conversation earlier.”

  “Which one?” asked Proto. “About braised brisket or blue hair dye?”

  “About making lessons memorable.” She planted her hands on her hips. “What, had you forgotten already? Today hasn’t been memorable enough yet?”

  “Either that, or that book of yours banged the memory out of me.” He pointed at his head where The Taming of the Shrew had made contact.

  “Ah, well as long as that’s taken care of.” She aloofly turned her nose up and sauntered away. “One way or another.”

  Proto blinked and eyed the eccentric bookish blonde.

  About ten yards later, she turned and waved him onward. “Hint: Chase chase chase!” she called.

  Lips curving upward, he obliged and jogged toward her.

  She put a hand over her mouth in gasping mock-horror. “You’ll never take my apple!” she cried melodramatically, then turned and fled, lifting the sides of her robe like a long dress.

  Laughing, he sped up as she turned left at an intersection, vanishing from view. “You can’t hide!” he menaced. “The apple will be mine!” He followed her around the corner.

  There stood Somnus. His head was askew, and one hand was on the hip of his green-and-purple robe. He regarded Proto with bemusement.

  Dahlia stood calmly beside him. She looked as reflectively detached as a librarian. The only hint of their pursuit was a single dislodged blonde tress over her forehead, which, even now, she was brushing aside.

  “‘The apple’?” questioned the Lord of Dreams. “Are you hungry, Proto?”

  Proto felt his face turn red as an apple. “ . . . yes. Sure worked up an appetite during today’s visit.”

  “I daresay.” Somnus’ lips quirked upward. “Well, you’ll get your fill soon enough. Whether it’s apples or oranges, or coffees and cocktails.” His eyes glimmered with strange zeal.

  “For now, though,” he went on, “I need to steal Dahlia for a bit. Something odd is going on up there in the breathing world—something quite serious, I think! In fact, I think you and that Yemos fellow saw some traces of it just now. So, in short, I’ll need our good shadowseer’s help with the Shadowcaster.”

  “As for you, Provisional Visitor, you’re off-duty for the day. And as for that appetite, why not have a snack at the lounge? It’s on me.” The dusky-haired man smiled amiably.

  Proto often struggled to muster up a reply when Somnus was speaking. By the time he figured out what the man was getting at, he was always about two seconds too late to reply to it.

  “Yes, go have a snack! Meanwhile, here I am, at Somnus’ beck and call,” pouted Dahlia. “Never mind Miss Shadowseer’s appetites!”

  “Soon enough, soon enough,” assured the Lord of Dreams, turning and walking away.

  “Here, promise me you won’t eat this.” Dahlia tossed her apple to Proto. “I’ll share it with you later. If you can stave off your appetite till then!”

  “Looks tasty.” He lifted it toward his mouth.

  “Don’t eat the forbidden fruit!” she chastised, wagging a finger. “Not without me, anyway.”

  “Life’s best pleasures are shared,” agreed Proto.

  Dahlia tilted her head at him and smiled. “I think we’re on the same page.” She waved farewell with her book.

  “Are we coming?” called Somnus from down the corridor.

  The blonde woman turned and bustled off in her Victorian robe. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

  “The way they address the Lord of Dreams these days!” lamented Somnus, shaking his long-haired head.

  “It’s high time you updated your titles,” she replied archly, catching up with him down the hall. “How about Prince of Pests? Or Baron of Bothers! Viscount of Vexation! The Nabob of Nags!”

  “Nabob!” he mused. “I’ve been around aeons, and I daresay you’re the first to call me ‘nabob.’”

  They disappeared around a corner, and their voices faded. This left Proto alone with his thoughts.

  And Dahlia’s apple, of course. He studied it—firm and large, ripe and juicy. On its shiny smoothness, he could see a silhouette reflection of himself.

  “Admiring some fruit? Or yourself?” called a voice down the hallway—Mayger, Proto saw as he looked up. Somehow, he’d already reshaped his hair into a spiky punk do. He was wearing a denim vest with torn-off sleeves. “Same difference, maybe?”

  “A little bit of both.” Proto tossed the apple far above him and out of reach, then caught it. His smile probably looked giddy and vapid, but he didn’t feel like suppressing it.

  “Well, if you’re not too busy with that, some friends and I need a fourth for cards,” said Mayger. “Care to join?”

  “If I can eat and play at the same time, sure,” replied Proto, pocketing the apple. “I’m starving.”

  “Is there any other way to play?” replied Mayger. “Let’s go grab some caviar and mozzarella sticks.”

  And off they went down misty halls of blue.

  Buoyed by the events of the last hour or so, Proto felt he was floating along, light and airy as a dream. He got along well with Mayger’s friends, Jet and Jag—the two whiskery black-haired identical twins he’d seen previously in the lounge. And he played well at cards too. Lady Luck was with him today.

  Yet, the whole time, he felt he was only half-there. The rest of him was somewhere warm and vague, yet slowly clarifying in his mind’s eye; still faraway, yet closer by the day.