An eight-point buck stood ahead, its head raised, ears flicking forward, sensing something unseen.
“Now,” Malik whispered.
The deer turned, locking eyes with me just as I loosed my arrow. It flew swiftly and true, striking the buck’s chest.
With a deep, shuddering bellow, the animal staggered, sinking to its knees. Blood trickled from the wound as it fought to rise.
I moved instinctively, ready to rush forward, but Malik’s arm shot out, barring my way.
“Wait,” he murmured. “He’s gathering his song to sing to the spirits.”
The deer shifted weakly, took one last lurch forward on its knees, and crumpled onto its side.
“Now, he is ready,” Malik said, rising.
We walked silently toward the fallen creature, the forest alive with the hush of something sacred. The buck lay still, its unseeing eyes fixed on the beyond.
Malik turned to me, wrapping me in a firm embrace.
The moment felt profound—warmer than mere camaraderie, deeper than victory. It was an understanding, the unspoken bond of two hunters who had shared something primal, something eternal.
Next, we rode without saddles, our horses thundering across the open plains. The wind whipped against my face, carrying the scent of wild grass and freedom. Our lives were whole and rich—the kind of life I had only ever imagined. This was the brotherhood I had longed for with Marcellious, yet I had found it in abundance with Malik—a warmth spread through my chest like sunlight spilling over water.
As our horses galloped, I threw up my arms and shouted, laughter spilling from my lips. I loved my life, my family, and the man who had become my brother.
Then, the sky darkened.
Thunderclouds rolled in, heavy and menacing. A resounding, bellowing clap shook the heavens, followed by jagged streaks of lightning. The earth trembled. And then, the fire came.
Flames leaped across the plains, devouring everything in their path. Smoke billowed, thick and suffocating. The world burned, swallowing everything I cherished—my home, family, and life.
I ran through the inferno, my heart pounding like a war drum. Then, I saw her—my wife. The fire consumed her, twisting her body into something unrecognizable.
“My love,” I sobbed, gathering her into my arms. Her flesh burned beneath my touch, but I couldn’t let go. I wouldn’t.
Gently, I laid her down, pressing a final kiss to her scorched lips. Then, I turned and found them—our children. Their blackened bodies lay still, small and fragile. One by one, I placed them beside her, my hands shaking, my soul shattering.
I would never see them again.
My chest exploded with agony as if a cannonball had torn through my ribs. A scream tore from my throat?—
And I woke.
Drenched in sweat, I fought against the tangled sheets, gasping for air. My pulse pounded in my ears, my body tremored with the aftershocks of the nightmare.
These dreams. They wouldn’t stop. They were getting worse. Every night, the fire came. Every night, I lost them all over again.
With a groan, I yanked the covers aside and swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. Elbows on my thighs, I buried my face in my hands.
I couldn’t keep living like this.
Disoriented, my mind fogged with exhaustion, I forced myself to dress and staggered out of the room.
How could I make it stop?
I reached the kitchen, but the sight before me made me stop short.
Gripping the doorway for balance, I blinked wildly. “Dancing Fire!”
