Zach left the military base with a strange and newfound respect for the Emerys. Those articles suggested they’d been planning the takeover of Tettralis for years. A more than frightening thought. One family, planning as far back as a hundred years.

  Articles... Why am I thinking about articles?

  He frowned, standing in the courtyard.

  What was this feeling? Accessing his memories had been difficult from the moment he’d come to this world, but that amnesia-like feeling was worse now. It felt deeper, somehow. And it had to do with that strange man...

  Did he have a Creational Force? Is that what this was? Some trick like his straining or Noah’s Stepping? Noah... He’d know what had just happened. Maybe he’d even know who the man was.

  The pounding sound of a horse galloping and the rattling of a wagon came echoing toward him from down the road. It looked like the sun had passed its peak, which meant it must’ve been somewhere around three or four. But that did not lessen its burning intensity.

  Even now, as he waited for the wagon to arrive, he could see a heat mirage shimmering over the faded black tar of the road. What had happened in the north? It triggered the curious part of his mind to know that this wasn’t normal. Especially that searing dryness in the air.

  Could a war really have affected a country’s weather patterns like this?

  Two of the enforcers came walking from around the building, staring at the approaching wagon with the other two standing guard out front. Zach glanced at them as they shared a look with each other. They nodded, swinging their guns around to their front, fingers held against the triggers.

  What...

  Zach looked back at the horse as it rode into the courtyard. Another enforcer stood there on the wagon, his face pulled tight in agitation. The driver brought the horse to a sudden stop, trying to calm it as it reared up high in annoyance.

  “Secure the base,” the enforcer suddenly said. “Orders from the Head.”

  “What happened?” one of the four in the courtyard asked, trying to glance down the long road as if he could see anything.

  “Don’t know,” the man said, his voice tight with anxiety. “The Function heads were all summoned, and an order was given. Kevin sent Richard and a bunch of the others off to the perimeter. He’ll leave for the bases in about an hour or so.”

  Bases…

  As soon as the thought formed, Zach remembered there were two military bases in Camp Twelve. Before the country had fractured, the Emerys had organized that a good majority of the weapons be transported here. After reading those articles, it wasn’t all that difficult to imagine why the soldiers had done as she’d suggested.

  The enforcers on the ground were again trying to look down the road, hoping to find something or someone to explain what had happened. Taking inspiration from them, Zach strained his eyes, but the distance from here to the center of the camp was too great, even for him.

  Still, the move brought a headache to his eyes. Blood started dripping from his nose. He wiped at it discreetly before anyone picked up on anything. An odd sense of deja vu came to him then. A sense that he’d just used this power other than when he’d strained his eyes to see the target.

  That’s when he realized he was far more aware of Severity than he’d been before. He was aware of what he’d used and for how long he’d used it. Like carrying a heavy weight for a long time and feeling the effects both during the strain and after.

  But why can’t I remember using it? It was my eyes, I strained my eyes. Was I doing it subconsciously?

  He realized the enforcers were still talking.

  “He wants ammo prepared for his 15,” the enforcer on the wagon said. “Code: Flying Fish.”

  He turned back to the driver, nodding at the man. Zach ran forward, trying to get his attention.

  “Wait! I need to go back!”

  The enforcer turned to stare at him. Zach could trace the exact moment the lines on his face curdled like sour milk. Without a word, he turned away and settled against the railing as the wagon went left, now heading somewhere west.

  Zach sighed.

  A grown man acting like that! Though now that he knew the enforcers had been soldiers fighting in the war in Erosa, perhaps seeing him reminded them of that time. Of the battles, the bloodshed, the screams, the endless nights spent…

  Severity purred within him. Taking comfort in all the beauty of warfare. The cruelty of it all. The aggression. The slaughter. The strategem. All the suffering willingly brought on by human hands.

  The thoughts and images were pressing into his mind. Intruding on his mental space until he recoiled from it, shaking his head in shock. Those aren’t my thoughts. They don’t belong to me. They’re intrusive.

  He repeated those words until all the images and sensations receded, pulling away like poison drawn from a wound. By the time he came back to himself, the wagon was a good distance down the road, perfectly shadowed by the sun.

  He glanced behind him. The enforcers were going back to their rounds, though one of them had gone inside, presumably to carry out the orders they’d just received. The others were looking at him with smug expressions. He thought of asking them when the next wagon would be coming, but the looks on their faces were discouraging.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  Clearly, if John or Eve weren’t with him, people would go out of their way to make things unnecessarily difficult for him.

  Whatever.

  Again, he reminded himself that these people had seen a war, had participated in the conflict that had somehow resulted in people like Zach, in Dreamers, being created. But he doubted that sympathy would last long. Not if they insisted on looking at him like they were now.

  He started down the road, resigned to the heat of the sun. The surface of the road was so hot, it actually managed to seep through the soles of his shoes. Still, he continued. Every now and then, he’d turn back to see how much distance he’d put between the base and himself.

  He kept on with that pattern until the enforcers standing in front of the building became nothing more than vague blackspots.

  That should be far enough.

  He faced forward and ran. Using the strange speed was different from straining his senses. Running, he strained nothing. He simply... ran. The speed came the more his feet landed on the ground and pushed off.

  It was glorious. Almost as though the sun were struggling to keep up with him. And damn if it didn’t feel persistent.

  Just like that, he quickly became grateful the wagon had gone down a different road. He never would’ve been able to run had it been here; that would’ve started its own problems. And if he had taken it, he never would’ve gone as fast as he was now.

  The buildings of the residential area loomed just ahead, and he only slowed down once he saw the first person walking in the near distance. The curved tops of the buildings made him recall the military base. The building hadn’t had a single curve on it.

  At least there was a line between the state and their personal lives.

  He felt the tension from the first person who looked at him. A member of the WSF, she wore her white mask hanging around her neck. The tension came from the way she looked at him. It was the strangest thing.

  Usually, when they looked at him, it was with a guarded look. Now, there was something else there, something in the way she averted her eyes, only to look at him again before her eyes darted away once more.

  His walk slowed down as he walked onto Dream Street. There was a large crowd standing there, citizens who hadn’t been on rotation for their Functions today. They were murmuring, all their voices joining together to create that thick, buzzing quality associated with crowds.

  When he approached, the wary hostility they’d reserved exclusively for him these past few days was softened into something akin to sympathy. Akin, but not completely there, he told himself before his anger could build at its sight.

  It was clear, though, that a lot of them didn’t know how to look at him, didn’t know what to think.

  What happened?

  He wanted to ask one of them, but when he opened his mouth to voice the question, they walked away from him, as though he were infectious. He pushed through the crowd, everyone willingly stepping back once they realized who it was.

  There was a small commotion coming from the front. Crying and shouting, someone demanding answers. That was when Zach realized he’d been so distracted, he hadn’t even registered where they were standing.

  The Dreamhold stood there, a silent observer of the clamor happening before its entrance. Zach stopped, his eyes going wide at the bodies lying there. They were the four enforcers who usually stood guard at the entrance.

  White sheets had been thrown over their bodies, but they did nothing to hide the blood pooling around the corpses. Zach tore his eyes away fast as a wave of anxiety and deep dread inundated him. Something about those white sheets stained red disturbed him deeply.

  Instead, his eyes went into the building where the Function heads were standing in the foyer, having what looked like a tense discussion. Without giving it any thought, he pushed past the last few people, stepping past the enforcers, who looked at him, unsure of what they were supposed to do. All of them wanted to stop him, but none of them seemed interested in approaching him.

  It seemed their aversion to a Dreamer only deepened when the Dreamhold stood behind them, a true reminder of what he was and what he represented. Zach couldn’t help but wonder how many of them were having flashbacks of the war, even now as they hesitated.

  He didn’t hesitate, though. And no one voiced any concerns as he stepped into the building, not until the Function heads caught sight of him. The Head was standing there, too, her face more agitated than he’d seen from her before.

  Zach turned for the stairs when John came running forward, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “No,” he said softly. “Go wait outside, you weren’t supposed to be let in.”

  But it was too late.

  As John guided him to the door, Zach caught sight of two bodies lying on the staircase. Their faces contorted in pain, their eyes staring sightlessly. Their hands lay stretched out in front of them, hands frozen in claws as they’d reached for the foyer in what must’ve been the final moments of their lives. Their corpses looked dried out, drained until there was nothing left.

  “What happened?” Zach asked John.

  “That’s what we’re trying to get to the bottom of,” John answered as they stepped outside.

  More people were crying just in front of the crowd. Their spouses or extended family stood just beside them, offering what little comfort they could. John struggled to look in their direction, but that didn’t stop them from looking at him.

  One of the women pushed herself up to her feet, taking stumbling steps as she made her way over to where they stood. An enforcer glanced at John, but backed off at the subtle shake of his head.

  “There was a spectacle,” the woman said, her voice wavering. “He was brought out and cleared in front of the entire camp. Why weren’t they allowed to come home? If he was cleared, why weren’t they allowed to come home?”

  Zach looked down, guilt creeping its way up his spine, up his neck.

  “This would’ve never happened if they’d been allowed to come home,” someone else added.

  John finally looked at all of them, his eyes slowly going from one to the other. His mouth parted as though he were about to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he gave a solemn nod before he turned back to Zach.

  “Your mother wanted you to stop by the medical ward to get your hand checked. Alright?” His voice dropped low. “When you’re done there, go back to the apartment. We’ll talk about your practice then.”

  He hesitated, trying his best to offer a reassuring smile. Or his version of one. The result was that he looked as though he’d smelled something bad and was trying to hide his reaction so as not to offend anyone.

  Zach nodded silently, watching as John headed back into the building. It looked like the Function heads were fighting about something. The Head stood in the middle of them, still not saying anything. No. She was too busy staring at him. The look would’ve unnerved him, had Zach’s eyes not gone to the highest window of the building.

  The board was still over the window, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Noah was still up there. Was his corpse lying there now, fingers curled toward the window like the ones on the staircase had been curled toward the foyer, toward escape?

  He didn’t know what to do.