The Horror Dream

I woke up, blinking groggily against the bright morning light streaming through the small window above my bed. The events of the previous night felt like a fading dream, but the encounter with Gilgamesh was still fresh in my mind. I stretched and yawned, rubbing my eyes before sitting up. The familiar sounds of home—birds chirping outside, the gentle creak of the wooden floorboards—brought a sense of comfort, yet something felt off. The house was eerily quiet.

"Mom? Dad?" I called out, my voice hoarse from sleep. There was no response.

A pang of unease hit me.

I swung my legs out of bed and stood up, the chill of the morning air making me shiver slightly.

I walked towards the door, listening intently. Usually, Mom would be bustling around the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared breakfast, and Dad would be outside, tending to the garden or practicing his swordsmanship. But today, there was only silence.

"Mom? Dad?" I called again, louder this time. Still nothing. My heart began to race, the unease growing into a tight knot in my chest. I hurried out of my room and into the hallway, peering into the other rooms. They were empty. My mind flashed back to the bloody scene I had seen just before waking up—had it been a dream, or something more?

Please, no, please.

Please god.

I'll give anything to you please don't take them!

"Mom! Dad!" I shouted, panic creeping into my voice. I rushed down the stairs, almost tripping in my haste. As I reached the bottom, I heard a faint sound from the kitchen. I dashed towards it, flinging the door open.

There, standing by the stove, was Mom, her back turned to me as she stirred a pot. The familiar, comforting smell of breakfast filled the room. Relief washed over me, the tightness in my chest easing. I leaned against the doorframe, letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Mom said, turning to smile at me. She was tall, with dark hair like mine, her eyes warm and kind. "You're up early today."

Thank god...

Thank you...

"Mom, I…" I started, but my voice caught in my throat. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my emotions in check. The relief of seeing her alive and well was overwhelming, and for a moment, I couldn't find the words. Her smile faded slightly, concern furrowing her brow.

"What's wrong, Darius?" she asked, setting the spoon down and stepping closer to me. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I shook my head, a weak smile forming on my lips. "It's nothing, really. Just… had a weird dream, I guess."

Mom studied me for a moment, then nodded, her expression softening. "Dreams can be unsettling sometimes," she said gently, reaching up to ruffle my hair. "But they're just dreams. You're safe here."

Ah...

It's that addictive warmth.

I nodded, though I wasn't entirely sure that was true. The dream—if that's what it had been—felt too real to simply dismiss. But seeing her reassuring smile, I pushed the thoughts aside. For now, I was just glad to see her safe and sound.

"Where's Dad?" I asked, glancing around the kitchen.

"Outside, as usual," she replied, turning back to the stove. "Probably lost in his thoughts, practicing with his sword. Why don't you go say good morning? Breakfast will be ready soon."

I nodded again and headed toward the back door. As I stepped outside, the cool morning air hit me, waking me up fully. The garden was quiet, the morning dew still glistening on the leaves and grass. In the distance, I spotted Dad, swinging his sword in a series of fluid, practiced movements. I watched for a moment, a mix of admiration and apprehension filling me. Dad was a formidable man, both in strength and wisdom, and I often felt like I didn't measure up.

He's too far.

Taking a deep breath, I walked over. "Morning, Dad," I called out, trying to sound casual.

He paused mid-swing, turning to look at me. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a stern face, though his eyes had that familiar twinkle of warmth. "Morning, Darius," he replied, lowering the sword. "You're up early."

I shrugged, sticking my hands in my pockets. "Just couldn't sleep, I guess."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "You're troubled by something," he stated rather than asked. "Want to talk about it?"

I hesitated, unsure how to explain the dream or the unsettling feeling it had left me with. Instead, I shook my head. "It's nothing, really. Just… had a strange dream."

Dad raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. Instead, he gestured to the practice area. "Care to spar with me? Might help clear your head."

I bit my lip, glancing at the wooden practice swords leaning against the fence. I wasn't particularly in the mood, but maybe a good workout would help. "Sure, why not," I said, walking over to grab one of the swords.

We faced off, the early morning sun casting long shadows on the ground. I held my sword loosely, and Dad watched me with a critical eye. "Remember your stance," he instructed. "Focus on your footing, and keep your guard up."

I nodded, adjusting my stance. We began with a few basic drills, Dad correcting my form and technique as we went. Despite my usual laziness, I had always been a quick learner, and Dad's teachings came back to me naturally. As we moved through the drills, I felt myself getting into the rhythm, the familiar motions soothing my nerves.

But as we sparred, Dad's expression grew more serious. "You're holding back," he said, stepping back and lowering his sword. "Why?"

I frowned, lowering my sword as well. "I'm not," I protested, though I knew it wasn't entirely true. I had been holding back, distracted by my thoughts and the lingering unease from the dream.

Dad sighed, shaking his head. "Darius, you can't afford to be careless. You have a responsibility—to this village, to your family. You need to take things seriously."

I felt a flicker of irritation. "I am taking it seriously," I insisted, though the words sounded hollow even to me.

"Are you?" he shot back, his voice rising. "You've been slacking off, avoiding your duties. This isn't just about training, Darius. It's about preparing for the future, for the challenges that lie ahead."

I clenched my jaw, a mix of guilt and frustration boiling inside me.

But then.

The memories of the dream flashed again through my mind.

No, not that, please. Anything but that.

I knew he was right, but admitting it felt like a blow to my pride. "I'm trying," I muttered, looking away.

"Trying isn't enough," he said, his tone harsh. "You need to commit. To show that you care about something other than yourself."

The words stung, and for a moment, I felt a surge of anger. But as I looked at him, I saw the worry in his eyes, the concern behind the stern facade. He wasn't just angry—he was afraid. Afraid for me, for the village, for the future.

Perhaps.

Just perhaps.

Did that scene I saw, it them protecting me from something in my dream?

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside me. "I do care," I said quietly, meeting his gaze. "I just… I'm not sure how to do this. How to live up to what's expected of me."

His expression softened, and he stepped closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. "No one expects you to have all the answers, Darius. But you need to start by caring enough to find them. To push yourself beyond your limits."

I looked down, the weight of his words sinking in. I had always taken the easy way out, avoiding challenges and responsibilities. But now, with the dream of Gilgamesh and the warning about Iris, I realized that I couldn't keep running away.

And after that dream.

I want to be strong.

Strong enough so that I don't need to have the both of them protect me by sacrificing their lives.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, looking back up at him. "I'll try harder. I promise."

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "That's all I ask. Now, let's finish this practice."

We continued sparring, and I pushed myself harder than before. His critiques were sharp but fair, guiding me toward better techniques and greater focus. As we clashed swords, I felt a sense of determination growing within me, a resolve to prove myself worthy of the legacy I carried.

I'm the son of the village chief of the village of heroes, after all.

By the time we finished, we were both breathing hard, sweat glistening on our foreheads. I felt a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction, a strange sense of peace settling over me. As we put away the practice swords, Dad clapped me on the back.

"You did well today," he said, his voice warm. "Keep that fire, and you'll be fine."

I smiled, feeling a rare sense of accomplishment. "Thanks, Dad."

As we headed back toward the house, I felt a new determination brewing within me. The dream, the warnings, the responsibilities—I couldn't ignore them any longer. I had to step up, to embrace the destiny that awaited me. For my family, for the village, and for Iris.

But as we walked back, a strange sensation washed over me, a sudden chill that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The comforting sounds of the village seemed to fade, replaced by an eerie silence.

I looked around, my heart pounding.

Something was wrong.

The vibrant colors of the garden seemed muted, the air thick with an unsettling stillness. As we approached the door, I noticed a strange shadow inside the house. Mom was no longer by the stove; instead, a dark, foreboding figure stood in her place.

"Dad... Something's not right..."