I sit next to the door of my old clan as the torches go out one by one. The Unified people who live in the darkest recesses of the Artery have said that the Hearth supplies light for the Network, and that once it's out for the night, there is no other light in the Artery.

They are right. The Hearth should be out and now all the torches lining the walls are black too.

I sit amongst the darkness, trying vainly to sort through my thoughts. Strange things have happened since I
was put into the prison, and I can't seem to get it all straight.

The world swirls around me, nothing but black. Blackness everywhere.

I wonder is Cicada or Jonah are worried about me on the inside, or if my Mother was worried before she died.

I feel no grief surprisingly. Not for Carter, or my Mother. All I feel is loneliness, anxiety for what the Lizard of Death, the Dragon, will do next.

Who is he? How did he penetrate my mind? How did he kill this people? How did he talk to us.

In my minds eye I see a village. This village is made of makeshift tents with cots inside them. There is a well in the center of the village.

Am I hallucinating again?

Soldiers in Verro attire circle the village, holding long black across their chest.

Rifles. The word comes to me immediately. They are holding the rifles at port arms.

For a second I think I'm finally having The Dream, but then I see the dark cavern's ceiling above. No stars, no sky, just rock. The soldiers mill around the perimeter of the encampment.

Then an alarm sounds. A high-pitched, blood-curling wail that reverberates through the camp. The people rush out of their tents, looking around, bewildered. Even the soldiers were seemingly confused.

"What's going on?" One man demands, jabbing his finger into the chest of a soldier. He wears a brown burlap robe. His white beard grows out mangled and unruly.

The soldier swats his hand away. "Get your hands off me, sir."

The man just stares at the soldier. And then his eyes glow red. They are like irises of blood.

The possessed man recites the prophecy to the people, his voice mimicking the Dragon's, scratchy as sandpaper.

The soldier draws his sword and slices vigorously across the chest of the man. Blood flows thickly to the ground, into the cracks in the stone. It runs through the cracks like veins, passing under the feet of every person. They all become possessed by the Dragon, their eyes shining scarlet as blood.

The soldier looks around, naked fear reflecting on his wife eyes. The bleeding man should be dead, but it seems as if his blood supply is endless.

You are no longer in control soldier. The Dragon's voice echoes though the cavern, seemingly with no source. With my new army I will rise and other throw the cowardly bastards that sit in the comfy chairs and pretend to rule. I will become King of the Network.

The bleeding my pulls back his leaps, revealing a set of gnarly looking, jagged fangs. The soldier crumbles his stony facade of toughness, and actually shrieks.

A second later the gangs are deep with in the flesh covering the soldier heart, blood is everywhere. Everything is red.

I know you can see this, Alaric. The Dragon's voice echoes. How can I make this stop? I am seriously off the rails! I'm going crazy. This is what happens to those who stand against me. Don't say I didn't give you the chance to survive.

The soldier crumbles to the ground, a mess of blood and flesh, lifeless.

All of the villagers are baring fangs at the soldier. The soldiers remain untouched by the Dragon's dark power.

Then the first villager attacks. He lunges at the nearest soldier and sinks his teeth into the tender flesh of his neck. The soldier gurgles blood but eventually falls dead.

Soldier clash with possessed villagers. Each side kills their fair share, but the villagers are obviously winning. They rip apart their opponents, decapitating them until they are nothing but shredded cadavers.

The war has begun, young Alaric. The Dragon says. Your people will die.

I catch a glimpse of a particular villagers. It is a child, probably only ten years old. It uses its nails to rake across the chest of a dying soldier, blood pours from the gashes and the corner of the soldiers lips. What kind of monster would possess children to murder?

Eventually the soldiers are wiped out. The savage villagers are covered in blood from head to toe. The sight disgusts me. There is too much redness. Too much death.

The war has begun. And not even your celestial grandfather can save you.

I am grateful when the vision stops. My heart is pounding so hard against my ribcage I'm afraid they shatter. I concentrate on slowing my breaths.

The prophecy means something.

Dreams of Darkness shall consume.

Three men and three women shall presume.

The Drangon shall rise, unless the unseen sees.

Or life will become a swarm of bees.

Don't be too hasty,
For the time is set.

But don't run too slow,
Because Darkness is a threat.

I decide it'd be productive to try and dissect the poem, pull its pieces apart and try to figure out what they means.

Dreams of Darkness shall consume.

What could that mean. The Dream is usually described as bright, the sun, the moon, the stars. Never have I heard of The Dream being dark.

Unless...

I have been having vision of war and death, visions that only take place here in the Network, the darkness.

My heart and my breath quicken. Does that mean I'll never have The Dream? Does that mean I'll be the Insomniac Boy forever?

Anger bubbles within me, threatening to break free. I recall the last time I visited Verro, when I sickeningly fantasized murdering that soldier, smashing his head into a bulbous pulp.

I let out a guttural screams. I howl until the lining of my throat is so raw I can't focus on anything else but pain.

Why me? Why did I have to be the boy who couldn't Dream? Why do I have to be the one who is always angry? Why do I have to be the one hearing voices?

I push myself to my feet and turn to the wall. I stare at the stone door into Daws. And then I punch it.

Pain reverberated through the bones in my hand, sending waves of shock up my arm. I am stunned for only a second until I raise my shaking fist and punch the wall again.

This time the pain is different. It's welcoming in its agony. I'd rather feel physical pain then have to struggle with my thoughts.

I punch the wall again. Over and over against. My knuckles are torn and bleeding, leaving red spots on the walls.

Then I here a loud snap, and pain consumes my entire body. I pull away from the door, clutching my fist. My pinkie is twisted at an awkward angle.

My body burn and stings with throes of pain.

You want to feel pain, Alaric Constantine, the voice says, I can make that happen. This is the pain I felt living in the depths of Verro. The tormentors whipped and branded me. They would bring me to the brink of death, heal me, and then torture me to near death the next day for hundreds of years. Now you feel my pain. Yours is nothing compared to this. When I finally am free, this is the pain I will inflict upon you and the Council.

My entire body is trembling. Every nerve in me stings intensely, as if someone took the time to individually light them on fire.

I scream again, the action ripping away at my already raw throat.

I'm feel myself collapse, but I can't tell because my vision is white. Am I dying?

Don't worry little boy. I'll let you live, but just so I can torture you myself.

And suddenly the pain is gone, all at once. It still lingers deep within my bones but the intensity is diminished. My body convulses violently and uncontrollably. For the rest of the night I can do nothing but lie on the ground as my body trembles, fighting to relieve the excess agony.