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Seeker-for-Truth
The Dreamer viewed the ceiling of his bedroom through the brackets of his fingers to assure himself of reality, and let the Dream take him. He drank deeply from the River of Life and inhaled the fragrance of lilies. The Interpreter was there. A wild cherry tree. His throat tightened at the memory of a dear lost friend.
Memories surged as he walked together with the Interpreter. He gagged at the stench of burning human flesh—Faithful condemned to die in the pyre in Vanity. Adrenaline pumped as blood dripped in his eyes, the taste of iron in his mouth, standing back-to-back with Great-Heart, sword glistening in hand, corpses of goblins, satyrs, and dragons littering the ground around them.
The monstrous Apollyon stood arrogantly before the Dreamer. Christian stood with him, smoke whirled around him, sparks flashed, and sulfur choked the air. He blinked. Lady Evadne charged the gates of Hell, clad in the full armor of the King, defying the Great Red Dragon himself, fighting for Lord Peregrine, Dread-Lord Beelzebub by her side.
He wasn’t sure why he’d returned to the Dream Lands—he hadn’t set foot here since he was a child. He had changed, and the Dream had too. The Interpreter had more to show him.
Howls of wolves surrounded them in the forest of Danger. Something was wrong with Palace Beautiful, but he couldn’t tell what. The oppressive feel of Deceit, and a command. Never forget.
A Beautiful song filled the realm of the Interpreter. But his once magnificent House lay in ruins. He blinked.
He stood in a town he’d never been, didn’t recognize. Uncertain. And saw a young man, Seeker-for-Truth. He didn’t know how he knew the names—the Dream just worked that way.
