Prologue
(A/N: This is a prologue. Which means it's not "important" to the plot. But you should totally read it. Or not. I'm not your mom.
Just don't blame me when you're confused later.)
Saturday, November 28th, 2009
11:58 PM
Dear Diary,
Today was my 13th birthday.
I thought I'd wake up to my mom's voice — bright, cheerful, the usual sing-song "Happy Birthday, baby!"
Instead, I woke up to that damn nightmare again.
Yeah. That nightmare.
Except this time… it hit different.
It was the same dream — same scenes, same feeling of doom — but today, it felt real. Like I wasn't just dreaming it, but living it. Seeing it through someone else's eyes.
Which sounds exactly like the beginning of a mental breakdown.
That's why I didn't tell Mom. Or Dad. They'd just give me that "Oh honey, you're just stressed" look. And I'm not in the mood to be patted on the head like a twitchy puppy.
I should've been happy today. But instead of joy, I've got this sour aftertaste clinging to my brain.
Anyway… I heard that if you write your nightmares down, they lose power. So here I am. Let's see if scribbling this madness helps.
The dream starts with a boy.
One arm. Back turned. Standing alone on a battlefield buried in corpses and ash. His head's down — broken, defeated. Everyone who counted on him is dead.
His lover.
His friend.
Every single person who ever believed in him.
Gone.
He drops to his knees. Starts shaking. Picks up a bloodied sword from one of his fallen comrades.
He places it against his neck, says one thing:
"I'm sorry."
And then —
He slices.
His body drops.
Scene fades.
Next comes a girl.
Again, I only see her back. She's standing on a cliff, staring up at this eerie blue moon. Her long black hair is dancing in the wind.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, barely holding back a sob.
She's crying — but there's no one left to comfort her.
There is no one.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't save them. She never could.
She closes her eyes. Takes one step forward —
And jumps.
Then the last one.
A boy again. Back turned. But this time, the scene is… different.
He's standing on the edge of something massive — like the boundary between two worlds. Light and shadow swirl around him. In his hand is a jagged, double-bladed spear that hums like it's alive.
He turns. Looks right at me.
But the light behind him is blinding. I can't make out his face — just the outline. A silhouette of something powerful… and tragic.
Then he speaks.
It's quiet. Broken. Like he's fighting to hold himself together.
"This is the point where our worlds collide. Remember this."
"I'm sorry."
And then —
He slams the spear into his chest.
No hesitation. No screams.
Just slow, crimson death.
After that, it all goes dark.
No light. No sound. No escape. I'm just there, trapped in blackness. Screaming silently inside my own mind.
Then I hear her voice.
An old woman. Chanting. Whispering like she's right next to my ear and across a thousand miles at the same time.
"When the darkness will fall and even the shadows will hide.
The reality will twist, time will bend out of joint, and moonless shall be the nights.
No one will be the wiser when all the prayers start to decline.
Running in an endless spiral, three children will only survive.
One who sought strength but lost everything to his thirst to thrive.
Another who chose to rewrite, this one knows no bound of time.
And a boy who only wished for peace — and a different life.
So fear not when your fall arrives and fret not when comes your demise.
For victory will be ours, and restored shall be the dawn — when these three unite.
…Or not.
And to tell the tale, no one will be left alive."
Yeah. That's comforting.
After that, I just… drift.
Floating in that damned dark with nothing but an irritating, high-pitched laugh in my ears. The kind of laugh that makes you want to punch someone in the throat just because.
I try to wake up, but I can't.
It only ends when someone shakes me awake — or I roll off the bed hard enough to jolt myself out of it.
Sigh.
I hope these nightmares end soon.
And I seriously never want to have one as vivid as tonight again.
But the weirdest part? That last boy — the one with the spear? He made me sad.
I mean, yeah, the whole dream was a tragedy buffet. But that guy…
I don't know. He felt real. Like someone I knew. Like someone I'd failed.
And I don't usually feel things like that. Hell, I barely feel anything at all most days.
Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe my brain's melting from birthday cake overload.
Anyway, I'm going to bed. Fingers crossed for no more apocalyptic melodrama.
– Riven Vale