Zach found the outside odd after so long spent in the building now behind him. He glanced back, and the first thing he saw was all the boards covering every single window of the Dreamhold.

  Was Noah watching? His brother was, most likely. His mind was doing its best to latch onto every thought, anything for an excuse not to focus on the wooden platform that stood to the right, down the street directly in front of the building.

  Dream Street, he recalled.

  A small group of the enforcers walked around him and his father, Ava walking outside of the ring to give father and son some space. In the light, Zach could see him much more clearly. His jet-black hair was cut short on the sides and long in the front. His skin was sun-tanned.

  The look on his face suggested his mind was focused elsewhere and not on how he was marching his son to the execution platform. That was greatly at odds with how the rest of the Camp’s citizens looked on.

  Already, a large crowd was waiting up ahead. Much larger than the one he’d opened his eyes to when this nightmare had first begun. And still there were stragglers and latecomers heading that way now, all of them walking beyond the ring of enforcers.

  With every step, Zach felt regret spread its roots deeper and deeper within him. Ava had already said it best. Whoever this man was, this stranger from the north, he’d told these people the Knocking was over. And as far as they were concerned, here he was, Oliver Emery, the first to wake from the Dreamer’s visions.

  At least, the first one they’ve seen, thanks to Noah.

  “What exactly is he testing again?” Zach whispered.

  “I told you, Oli. He’s going to show the Camp that the Knocking is over.”

  “But how?”

  “He wouldn’t tell us,” his father said wearily. “But he is an Ospelian, whether he’s been to the North or not. He’ll most likely use his key. He’s somehow convinced the Head that Dreamers react to it.”

  He understood that the slight bitterness in his father’s tone was only a hint of the strained relationship his father had with the Head.

  “Darlene Emery,” he muttered to himself, confirming Oliver’s memory of his grandmother.

  His father glanced at him sideways.

  You’re doing it again, you idiot! No one would refer to their grandmother by her first name!

  “Since when do you do that?” John suddenly asked.

  “Do what?” Zach asked.

  “Bite your nails. You never did that before. Your mother never could fight that habit, but we were always glad you and your brother never picked it up.”

  Zach looked down and immediately pulled his thumb from his mouth. Act like Oliver, Noah’s words came back to him. But that wasn’t as easy as it sounded. He didn’t know Oliver. Memories were one thing, but they didn’t contain a person’s essence.

  “You know your mother would be here if she could, don’t you?” John went on. “But maybe it’s better she doesn’t see this.”

  He hesitated a moment before adding, “Whatever that man does to you, you’ve already beaten this thing once. So, fight it, alright? Fight it as best you can.”

  Zach knew that that was as close to comfort as John could go. He also knew that John believed he was addressing his son, but he fought through the guilt and took the words to heart. Whatever else, Zach had beaten Severity; he’d beaten paralysis, he would beat whatever test this stranger was about to subject him to.

  The enforcers cleared a path through the gathered crowd, or rather, the crowd cleared a path themselves, everyone eager to get away from him, the demon-infused Dreamer. He took their looks in stride. That’s why he was here, after all, to soften the idea of both Dreamers and the Dreamhold, however idealistic that might’ve sounded.

  It took more than a minute to clear the crowd. Thousands of people, choking the street with their presence and murmurs.

  He strained his ears, trying to catch what they were saying, but being this close, that only amplified all of them. The mess was infinitely more difficult to sort through than it was from the apartment window.

  He shook his head, wincing at the sensation. That seemed to be the wrong move. Those standing closest to him pulled back even more. No doubt, they all thought he was reacting to the demons’ whispers, begging him to let them in.

  This might be more difficult than I imagined.

  He was marched up the wooden staircase, the murmurs growing even louder. John stopped walking on the last step, allowing him to step onto the platform alone. Even the enforcers stayed back, all of them lining the platform, with their rifles strung over their shoulders.

  Zach swallowed, his eyes searching the wood for any trace of his blood. Thank the heavens his hand was still wrapped. He could only imagine how they’d react to the lack of a wound.

  Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He glanced to the right, the crowd following his move, as the Head came down the north end of Dream Street, riding in a wagon with a small group.

  Oliver’s memories told him she was surrounded by her enforcers, as she always was, but there was also a man he didn’t know. A dark-skinned man dressed in a loose and slightly oversized shirt with gray woolen pants and open-toed sandals.

  Zach’s vision went blurry, the early beginnings of a headache forming just behind his eyes. He cleared his throat, only now understanding he’d been using the First String’s ability to get a better look at them. He turned back to face the crowd, steeling himself against whatever was coming.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The horse pulling the wagon eventually stopped by the platform, bringing the wagon right in front of the stairs. The Head and her group climbed down, her enforcers gesturing for the unknown man to make his way up the platform.

  So, that was the stranger who’d brought the news.

  The man went up the stairs as slowly as possible, his eyes narrowed on Zach like a predator approaching its prey. He carried a thick leather book in his left hand, its ends burned with a single symbol. A small x with a large line going down its middle.

  When he finally stepped onto the platform with Zach, he paused, a small hunger entering his face.

  Before the murmuring of the crowd started dying down, their noise drowned out the man to the point where Zach knew he was the only one who could hear the stranger muttering under his breath.

  “What are the chances...” he muttered, shaking his head in wonderment. “If I ever needed a sign from the Divinity, I have it now.”

  “Get on with it!” someone in the crowd shouted. The tension in the woman’s voice was evident on all their faces. They were expecting a demon. Perhaps even waiting for it. The enforcers swung their rifles to face the front, hands hovering around the triggers.

  “Of course!” the man said. “I promised you change! And now I give it to you.”

  He flipped open his book, a ribbon marking a specific page somewhere in the middle. Zach noticed the pages were aged, and the ink was a dull maroon.

  “Behold!” the man shouted.

  He started reading from the book, but not in any language Oliver had known. Indeed, judging by the stunned silence of the crowd, no one here knew the language either. The words sounded almost guttural while at the same time having a melodious cadence to them.

  Zach did his best to pay attention to them, but the words left his mind the moment they were uttered. As the man read on, he gradually lowered himself until he was crouched low on the platform in a deep squat.

  Then, slowly, he lowered his hand to the wooden planks they were standing on. On the last word he read from the book, he rasped his knuckles in quick sensation. Knocking once, twice, thrice. The entire crowd gasped out loud, taking a collective step back.

  Zach felt the world dimming, the planks of the platform breaking off from their nails and rising into the air. The man continued to knock. The boards splintered into small shards, the nails themselves ripping out from the platform now.

  What’s happening?

  The air turned thick with the smell of sulphur and blood. The wood was turning to ash the higher it rose into the air, where it rained back down, coating everything in that washed white tone.

  “You’re still young, boy,” the man said softly, rising to his feet. “I’m sorry to do this to you, but when I asked for a Dreamer, I never imagined I’d get one Claimed by Severity. The Divinity condones this.”

  A few paces behind the man, a temple started breaking through the ground, rising higher and higher—dark stone covered in ivy and other plants Zach couldn't name. He suddenly felt weak, as if his life energy was draining out of him by the second. The sun seemed to burn even hotter than before. But wasn’t it sunset?

  Zach felt blood trickle from his nose as the man seemed to get bigger by the minute, the book still open in his hand. He heard the swinging chains, the same sound he’d heard back in Severity’s realm.

  Rage twisted in his heart, a beast that was trying to claw its way out.

  “How is he resisting?” the man asked no one in particular.

  AGENT OF SIN, HE IS MINE!

  The words echoed louder than anything. It was the same voice he’d heard in the realm.

  The man’s eyes widened in fear. His hands shook, the book nearly falling from his grasp.

  “You’re awake! How-how are you awake?”

  YOUR LAND HAS NO POWER OVER ME. YOU ARE FAR TOO INEXPERIENCED FOR SUCH FEATS.

  The man started going thin, his skin tightening over his bones. Whatever the powerful voice was, it started feeding on the man’s energy. Zach could feel it getting stronger.

  “Sepht,” the man strained to say.

  Abruptly, the scene changed. The ash vanished. The wooden boards were back on the platform, none of them splintered. The man stood before him healthy as ever, though the fear still lingered in his eyes.

  This world has too many questions, Zach complained inwardly. What the hell was that?

  “He didn’t react,” someone was saying.

  It was the Head, now turning to face the audience. She didn’t bother making her way up the platform. She commanded enough respect and presence that she didn’t need to stand above them to get their attention.

  “Years ago, I saw the same thing attempted on a Dreamer. Multiple demons came crawling out of the poor soul. That is why we outlawed that in Camp Twelve. The risk was always too great. And yet, here we are now. It didn’t work! The Dreamers are truly free.”

  Zach looked around at the audience. No one looked frightened beyond when he’d heard them react to the man knocking against the wood. So, no one else had seen that? He turned back to the man and found him staring at him, fear turned to shock.

  “What was that? The language he read?” someone asked. The voice sounded too isolated in the crowd’s silence.

  Zach looked at the man who’d spoken. Kevin Adams. A man in his early thirties, the Head had effectively adopted him into the Emery house.

  “I come from the north,” the man answered, turning away from Zach a little too eagerly, “where they have been studying the Knocking for years now. These words are the mumbling we’ve picked up from our studies. It makes them react. Hastens the arrival of the demons. That is all.”

  Zach studied the crowd again.

  It wasn’t exactly the reformation he’d been looking for, not even close. But none of them argued against what the man and the Head had said. He looked across their faces and found someone standing off to the right of the crowd, arms crossed.

  He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the man. It was Lucas. Noah wasn’t anywhere near him, of course, but his brother would give him a detailed report.

  “The others will take time to come out of their trance, but they will,” the man continued. “And it is important to remember that Camp Twelve is now safe and clear.”

  There were no joyous outcries, no tears of relief. Just a heavy, uncomfortable silence.

  Zach looked back at the man who’d, if he understood it correctly, just tried killing him. Is he lying? Why isn’t he telling the truth? What really happened? Is he a Dreamer?

  “Take him back to his room,” the Head ordered the enforcers.

  The man walked off the platform, pointedly avoiding his gaze. The enforcers helped him back onto the wagon, the Head joining him there. As the horse started on again, footsteps echoed on the platform.

  Zach turned to find John walking up to him, his eyes trailing after the departing wagon, the crowd dispersing with it. He placed a gentle hand on Oliver’s shoulder before he turned his attention to his son.

  “What did he do to you?” he asked, looking at Zach’s nose.

  With the back of his hand, Zach wiped away the small amount of blood there. The only proof that it had not been in his head, at least, not entirely.

  “I don’t know,” he said weakly, his soft reply true to the confusion he now felt.

  “Well, whatever it was, it’s over now. You’re back in the Camp.” His father tried forcing joviality in his voice. “Unfortunately, that means you’re no longer hiding in rooms on the seventh floor. You’re back to daily camp life.”

  He might’ve been trying to bring a smile to his son’s face, but through no fault of his own, it didn’t really work. Zach studied the floor of the platform, looking for ash but not finding a trace of it. That rage-filled beast in his chest was also quiet.

  “I guess I am,” he answered weakly. “Back to camp life.”