After supper, he sat beside the fire that he’d fed from the pile of logs his aunt had left for him. The words she said before she left – about how much she cared for him and wanted to be friends again – came back to him. In truth, his anger had subsided over the last week, and he realised it was his stubbornness that was stopping him from making up with her. He resolved to fix that when she returned: they would talk and try to get back to the way things were before. Half snoozing in the chair, he listened to the fire’s music as it popped and sighed and crackled until, eventually, feeling himself drifting off, he took himself to bed.

His sleep was haunted by a strange dream in which he was not himself but a dark-haired boy a few years older in age. He was standing before a great shimmering wall of blackness, a darkness so complete it was unsettling to look at. He was chanting in a language that was harsh and alien. There was something in each of his hands, and when he looked down at the thing he was holding in his left, he was amazed to see it was burning. The black flames flickered up towards him, but there was no heat. The thing pulsated between his fingers, the unmistakeable rhythm telling him it could only be a heart he held. In his other hand was a staff, and he slowly raised both items up in the direction of the inky void, his voice increasing in volume as he did so. There were ornate carvings on the wooden staff; strange symbols that, although completely unfamiliar, managed to convey a sense of fear and abhorrence. He also noted the tattoo on the top of his left hand: a star design with an eye at the centre. The heart’s metronomic contractions increased in intensity, as did the flames licking up from the thing, and he struggled to hold on to it. At the same time he saw something stirring in the blackness: something ancient and evil that was being drawn into this world from another …

Lann sat up in his bed with a start. When he opened his eyes, he could only think he was still dreaming because he could see. He cried out as happiness flooded every cell of his body. He could see again!

And the first thing he saw – there, sitting at the end of his bed – was a man.

His heart hammered away inside him, reminding him of the flaming black thing of his nightmare. He knew he must still be asleep, but everything – the cold of the room, the feel of the rough blanket between his tightly clenched fingers, the noise of the trees rustling beyond the window – felt real.