But when he turned to speak, a tall shadow stood in Marten’s place. Inky robes flowed behind the figure, swirling like tendrils. Evin’s chest tightened. Slowly, so slowly, the shadowy creature opened two yellow eyes to look directly into Evin’s.

“What is real, Evin?” spoke a deep male voice.

The edges of Evin’s dream turned as black as the shadowy man’s robes. The screams of the rambunctious children and the sounds of their laughter and crying faded into an echo.

“Isn’t this all a dream?” the shadowy man asked. “You are Evin of Hesiod, after all. And you have to save your people, your mother, your father. You must become a hero.”

Evin struggled to speak, to tell the man that he didn’t have a mother or a father. He was an orphan. But his voice felt trapped inside his chest. His lips parted, but nothing escaped except a gasp.

“Your best friend is Jorick of Hesiod,” the man continued. “You have become an acquaintance of Betilivatis the elf wizard. You are on a journey through a world of danger and monsters, a world of adventure. Don’t you want to continue your quest?”

The entirety of the world around Evin was now drenched in darkness, and though he struggled to recall where he’d just been, the memory was gone. All he could see were the floating yellow eyes of the man who Evin knew deep down was deadly.

Evin closed his eyes, and as he did he saw a vision of Marten. The older boy was crouched behind a bakery, pointing to a pie on a window ledge above him and mouthing something at Evin. The day was bright and cool. Birds chirped in the distance, but Evin could not hear what Marten was saying.

“Who are you?” Evin finally managed to spit out. “What have you—”

Evin’s eyes shot open and he gasped for air. Harsh daylight burned his eyes. He shielded his face and sat up straight. His hand met cracked stone and tufts of grass. Heat from the midday sun sizzled over his skin, and he heard the distant sound of rushing water.

“You’re awake!”

Jorick towered over him, blocking the sun. The shorter boy’s somber face was smudged with dirt and dried blood.

Evin blinked, then looked around. He was outside, back in the ruins above the gnolls’ lair. He recognized the fallen gazebo and the broken bell nearby, and to his right was the small river that cut the ruins in two.

The dream faded, disappearing deep into his brain. Evin struggled to recall what he’d dreamed about, but everything he’d seen grew hazy, indistinct. Try as he might, he also couldn’t remember how he managed to get back up here. He remembered the chimera, the gnolls chasing them through the underground halls …

Evin looked up at Jorick. “What happened?”