Chapter 4

In the silver twilight of dawn, Zander—market thief and silent protector of forsaken souls—continued his weary pilgrimage through the city’s winding cobblestone streets. His hands, calloused by theft and tempered by necessity, slipped with practiced grace between the stalls. He gathered small, stolen treasures that would later be bartered for bread and rum: his only sustenance, and his only solace.

But within Zander’s chest, the darkness was not absolute. At the end of every grueling day, he returned to a home brimming with a fragile, defiant life—a refuge he provided for an elderly woman and two orphaned children. The woman, her gaze heavy with sorrow and her hands mapped with deep wrinkles, was Mrs. Hanato. Years ago, the sea had claimed her husband in a violent shipwreck. Devastated, she had sought sanctuary in the silence of her home until mounting debts consumed everything she owned, leaving her with nothing but the threadbare clothes on her back. Zander, moved by the raw desolation in her eyes, had brought her into his humble abode, offering her a roof and a shoulder to lean on when the world felt too heavy.

Kyo and Aiko, the children Zander had rescued from the abyss, were siblings who had lost their parents to a devastating fire. On one fateful night, a forgotten candle in Aiko’s room had ignited a curtain; within minutes, the flames spread with a terrifying, hungry ferocity. Their parents' screams still echoed in their memories as thick smoke choked the air, forcing the two children to scramble through a window, terrified and lost. When they finally stood on the street, they looked back to see their home—the only world they had ever known—transforming into a roaring inferno.

Seeing the children wandering the gutters, haunted and shivering, Zander could not leave them to a cruel fate. With a heart forged in determination, he brought them to his house, where Mrs. Hanato welcomed them with the warm, compassionate embrace they so desperately needed.

Though no blood flowed between them, they shared a bond far stronger, hammered out in the fires of adversity. Zander, despite his own youth, had become their shield and their provider. Mrs. Hanato, in turn, offered the quiet wisdom and fierce love of a mother, while Kyo and Aiko filled the grey rooms with flickers of joy and hope. Together, they formed an atypical family, stitched together by shared pain and the need to find comfort in one another, facing the scars of the past while trying to build a future out of the light they found in each other.

Life on the streets had hardened Zander, forcing a brutal maturity upon him and teaching him lessons no child should ever have to endure. But it had also carved into him the vital importance of kindness, proving that generosity can exist even in the deepest shadows.

That night, however, Zander found himself drowning in the abyss of alcohol. The moon hung high and cold, its light failing to pierce the dense fog that choked the streets. With his clothes disheveled and his hair a matted mess, Zander had scoured the local taverns, seeking a temporary death for the pain consuming him. Every burning drink was a desperate attempt to submerge the memories that haunted him—to silence the voices in his mind that never stopped reciting his failures.

Finally, he had collapsed into the dark corner of a ditch—a place where he could sink into his despair without being disturbed. His body lay there, inert and discarded, as the shadows of the night closed in around him. The damp chill of the earth seeped through his clothes, but he felt nothing. It was as if the world had collectively decided to ignore him, just as he tried to ignore his own suffering.

Passersby hurried along, absorbed in the rhythms of their own lives, never pausing to look at the young man who was once overflowing with dreams. To them, he was merely a blurred shape in the gloom, a grim reminder of what happens when sorrow devours a heart. Zander, trapped in his own nightmare, was oblivious to his isolation. His thoughts drifted between the ghosts of yesterday and the shadows of today, miles away from the warmth of the home he had built for Mrs. Hanato and the children.

In the distance, the faint echoes of laughter and festive music resonated—a life that felt utterly foreign to him. Yet, deep in his subconscious, a small glimmer struggled to break through, like a lone spark in a void. But the drunkenness held him prisoner, and the ditch had become his sanctuary, a stage where pain and loneliness performed a tragic dance. In his feverish dream, he found himself paralyzed in a place both familiar and terrifying. But just as the darkness threatened to swallow him whole, a peaceful presence enveloped him, filling him with a tranquility he hadn't known since he was a small boy.

Upon waking, Zander found himself dazed and disoriented. Who was that presence in his dream? Was it a ghost, a reality, or simply a fracture in his imagination? Though he had no answers, he knew the dream had awakened emotions he thought had long ago turned to stone. He would not be able to forget her.

As the sun began to bleed over the horizon, Zander climbed out of the ditch, shaking the filth from his clothes. Despite the throbbing hangover and the lingering confusion, he felt strangely renewed, as if the dream had washed some of the soot from his soul.

With a halting, unsteady step, he began to walk toward his home—toward the old woman and the children who relied on him for their very lives. As he moved, his mind circled back to the dream, to the peaceful presence that had shielded him. Who was she? What did it mean? And why had a mere shadow affected him so deeply?

Throughout the day, as he moved through the markets and cared for his adopted family, Zander could not shake the vision. Every time he blinked, he felt that serene presence again; he saw that strange, terrifying landscape. He felt himself being pulled toward it, as if it were a lighthouse in a storm.

That night, while the children slept and Mrs. Hanato knitted in the low light of a candle, Zander sat alone, lost in the silence. He knew he couldn't ignore the call. He had to understand. And though he had no map for such a journey, he was determined to find the way back.

For deep down, Zander understood that this was no ordinary dream. It was an invitation—a summons to a journey that could rewrite his life. He was ready to follow the call, to see what awaited him at the end of the road.

Until, finally, the truth struck him with the weight of a hammer. The old man’s book had not been a coincidence. The artifact had manifested his greatest desire, but it had come with a devastating catch:

His love would only ever exist while he was asleep.

Copyright © 2026 by M.D. Sager. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

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