"How do you have this?" Adam asked, clenching his jaw.

In front of him were his family's therapy notes, a detailed chronicle of his parents complaining of strange dreams and insomnia even before his birth, and more recent records described in alarming detail his own experiences and contained mentions of the Dreamverse.

Matriarch Emmanuel smiled in response, a knowing glint in her eyes. "I have my ways, Adam."

Adam's mind flashed to Dr. Taylor, their family therapist. His father always suspected that she was planted by the Emmanuels, and now it seemed like he had been right all along.

"There's no need to worry about Dr. Taylor," Matriarch Emmanuel added, her voice cold. "She has been... dealt with."

Adam felt a chill run down his spine at her words. Her implications were clear. She was not just the sophisticated matriarch of a wealthy aristocratic family – she was ruthless and had the resources to back up her threats.

"And now, Adam," she began, leaning back in her chair. "What can you tell me about this Dreamverse?"

‘Is she really trying to threaten my family with this?’ Adam's fists clenched under the table. "Why do you want to know?" he challenged.

Matriarch Emmanuel’s smile was cold. "I need to be aware of threats. And from what I can see, this Dreamverse poses a significant threat to humanity's existence and mostly the members of the Emmanuels."

She leaned forward, clasping her hands in front of her. "There's something else, Adam," she said, her gaze piercing. "Several members of the Emmanuel family have...fallen ill. They are in comas and the best doctors I have at my disposal can't seem to awaken them."

"Comas?" Adam echoed, his mind racing.

She nodded. "I suspect it's the Dreamverse. From your notes, you seem to have a greater understanding and control over it than anyone else. You're the only one who can help them."

Adam remained silent, he felt no sympathy for the Emmanuels. However, the information she held hung like a sword over his head. He glanced surreptitiously at the fountain pen lying casually on the desk, dark thoughts threatening to seep into his consciousness. 'I could end this threat right here, right now,' he considered, his gaze shifting between the pen and his grandmother, 'I won't let her use this to harm my family.'

After a moment of contemplation, Adam looked up at his grandmother. "Who else knows about this information?"

Adam's eyes were once again drawn to the fountain pen on the desk, its sleek elegance a testament to the Emmanuel family's distinguished lineage. As his mind strayed to its potential as a weapon, the pen seemed to embody his darker inclinations, ready to etch irreversible actions onto his life's parchment. Contemplating its use as a weapon instead of a tool for communication sent a shiver down his spine, making him question his propensity for violence.

However, he shook his head, rejecting this violent path and pledging to harness his mind for strategy over brute force, acknowledging the pen's might over the sword. Resolving to be the thoughtful leader his cult required, he turned away from the pen, recommitting himself to finding a better path out of this predicament.

Matriarch Emmanuel held his gaze, seemingly sensing his intentions. Her voice was frosty as she replied, "Only me, Adam. Only me. You wouldn't do something to harm your frail grandmother, would you?"

"No," he uttered, striving to maintain his composure against the matriarch's penetrating stare. His initial plans tainted by violent thoughts, he felt unease crawl under his skin as he acknowledged her unspoken awareness of his earlier sinister contemplations.

Matriarch Emmanuel's lips curled into a frown. The room felt even colder, and he didn't miss the hint of disappointment in her voice. "Your dear mother seems to have failed in teaching you discretion and tact, Adam," she chided. Her words were sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Adam was taken aback. Her disappointment wasn't born from his ill intentions but his lack of subtlety. This was a lesson he hadn't anticipated.

"And remember," she said, her voice carrying a note of harsh reprimand. "You don't always have to carry every burden yourself. Capable subordinates can manage... distasteful affairs."

Adam recoiled. "You're crazy," he burst out, feeling like he was truly seeing Matriarch Emmanuel for the first time. She wasn't the wise matriarch he had painted her to be, but a ruthless puppet master, adept at pulling strings from the shadows.

A chilling chuckle echoed around the room as Matriarch Emmanuel responded, "My dear grandson, I am simply teaching you how the world works. Violence is not always the solution. Sometimes, a carefully crafted plan achieves much more. Remember this lesson well."

"Now," she continued, her tone shifting back to business. "Let us move past this unpleasantness."

His aunt's warnings about Matriarch Emmanuel's true nature rang in his ears, each word now seeming like an undeniable truth. 'How could I have been so blind?' he mused. 'If only I had spent more time with her, I would have seen through her manipulative tactics.' But it was too late; he was cornered and effectively checkmated.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"I see potential here, Adam," Matriarch Emmanuel began, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "This Dreamverse... it could be an opportunity for the Emmanuels. A way for us to rise to the occasion and become saviors to humanity. In turn we can mold humanity in our image."

Adam listened, his mind quickly connecting the dots. His grandmother's words held a hint of the ambition that had brought her to power and kept the Emmanuel family at the top for so long.

While listening to his grandmother's speech, Adam's hand drifted towards the fountain pen. Clasping it, he contemplated its dual nature; once a symbol of violence, now an emblem of his evolution. The pen's power, he recognized, was not inherent but was dictated by the decisions he made with it.

The pen was just a tool, and like his mind, it was capable of creating or destroying depending on how it was used. A moment of understanding washed over him; he was not bound to reactive violence, but could be strategic, thoughtfully wielding his mind—like the pen—as a tool for creation or destruction.

"Thanks to your prior access to the Dreamverse, we're in a unique position. We can leverage its resources to further elevate our family's standing," she continued, her tone steady and confident.

Hearing his grandmother's plans, a spark ignited within Adam. He recognized this as an opportunity - a chance to use his grandmother's ambitions to his advantage.

‘This is a chance. Even though she put me in this predicament, I can use this to expand my cult. With the backing of the Emmanuels, things will become a lot easier for the cult. And as the cult is tied to my talent, they can't take leadership from me. If they cause any problems then I’ll remove them when I’m strong enough,’ he thought

"Adam," Matriarch Emmanuel started, her tone cold and matter-of-fact, "I need whatever information you have on the Dreamverse."

Adam sighed, "The Dreamverse is a realm that connects countless universes. It's a place that is accessible through dreams, where various sentient beings interact."

Matriarch Emmanuel nodded, fascination shining in her eyes. "I see. And why are more people being drawn into the Dreamverse now? Why are they falling into comas?"

Choosing his words carefully, Adam replied, "I believe their souls might be destroyed... essentially, they're dead."

"Are you sure?" she asked, a flicker of shock passing through her eyes.

Adam nodded, "Yes, I am."

"So, how are you still alive then?" she probed further.

"Well, in the Dreamverse, I am 'immortal'. I just experience pain when I 'die' there instead of having my soul destroyed. I've also awakened a talent that allows me to grant this 'immortality' to others in my organization."

Matriarch Emmanuel's eyes glinted with a hint of greed, "How does one join this organization you speak of, Adam?"

Smiling, Adam replied, "They just have to agree to join my cult."

Her smile faltered. "Adam, are you jesting with me?"

Maintaining his grin, Adam shook his head, "Not at all. I'm dead serious. Now, let's discuss the entry fee to my cult, shall we?"

---

Adam sat in the car with his mother, he couldn’t keep the grin from his face, ‘I’ve managed to get so many concessions out of that witch. I didn’t expect her to give so much away; it was like she was hanging on my words as soon as I told her about my talent.’

As Melissa pulled into their driveway, Adam immediately noticed a flurry of activity. A lorry emblazoned with the emblem of a popular supermarket was parked outside their house, with several workers shuttling crates of food between it and their home. His father, Yusuf, was overseeing the process.

"Hey, Dad, what the hell is going on?" Adam called out as they pulled into the driveway. Boxes and crates of supplies were being carried into their home from a large supermarket lorry.

Yusuf, directing the workers, hardly looked surprised by Adam's astonishment. "Put the rice and pasta in the pantry! Canned goods in the basement!" He shouted out instructions, then turned his attention to his son.

"I made some calls, pulled in some favors," Yusuf began, keeping an eye on the workers' progress. "People are starting to panic again, clearing out the supermarket shelves. I don't intend for us to be caught off guard again."

As Adam took in the stacks of canned goods, bags of rice, and boxes of assorted food items, Yusuf added with a wry smile, "Plus, there's enough coffee to keep us going for a long time."

Before Adam could respond to his father's remark, the screeching sound of tires echoed in the air. He turned to see three armored cars pulling up near their house. Men and women, dressed in suits and armed with assault rifles and combat gear, emerged from the vehicles, swiftly making their way into the neighboring houses. The workers froze, their eyes wide with shock and fear at the sight of the heavily armed group.

Adam stood dumbstruck, his gaze following the armed group. His mother, Melissa, too, mirrored his shock. "Okay, security is here," Yusuf announced calmly.

Melissa turned to her husband, her eyes wide, "Honey, why are they going into our neighbor's houses?"

Yusuf scratched his head and sighed. "Well, I've been a bit busy. I bought out the houses from our neighbors, gave them life changing money, and hired a security company that my brothers trust. They're here to ensure our safety."

"Dad, isn't this going a bit overboard?" Adam asked, his gaze still following the security team.

"No measure is overboard when it comes to our family's safety, Adam," Yusuf responded, his voice firm. "And speaking of family... everyone I care about is currently making their way to London. I've advised them all to stay awake as long as they can."

Adam was shocked, trying to absorb this latest revelation. It was clear that his father was preparing for a siege, doing everything in his power to keep their family safe from the impending chaos.

Yusuf paused for a moment, his eyes reflecting a depth of wisdom. He placed a reassuring hand on Adam's shoulder and spoke with a calm certainty. "Adam, my son, let me share with you an old Arab proverb that I have learnt: 'He who burns his tongue from soup will blow in yogurt'. I’ve learnt my lesson from the last pandemic, I'm not making the same mistake again. This time, we are being over prepared for another global disaster."

“Dad, this is overki—”

Yusuf's face was a mask of rage as he roared, “Are you daft? Watch the coffee! That's my lifeblood you're handling!” He swung around to face Adam, his tone softening considerably. “Sorry, son, you were saying something?”

Adam simply sighed.

“Hold up, son. I need to keep an eye on these guys, make sure they don't break anything else,” Yusuf said. He moved towards the workers, grumbling, “Unbelievable! Of all the things to drop, you had to pick my coffee.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “And here I thought I married a man, not a coffee junkie,” she said, shaking her head. “Go on inside, Adam. I'll handle your father.”

Under her breath, she added, “Before he invites an army over.”

Adam, chuckling to himself, navigated his way through the house. He dodged the various crates of food crowding the hallway, and carefully avoided getting in the way of the movers.

From the top of the stairs, he could hear his name. “Adam!” Stella was waving at him. “Up here, Adam!”