‘I don’t believe it.’ Hugh’s voice was hoarse. ‘Cleo, we have an Ov’l…’ His words failed him as the boy turned to face him, looking up at him with his innocent blue eyes.

‘An Ov’l? Like Sinchara Khan?’ The shock in Cleo’s voice was audible, as were the motes of apprehension. ‘If that’s the case, you know what you have to do, Hugh.’

Hugh bit his lip. ‘I know,’ he said softly – soft enough that he hoped the boy wouldn’t be able to hear. The boy must be wiped. ‘We can’t let there be another Sinchara Khan. We cannot,’ he mumbled to Cleo, almost imperceptibly.

It seemed, though, that the boy had at least heard him talking. ‘What did you say?’ he asked, blue eyes wide.

No. Gold eyes.

Hugh’s eyes widened as the gold eyes of Sinchara Khan bore down upon him. At once, the bright lights of the hospital dimmed to grey; the tiles cracked beneath the furious evil of the man stood before him, where the boy had just been standing. The other man cackled, wizened face pulling tight as he let out his maniacal laugh. He wore a purplish-black gown which trailed at his ankles; it seemed to waft violently in some terrifying gale, though there was no such gale to be felt. Hugh’s heart turned to ice. For a split-second, the lights vanished, and all that could be seen were those gold eyes, piercing through the gloom. The very last things the victims of the Windermere massacre had every seen.

And then the darkness was gone, and the room was how it should be. Where the cackling figure of Sinchara Khan had stood, there now stood only the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy.

Yes, that’s right. Blue-eyed, Hugh reminded himself, feeling weight pressing down on his shoulders. Not gold-eyed. Not yet.

‘The longer he stays without his memory wiped, the harder it will be to wipe it,’ said Cleo. ‘Or you can kill him.’

‘I’m not killing him,’ Hugh snapped. ‘Battlemaster Val said I was an exception to that, giving my closeness to Sinchara Khan.’

‘Then wipe him.’ Cleo’s voice was hard. ‘You know what the protocol is. You have to wipe him – now. Don’t make the same mistake, Hugh. Sinchara Khan was bad enough. Windermere alone is enough to keep you up at night – could you handle another Windermere?’

Hugh sighed. I thought I’d done it, saved Sinchara from the mania. I was wrong. He sighed again, eyes resting on the boy. His blue eyes gleamed with innocence. He hadn’t done anything, hadn’t attacked or killed anyone. But he would, Hugh knew. In time.

All Ov’ls were corrupted. He had to be wiped, so that he knew not anything about hexes and reavers and Weaving. So that he could return to his life, abandoning the Powers of the Ov’l and the evil that came with them.

But Hugh couldn’t do it. To wipe the boy’s memory would have unprecedented consequences. He didn’t deserve that.

What if he could be controlled? Doubt danced in Hugh’s mind, memories of Sinchara Khan flashing across his eyes. Sinchara Khan couldn’t be controlled – why did he think this new Ov’l could be? Because this time, I will protect him, from the Reaver Society, from the Naïves, from himself, from everyone. I will prove that Ov’ls can be controlled, used as a force for good.

‘I won’t wipe him,’ Hugh said at last. ‘I won’t. Just because he’s an Ov’l doesn’t mean he will end up the same way as Sinchara Khan.’

Cleo paused. ‘Is that you being optimistic, Hugh? It doesn’t suit you. Wipe him.’

Hugh huffed. ‘Tell the captain I want to speak with him when this is all done.’ And with that, he pulled his earpiece out, despite Cleo’s protests, threw it on the floor, and ground it under his boot. ‘I haven’t been in the Society for this long to be told what I can and can’t do.’ He turned to the boy, raising his voice so he could be heard. ‘What’s your name, lad?’

‘George. George Marsh. Pardon my French, sir, but what the fuck is going on?’

Hugh chuckled. ‘Quite a lot. I’ll explain it for you. Layman’s terms. My name is Hugh Fisher. I’m a reaver, working for Taskforce Delta of the Reaver Society. We reavers hunt down hexes like that fella over there, protect you Naïves from them – well, I guess you’re not exactly a Naïve anymore, are you?’ He chuckled. ‘Hexes are borne of death. Hospitals are a common place for them, as are graveyards, battlegrounds, the like. To defeat hexes and banish them, reavers use Spell Weaving such as this. Irakis.’

A ball of flame sprouted in his hand. He smiled as George gasped, eyes widening in awe. Showing magic to Naïves never got old. After a few seconds, the flame disappeared.

‘I’m a Flame Weaver,’ Hugh continued. ‘My mission here is to eradicate dream-eaters from this hospital. Dream-eaters use psychic attacks to battle and catch their prey; one of the weaknesses of psychic attacks is fire, hence why I was assigned this mission.’ He paused, looking straight into George’s eyes. ‘Another weakness of psychic attacks is Ov’ls, like you.’

George frowned. ‘You mean I have…powers?’

Hugh nodded. ‘Indeed. Ov’ls have access to a branch of psychic magic more powerful even than Psychic Weaving. Ov’ls can become the most powerful Weavers – with the right training. Come with me, George, and I will protect and train you. You’ve seen firsthand the power of hexes – and these are the weaker sort. There are so many more hexes hidden in the world, causing so much pain to people. We at the Reaver Society are doing our best to stop them, but with an Ov’l on our side…’

He paused. ‘I need your help. There’s a nest of hexes in this hospital. On my own, I might struggle, but with an Ov’l…well…’ He smiled. ‘It’ll be interesting.’

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George frowned. ‘But I’ve never fought hexes before – I don’t know what to do. Why would you want to fight with me?’

Hugh sighed. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to at least tell some of the truth. ‘I need you to stay with me, George. Everything I’ve told you is true, about the Reaver Society, hexes, your powers – everything – but there’s one thing I forgot to mention.’ He paused. ‘Among reavers, Ov’ls are likened to the Devil, which is only made worse by their unpredictability: everyone and no one could become an Ov’l – even someone without Weaving powers. There’s really nothing that triggers it per se. Adding to that, they’re loose cannons.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean…’ Hugh clicked his tongue. ‘You ever hear about the Carthaginians who used elephants against the Romans? Ov’ls are kind of like the elephants: on a good day, they’ll fight for the right side, but it doesn’t take much for them to go out of control, on a rampage.’ It doesn’t take much for the eyes to go from blue to gold. Hugh repressed a shudder. ‘Point is, the Reaver Society wants you dead or the equivalent, and I’m the only thing stopping that from happening. But don’t worry; I’ll get it all sorted out with the captain.’

The boy’s eyes widened to such an extent Hugh half-thought his eyeballs were going to pop from their sockets. George shivered. He shook his head. ‘No, no, what am I? What am I? I don’t want this!’ His breathing grew ragged and he stared at Hugh with wide eyes, wide blue eyes, full of innocence. ‘You’re a magician – surely you have a spell to wipe my memory–’

Hugh sighed and stooped his head to face the floor. ‘Yes, I do have memory spells. But I won’t use them on you. Ov’ls are incredibly powerful – especially against Psychic Weavings such as memory spells. If I use a memory spell on you, it will have to be one of the strongest. Odds are, not only will you lose the memories of this encounter, but all your memories thereof. Anyone you ever knew. Anyone you ever loved.’ He shook his head. ‘They would mean nothing to you. You wouldn’t even know their names,

‘I saw what you did, how you put your life on the line so that you wouldn’t forget your sister, so that the dream-eater couldn’t steal your memories of her. I doubt you’d want that bravery to be in vain.’

George paused, staring up at Hugh for a second, before nodding. ‘Then…I will stay with you. I will survive so that the memory of my sister, of all those people I’ve lost, can endure.’ His gaze hardened. ‘I won’t go crazy. I won’t. I promise you.’

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ Hugh grunted. ‘You will go crazy, one way or another. It’s just controlling it.’

George nodded. ‘Alright, then, where is this nest anyway?’

Hugh smiled. ‘You’re eager, aren’t you?’

Using one of Hugh’s technological contraptions – a shadow map – they were able to locate the hexes’ nest to the lift. When George had asked how the shadow map worked, Hugh had replied, ‘I darted one of the hexes with a phantom dart before it ran off – can’t use GPS, as they can cloud the signal. The phantom dart emits phantom energy at regular intervals. The shadow map detects the change in phantom energy, hence how we can track it. Phantom energy in hexes and reavers is usually stable, which is why they don’t normally show up on the map.’

Pressing his hands against the lift door, Hugh sighed. ‘Where the hell is the nest?’ As the lift beeped, his eyes flashed and he stepped aside to let out the people inside, before getting in himself. He gestured for George to follow him. As the doors shut behind them, Hugh examined the map intently.

No doubt Cleo would know how to find the nest. I probably shouldn’t have got rid of the earpiece… But he knew keeping the earpiece would have been foolish, unless he wanted Cleo’s jabbering in his ear for the rest of the mission. There’s a lot at stake here. I hope I can square things out with the captain.

As the lift trundled upwards, jerking and shuddering and clanking and whirring, he examined the shadow map. Something caught his eye. ‘Says we’re moving away from the nest, here.’ And then he realised. ‘Ah, so that’s where the nest is: it’s at the bottom of the lift shaft.’ He clicked his tongue and proffered an arm towards George. ‘Hold my arm, lad.’

George nodded and took Hugh’s arm. Hugh turned to look at the bottom of the lift. He smiled. These hexes can wall-phase? Well, so can I… He splayed out his palm and gestured across the lift. In an instant, the floor disappeared and they were falling, falling through the endless shadow and black of the lift shaft.

He heard, barely perceptible above the roaring wind, George yelp. The boy’s grip on his arm tightened; Hugh half-thought the lad would tear it off outright.

He licked his lips, squinting as his eyes scoured the black. He wasn’t scared – he was much too focussed to be scared. He had done this a thousand times, but that didn’t guarantee success.

I’ve got to slow us down before we reach the bottom. Trouble is, it’s a tad difficult to actually see the bottom. Can’t use any of my Fire Weaving, that’ll just tell the hexes exactly where we are; just have to rely on my senses, pure and true. Times like this I wish I was a Sense Weaver…Darksight would really come useful right about now.

A distant glint registered in his vision for only a microsecond. Now! With his index finger, he carved a “U” into the air and murmured, ‘Kyosh.’

At once, the roaring in his ears silenced, and their descent seemed to slow as the Air Weaving kicked into effect. Despite this, George’s grip on his arm remained as tight as ever. Even after they had landed, feet thumping softly against stone, George still held onto him tightly for a few seconds, before eventually letting go.

Shakily, the boy looked around and asked, ‘Where are we?’

Hugh grimaced, looking up as the lift trundled up the lift shaft and away from them, until it had disappeared into the darkness entirely. ‘The hexes’ lair. The lair of the dream-eaters.’

He could just about make out ahead of them, the dark silhouette of a cave. Its arched entrance towered over them, several times their heights and adorned with craggy rocks. Hugh noticed with an ounce of concern that the arch was perfectly symmetrical. Nestled at the crest of the arch, at its highest point, was a silver gem, which Hugh realised had been what he’d used to time his Air Weaving to save them as they’d fallen down the lift shaft.

Hugh bristled. It’s a bloody Dream Arch.

Dream Arches were created by placing a Hyporii Gem – the silver gem embedded in the arch which Hugh was now glaring at – in an archway of perfect symmetry. Walking into a place guarded by a Dream Arch was never a wise move; to do so was to surrender your mind to the whims of the dream-eaters populating the area. Dream Arches, due to the scarcity of Hyporii Gems, thankfully, were very rare.

No doubt there’s likely a hidden Dream Realm behind there – or even a Thiorn. Hugh grimaced. If there was a Thiorn, then they really were in trouble.

He turned to George. ‘Be wary. Stepping into a dream-eater nest is not a decision to be taken lightly.’ He neglected to mention the presence of the Dream Arch and the likely appearance of a Dream Realm: no doubt, the boy was already terrified enough.

‘Can you remember how you used your Ov’l powers?’

The boy looked suddenly very unsure of himself and shrugged. ‘Just punch and hope for the best, right?’

Hugh sighed. “Just punch and hope for the best”? Bloody hell. What am I doing?

He only wished he could talk to Cleo. She’d know what to do about the Dream Arch. But she’s always “protocol this” and “protocol that”. If it was up to her, the kid would be dead already. When he’d found Sinchara Khan, he had refused to kill him. Now, he’d found George Marsh, and he refused to kill him.

He only hoped this time those blue eyes stayed blue.