The sound of dripping water echoed through the cave, eerily in time with the thuds of their boots as they strode across the black stone. George repressed a shiver; it was cold down here, and damp too – neither of which he found especially pleasant. Following behind Hugh, he threw a questioning glance the reaver’s way.

‘Not long now,’ said Hugh, answering George’s question before it had even been uttered.

He’s said that for at least the last ten minutes, George thought ruefully. He exclaimed as his foot caught a pebble and he tripped. As he reached for the side of the cave for balance, a strong hand grasped his arm and pulled him to his feet. George gasped, looking up.

Hugh’s face, bearing a clenched jaw and furrowed brows, leered back at him. ‘What did I tell you about touching the cave walls? This isn’t a cave, not like you think it is. If you touch those walls, not even I could save you.’

George recalled what Hugh had said earlier, when they’d first passed under the Dream Arch and entered the cave. The reaver – almost immediately as they’d entered the cave – had turned to him and said, ‘It’s like I thought: we’ve entered a Dream Realm, a pocket dimension inhabited by dream-eaters and infused with psychic and phantom energies – though it’s the former you should be more concerned about.’ The man’s tone had suddenly hardened. ‘Don’t touch anything – not even the walls. While everything may look and feel real, it is not. Pocket dimensions are not real; they are simply illusions, and Dream Realms are no different – only more dangerous. If you touch those walls, you will become theirs. The dream-eaters will ravage your mind and tear out your soul,

‘You know those Barrens I was telling you about earlier? Well, you’ll end up just like them, only you won’t last anywhere near as long: only beings with psychic and phantom activity can survive in a Dream Realm, and Barrens have neither. Once the dream-eaters are finished with you, you’ll have about a minute to live as a Barren before your head explodes, overwhelmed by the Dream Realm’s psychic energies.’ He had sighed. ‘No reaver has ever survived flesh contact with a Dream Realm. Ov’l or not, you should be careful.’

Back when Hugh had first told him, George had nodded obediently and continued after him into the cave; this time, however, after what was beginning to feel like an endless slog through shadows, he was feeling considerably more irritable. He pushed Hugh’s hand away and retorted, ‘I don’t need saving. You said it yourself: I’m an Ov’l, which means I’m powerful. I don’t need anyone to save me.’

‘You’re untrained,’ Hugh replied through gritted teeth. ‘You may be powerful, but it’s experience which makes the best reavers – not power.’

‘That’s only what someone who was weak would say,’ George retorted. ‘That’s the sort of thing my dad used to say. Fat lot of good his “experience” did when Rod and his boys came by the house asking for trouble–’ He cut himself off. Talking about his father was never a happy conversation.

Hugh was silent for a second, eyes hard. ‘Shut up and follow me. If you want to be treated with respect, don’t cling to me like some helpless infant all the time.’

As Hugh turned away, George sighed. Lilly said that to me sometimes, too. She was struggling after what happened, just like me – and my over-dependence on her didn’t help. His eyes filled with tears at the thought of his sister. He noted with relief that he could still remember what she looked like; losing those memories to the dream-eater – a “vendig”, Hugh had called it – had shaken him up.

You were right, Lilly, I couldn’t rely on you forever – and I shouldn’t have relied on you for so long either. He looked ahead at the dark silhouette of Hugh, visible only by the glint of his leather jacket. Just like I shouldn’t have to rely on Hugh. I didn’t rely on him to defeat the dream-eater, so why must I rely on him now? He bunched his fists. I am my own man!

Adrenaline coursed down his veins like liquid lightning. He marched forwards, overtaking Hugh and storming into the blackness.

‘Hey! Don’t go on too far!’ Hugh called after him.

George ignored him. He was his own man, after all – he didn’t take orders from anyone.

Hugh jogged to catch up with him and cast George a glance of slight bewilderment. ‘What’s got into you?’

George didn’t reply, furiously marching through the dark. Hugh grunted something under his breath, then turned away, walking alongside him.

As they continued through the cave, they soon came across an inkling of green light. As they approached, the green light grew until it engulfed the cavern in its ill glow. The green light came from an opening in the cave wall. Hugh peered through the opening, making sure not to rest any part of his body on the stone, then turned back to George; the look on the older man’s face did nothing to quash George’s nerves. George decided, against his better judgement, to take a look for himself.

The opening fed into a large chasm, as wide as three buses lined end-on-end and at least twice as tall. It was carved from the same jagged black rock as they’d been walking over for the lasthalf an hour, which twinkled like onyx, shining with reflected green light. The gentle pitter-patter of running water echoed through the cave.

As George looked through the opening, he spied the source of the luminescent green glow; his eyes widened to globes. Sat at the centre of the chasm on a sharp pedestal of rock was a bright-green, egglike structure. It was huge (at least twice his size, he reckoned) and dimly reminded him of some of the dinosaur eggs he’d seen at the Marsheton Museum – except, of course, that those dinosaur eggs did not glow green. He also noticed a plethora of greyish-brown rootlike structures snaking across the walls, feeding into the egglike structure at the centre of the chasm.

‘A delaeon,’ said Hugh, pointing at the glowing egglike structure. ‘That’s where the dream-eaters keep the souls they steal. It’s like a larder of sorts. The dream-eaters are bound-by-life to the delaeon by their psychic tethers.’

‘But where are the dream-eaters?’ George asked.

Hugh answered his question by pointing at the cave floor. As George looked down at the floor, he gasped – the floor was moving, writhing, and squirming! But as he looked closer, he saw the floor itself wasn’t moving; rather, there were a plethora of odd-shaped creatures wriggling across it. Their chatter and footsteps echoed through the cave.

He spied creatures like the one he had fought back up in the hospital – “vendigs”. Their translucent, teardrop-shaped bodies shimmered in the delaeon’s green light. He also spied others of different shapes: doglike creatures with shaggy, purple fur, wearing what looked to be brains on their backs – though he convinced himself they couldn’t possibly be brains – and large apes with round heads and single golden eyes. Like the vendigs, they had pink “psychic barbels” – the doglike creatures had one at each corner of their mouth, while the apes’ were wrapped around their wrists. As George eyed the creatures, Hugh told him their names: the doglike creatures, he learned, were “por’avas”, and the apes were “cothelids”.

George was so immersed in watching the dream-eaters scurry about the chasm that he didn’t notice his hand inching closer and closer to the cave wall. Luckily though, Hugh spotted it.

Two strong hands gripped George’s shoulders and pulled him away, just before his hand could touch the wall. George turned to see Hugh looking at him, face grim.

‘Don’t touch the walls,’ the reaver warned sternly.

George nodded. ‘So, how do we destroy this Dream Realm, then?’ he asked in a hushed whisper.

‘There is no way to truly destroy a Dream Realm,’ Hugh replied. ‘Their number is fixed and has always been so, ever since the Psychic Abandonment of Tissain – an event too complicated for me to explain right now. The trick is to shrink them down so they cannot harm anyone – not that this solution is permanent. The size of a Dream Realm is proportional to the amount of psychic energy connected to it.’ He gestured at the various dream-eaters as they scurried across the floor of the chasm. ‘It relies on the energies of these dream-eaters to sustain its size. If we removed the dream-eaters’ psychic energies, the Realm would collapse on itself, with only enough psychic energy to maintain its existence.’

George’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘And what about us? Would we not be crushed?’

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Hugh shook his head. ‘As long as we remain in the Dream Realm, it would remain large enough for us to exist in, at least until we left it.’ He gestured at the delaeon. ‘The delaeon exists only because of the dream-eaters’ psychic tethers to it; itself, it contributes nothing to the psychic energies of the Dream Realm. Still, if we destroy it, we can destroy the Dream Realm–’

‘–because the dream-eaters are bound-by-life to their delaeon, and will die if they are separated,’ George finished.

Hugh looked at him, grim face splitting into the barest of smiles. ‘Nice to see you’re paying attention.’ He paused. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said. At George’s questioning glance, he added, ‘Just do it.’

Reluctantly, George closed his eyes. His world was thrust into black – lit only by the barest hint of the delaeon’s green light as it pierced his eyelids.

‘Now,’ Hugh continued. ‘Slow your breathing. Slow your thinking. Slow everything. And feel.’

Though he felt an idiot doing so, George obliged Hugh’s request, using a meditative breathing technique Lilly had taught him. His mind roared with activity; using another meditative technique – “mental singing” – he was able to silence his mind by projecting a mental song through his mind.

And then it was as if his eyes had been opened. As if a whole new world had exposed itself to him. He looked around and could see the chasm, though he could not see any rocks. All he could see was voids, everywhere, absences of psychic activity. Though he could see the shapes of the rocks, the rocks themselves were made of nothing but empty space. As he turned to face Hugh, he suddenly saw, floating before the voids, a bright ball of white light in place of where Hugh was standing.

He turned to look into the chasm in which the delaeon sat and was forced to squint for the sheer blinding-ness of the light which had enveloped the chasm. There were so many balls of light, each brighter than the last, which seemed to fuse into a huge block of blinding light. It was beautiful – magnificent, even, ethereal…

He looked down at himself, seeing the bright light – akin to Hugh’s – nestled in his chest. His body appeared as grey, almost formless and barely visible. His mouth gaped, awed.

‘You can see it, can’t you? The psychic activity – you can see it.’ Hugh’s voice seemed to come from far off, though George knew the reaver was stood right next to him. ‘Again, the power of the Ov’l awes me. Now, my psychic activity – can you see it?’

‘The white ball of light, you mean?’

‘Yes, yes. The dream-eaters can see psychic activity, just like you can – when they bother to look, that is – so we must mask ours. Rather, you must mask ours.’

George frowned, eying the white ball of light which was Hugh psychic energy with apprehension. ‘How do I do that?’

‘No idea,’ Hugh replied. ‘Figure it out. You’re the Ov’l.’

George sighed, looking across at the bright ball of light that marked Hugh’s psychic activity. These Ov’l powers of his – he could still barely believe they were real. But they were very real, as his earlier encounter with the vendig had shown.

Believing in his powers was one thing, but being able to use them was another matter entirely – and Hugh wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming of teachers. Learnt the grand sum of nothing from him, so far, George thought wryly.

He wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to mask Hugh’s psychic activity, but he had to try nonetheless. They had to collapse this Dream Realm; he’d seen firsthand the power of a single dream-eater, with its ability to steal his memories, and here there must have been nearly a hundred of them in all. A hundred winking lights, circling around the great miasma of glistening psychic energies that was the delaeon.

Let’s try this… George reached towards the bright ball of light that marked Hugh’s psychic activity, keeping fixed in his mind the notion of shrouding the psychic energy from detection. He strained, but nothing happened.

He opted next for a different angle, reaching and touching the white light. It felt ice-cold to the touch; and as George touched it, flashes of icy heat burned at his mind. He winced, iamges flashing across his mind.

The darkness roiled, and suddenly out came a man he didn’t recognise, in a purplish cloak and with long, black hair. But these weren’t his most distinguishing features; no, for that was the man’s bright, golden eyes, gleaming like miniature suns.

Instantly, in George’s mind the name “Sinchara Khan” was spurned. But he did not know anyone by that name. He tensed, feeling his hairs prick like porcupine spines all over his body. A shudder passed down his spine as the man’s golden eyes fixed upon him. The air turned to molten ice, sizzling and freezing George’s skin. George may not have been very experienced with this new world of hexes and reavers, but he knew evil when he saw it.

At the sight of George, the man smiled. Then, as quick as the image had appeared, it was gone, and Sinchara Khan faded away.

George inhaled sharply, breath quivering. The man was gone, but it still felt as though he was there. The air remained icily molten, and those gold eyes still shone in his mind.

‘Lad, you good?’ came Hugh’s voice, distant and away.

George nodded, breathing shakily, feeling the colour return to his cheeks. ‘Yeah – yes, I’m good.’

That man – Sinchara Khan – had appeared after he had touched Hugh’s psychic energy. George couldn’t help wonder if the two were related – Hugh Fisher and Sinchara Khan. But he put that aside for now. Other things needed his attention.

Again, he grasped Hugh’s psychic energy. This time, no dark figure emerged to greet him. George willed for the psychic energies to hide themselves, and they did, obeying his command. A silvery veil fluttered from beneath George's fingernails and shrouded the ball of light form view.

George could still feel Hugh’s psychic energies, but they were now hidden. He did the same for his own psychic energies, before opening his eyes to see Hugh looking at him grimly.

‘So that was your first excursion to the Psychic Realm,’ said Hugh. ‘Like Dream Realms, the Psychic Realm is a pocket dimension. It is the source of the Ov’ls’ powers, the servant of the Ov’ls. But beware, George, for you cannot let that power go to your head. Ever.’ His grim look faded into a smile. ‘Good job. An Ov’l’s Psychic Mask lasts for about half an hour – plenty of time. Now that our psychic presences are masked, the dream-eaters will think we were just unlucky civilians who wound up turning into Barrens. Barrens can only survive a minute or so in a Dream Realm, so if we stay past that minute, the dream-eaters will begin to wonder why we are still alive and our brains not splattered across the stone.’

Pleasant thought, George mused as he followed Hugh through the opening in the cave wall and into the chasm. Compared to how the chasm had looked in the Psychic Realm, it looked markedly less wondrous now, back in the Dream Realm.

As they’d begun walking, George’s instinct had been to shuffle slowly – almost like a zombie – in an effort to impersonate the Barrens. However, Hugh had told him that, while the Barrens had lost their minds and souls, they still retained access to their full motor functions.

“They’re not quite zombies, but they’re pretty close,’ Hugh had said.

After that, George had opted to walk normally, and thus far, none of the dream-eaters had paid him or Hugh any mind. Most ignored them, while a few of the more curious ones looked curiously at them for a few seconds, before quickly losing interest.

There was one dream-eater, though – an apelike cothelid – whose curious gaze lasted a little more than just a few seconds. A shiver ran down George’s spine. He gulped.

The cothelid’s single golden eye narrowed, looking George up and down. A haggard breath slipped out from George’s lips. It knows. He was sure of it. It knows we’re not Barrens.

Almost as if sensing his panic, Hugh turned back to him. ‘Quench your fear,’ he murmured out the corner of his mouth, lips barely moving. He nodded at one of the nearby dream-eaters, one of the upside-down-teardrop vendigs, who was peering inquisitively along with the cothelid at the pair of them. ‘They can sense your fear.’

George nodded slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. He exhaled sharply, fixing his gaze on the glowing egg-shaped delaeon ahead of them and gritting his teeth. He could feel the delaeon now, almost pressing into his mind, almost as if pressing him for answers as to who they were and where their psychic presence was. He closed his eyes to see the briefest flash of white light appear where Hugh was stood, slipping out from beneath the silvery veil.

But that brief flash was enough. When he opened his eyes again, he saw, with an audible gasp, all the dream-eaters’ eyes were fixed on them.

With a yelp, he raced forwards, to Hugh, just as one of the dream-eaters – a vendig – leapt at them, spinning, its ten psychic barbels twisting through the cave towards them. The reaver reacted swiftly in a calm and efficient manner: he twisted and launched a fireball from his palm into the creature’s translucent face. The vendig shrieked and collapsed to the stone, its jellified flesh blackened and scorched. At once, the other dream-eaters leapt to attack.

Hugh turned to George, brow furrowed. ‘Run!’ With one hand propelling a line of fire at the dream-eaters, he pointed with his other in the direction of the delaeon.

At once, George gritted teeth and ran for the delaeon, sprinting past Hugh as he did. As he passed by the reaver, Hugh thrust what seemed to be a hollow metal cube into his hand.

‘That’ll destroy it!’ Hugh yelled, batting away one of the vendigs with what looked to be a sword made entirely of fire and slicing through another doglike por’ava. ‘Don’t touch the delaeon!’ the reaver called as George sprinted away. Above them, the orange light of Hugh’s flames and the ghostly green glow of the delaeon did battle, twisting and twirling across the cave ceiling as Hugh fought the dream-eater tide.

Dodging a pouncing por’ava, whose two psychic barbels narrowly missed the top of George’s head, George raced forward, fixing his eyes on the delaeon ahead of him, holding the metal cube Hugh had given him in a tight fist. He barely noticed the dream-eater hordes as he ran, barely noticed their fleshy psychic barbels as they lanced towards him. His boots pounded against the stone like thunderclaps; his heart beat in his chest, clubbing against his ribcage.

As he reached the delaeon, he threw the metal cube; there was a squelch as it struck the delaeon’s soft flesh. However, carried forward by momentum, George could not stop himself. His foot snagged on one of the rootlike structures on the cave floor and he toppled forwards.

His eyes widened as he saw his hand pressed into the green flesh of the delaeon. Little by little, the feeling of brushing against wet silk spread through his hand as the delaeon engulfed it. In seconds, his entire arm was submerged in the green flesh, and soon, his entire body. Only his head remained, poking out from the voluminous egg; seconds later, he let out a final desperate yelp, reaching in Hugh’s direction, before his head sank into the green mass and his mind was thrust into a world of pearly-white…