"Thrahk zoo-ohr drah-zahk vehl-zar keht," I murmured, struggling to mimic the strange words from my dream. "Or at least, that's what it sounded like."

My mum's expression shifted. She didn't even glance up from her work as she softly muttered, "Thrak ven zuor vel'drazak zuor vel'zar drazak qeth." Her words were eerily identical to the ones I'd heard, a perfect echo of the sounds that had been haunting my nights.

"Mum, is that... some kind of language?" I asked, my voice trembling with curiosity. "What does it mean? Lately, I've been having these dreams, and each one feels worse than the last. I can't seem to get a full night's sleep anymore... And it's starting to scare me."

Without a word, my mum dropped the pot she'd been holding. It clattered to the ground with a jarring thud. She grabbed me by the shoulders, her grip tighter than usual, and her eyes bore into mine with an intensity I had never seen before.

"Kane," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Have you told anyone about these dreams? Have you said a word to anyone at all?"

"No," I replied, panic rising in my chest. "I haven't told anyone. You said not to. But... what's happening, Mum? Why am I dreaming like this? And what is that language? Is it a warning? Are we... Are we going to die?"

A cold silence settled between us. I'd never seen her like this before. She was always calm, collected, the steady rock in my life. But now, something was different. She looked terrified, almost as if my dreams were tied to something far bigger and darker than I could imagine.

As a child, I barely remembered my dreams. When I did dream, the memories faded with the sunrise, like smoke lost in the air. I never gave them much thought, never put weight on their meaning. Dreams, I thought, were just the mind's way of distorting fragments of the day, blending reality with memory in strange ways. Like that one time I dreamt of buying a mountain of chickens from the market. Some would say it was a good omen, a sign of coming fortune, or a promise of something significant on the horizon. A good dream, they'd say. But if that was true, why was my mum and I still scraping by, stuck in our tiny hut on the outskirts of Samaria, living a life of quiet poverty, while the village by the sea continued to thrive?

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Mum's hands fell limply to her sides, and she staggered backward, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as she let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Mum, what's going on? Why are you acting like this?" I demanded, nearly losing my voice.

She looked at me, her expression grim, before shaking her head slowly, as if to clear her thoughts. "I should be the one asking the questions, Kane. Why are you having these kinds of dreams? What's causing them? Have you ever seen a monster or a beast in reality?"

Her question sent a chill down my spine. The reason she asked was clear-dreams were often a reflection of what the mind had encountered, consciously or unconsciously. But when someone dreams of things they've never seen, things beyond their reality, it could mean something much darker, creating a new fear of the unknown. Dreams weren't just a product of the mind's wandering; they could be warnings, premonitions.

Dreams were supposed to be meaningless. Why can't I just dream of chicken again, and stop causing my poor mother to panic.

"Monsters?" I repeated, "I've never seen one, if there were."

Mum was kneading the dough as we spoke, her hands moving rhythmically, pressing and folding the mixture of flour, water, and a pinch of salt. Our small kitchen smelled of warm flour and yeast, the steady rhythm of her movements filling the silence between us. She had always made bread by hand, a practice passed down through generations in Samaria.

The villagers believed that the best bread came from hands that had worked the land, and Mum's bread was renowned for its softness, its perfect golden crust.

She paused, wiping her hands on her apron, then returned to kneading. "I think your mind is just playing tricks on you, Kane. But if it keeps getting worse, I'll have to send you to the native doctor. He might be able to clear your mind and check your thoughts."

I swallowed, anxiety gnawing at me. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

She stopped kneading for a moment, her gaze softening. "I think... you're sick. And you need help, Kane. I don't want you seeing evil spirits in your dreams. I've never had those kinds of dreams, nor did your father. Dreams like that aren't normal."

My heart sank.

"If anything happens to you-if you keep losing yourself in these dreams-I won't just be a widow. I'll be childless too. And I couldn't live with myself if that happened."

"But tomorrow is a workday," I whispered, hoping to ease her frustration, but the words only seemed to fuel her.

With a sharp snap, she slammed the spoon against the kitchen countertop, the loud clang echoing through the small room.

"You're going to the native doctor tomorrow, and that's final." she said firmly. "It's not like you've been catching anything at sea anyway. We're in the middle of the famine season-fish are scarce, and you're wasting your time out there. The village chief can handle that nonsense. What matters now is your mental health. You need to be checked before you do anything else."

She paused, taking a steadying breath before her eyes narrowed. "And don't even think about telling Thaddeus, or worse-taking him with you. You're going alone. Understand?"

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Did you know?

Lume Island and Samaria Island share similar traditions, as both trace their roots back to a common ancestry-the Sables.

However, their ancient language was banned thousands of years ago after it was uncovered to be the so-called "Devil's Tongue," a forbidden dialect believed to be spoken by demons.

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