Sealed inside the towering city walls of Acadia, magic users known as Wielders are feared and hunted for the abilities they have been blessed with. They're living in hiding, terrified of revealing themselves to the Authorities that hunt them.
But w...
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"A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality."
-John Lennon
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Everything was black. Rex's cries of pain vanished, the pounding of Titan's fists silencing suddenly. The itch in the back of Soren's head grew stronger, begging to be scratched.
Someone was there. Ellis was there. For however long Ellis held him in this state, he was dreaming. Ellis's presence sifted through Soren's memories and thoughts, through every nook, leaving his mind naked and vulnerable.
White light crept across his vision, making Soren cringe. He heard voices—a familiar conversation. Then he heard her voice; the same voice that haunted him day and night.
"Mama, come back."
He was looking down on the girl, her chestnut hair draped over her lifeless mother—a vision that crept into his mind in the darkest hours of the night. Sobs rocked through her body—an action that was seared into his mind.
"Please."
The girl lifted her head. Following her line of sight, he looked upon his young adolescent self—his slight body, the scar slicing his cheek, the defeated, soul shredding look in his eyes.
"Why?" she asked.
He never knew the answer to that question, no matter how many people asked him about the horrible things he did. But how he wished he could answer her, give her some sort of explanation for why her mother died—tell her what he did to her mind that day, and witness the emotions cross her face when she realized how he had helped her.
But then the little girl was gone.
Shadows and blurs whipped around the scene in front of him transforming it to a room of black. Kraenite, the disgusting excuse of power. On the far side stood bars of the same stone. Not a room—a cell.
Laying on a bed next to the wall, was a girl. The hues of her hair sparked to life in his memory, her chestnut strands laying across her flat pillow at the same angle they draped across her dead mother.
