Sleep found him in the deeper darkness of a moonless night. His eyes drifted closed as he watched the stars beyond his window. The spider was absent this night, a good omen after a day filled with complex happenings, only some of which he had a clear eyed idea of what to do with. In slumber, echoes of coming dreams flitted across his mind. He was immersed in fleeting scenes with broken narratives, which blended together at their edges, obfuscating details and masking faces, so that he was left with no lasting impressions, would forget all of their myriad details by the time he awoke again.

  The dreams blended together, collapsed like sand in an hourglass, pouring out of him and leaving vacant space to be filled with something else. Something morose, even painful, which would sit with him for many days thereafter.

  A dull roar aroused him from a shallow slumber. Red glow filled the lone window in a room that was not his. A low wainscoting smoldered in places near that window, and outside, a hundred year oak was ablaze. Wide, burning fangs gnawed at the night sky. Vibrant tongues rolled over a manicured lawn at its feet. A peacock bolted across the yard, every eye in its long tail ablaze. It’s screams were lost beneath the raging crackle and roar of the blaze.

  He curled up against the wall, his bed an oasis underneath him and the room as hot as an oven around him. The fires had not reached him, but smoke pooled under a wooden door, promising a descent into the Pits of Amorahiya was forthcoming.

  Someone was beating on the door. Pounding inanely against it and calling to him. A girl’s voice, shrill with panic.

  “Lance!” she hollared. “Lance are you in there! The door is blocked! I can’t lift…climb through the window if you can!”

  A groan as she labored at something outside. She was crying.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t lift it. I can’t lift it.”

  “Andrea, I’m scared!” he said.

  He was a child. Maybe three years old, all knees and elbows. His round face was scrunched into a mask of raw terror, golden eyes wide with worry. Black shadow loomed under the posters of his bed, and he was sure the Nepherim—servants of Seraphel, Immortal Shadow of Judgment—had come to pull him into the pits. Had come to claim his soul.

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  Did I do something bad?

  Surely he had or the demons would not have come. The fires would not now be consuming his home. Where was his father? His mother? What had happened to them?”

  “Lance, please, listen to me.” The fight was leaking out of his sister’s voice. “The roof collapsed. There’s a beam in front of your door and I can’t lift it. I need you to open your window. Climb out onto the roof. I’ll try to get you down.”

  “O-okay.” He whined. “They won’t get me will they?”

  “Lance, there’s no one left. It’s just you and me. No one is going to get you. Just climb out your window, okay. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  He climbed over the edge of his bed and dropped onto the floor. The house groaned around him as he bolted to the window. A shudder ran through the floor. He pushed against the windowsill. It slid up a few inches. He pushed again with all his might. It wouldn’t budge.

  “I can’t get it!” he shouted.

  Tears streaked down his face. Smoke filled his nostrils, climbed down his throat. Harsh coughs wracked him. He shoved at the window again. It budged another few inches.

  “Can you get out?” she asked.

  “I’m trying!”

  He shoved again, and it budged enough he thought he might be able to get through. Head and shoulders, he scrambled to get through the gap.

  The windowsill grated against his back.

  “I can get out. I think I can!”

  “I’ll meet you outside, okay. I’ll meet you outside.”

  “NO DON’T LEAVE!”

  “I’ll see you in a moment, okay, Lance. I need you to be brave. Can you be brave for me.”

  “DON’T LEAVE, DON’T LEAVE, DON’T LEAVE!”

  Her footsteps carried her away in a rush. Thunder shook the house. He wiggled through the window. His chest was free now, chubby legs kicking at air behind him.

  Cold washed over his thighs. Cold and firm pressure.

  He screamed.

  And bolted upright, gasping.

  What was that? Where am I?

  He wiped thick sweat out of his eyes, cast about him, made sure he was safe. The fires were gone. The peculiar room in some far flung place was gone. He was in his barracks. He was safe.

  What was that?

  The girl’s voice filled his ears, an incessant refrain. I need you to be brave. Can you be brave? I need you to be brave. Can you be brave for me?

  I’m losing my mind. He looked out the window past Laramy’s bunk. The spider was absent. Thousands of stars dotted the sky. On nights like these, he thought of foxes. The stars belonged to the foxes, the first lords of fire. But their fires purified. There was nothing pure about what he had just experienced. Just fear, and loss, and pain. And the melancholic echoes of a trauma he thought he might have lived.