Corpses of War.

It was odd that I had fallen asleep so quickly, as if a blanket of exhaustion had been drawn over my being. Typically I would lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling in a seemingly mindless manner, which was quite contrary to the fact that my mind was racing a mile a minute, replaying random events and conversational exchanges between Tom and I. It was incredible to think that it had already been three years since he had disappeared; a number that generally expressed a small amount was suddenly a staggering reminder that years were not short and his absence was becoming more difficult to cope with each passing day.

Generally my dreams were nothing of the interesting sort, typically made up of a simple black screen against my eyelids. Tonight was different. Tonight there was an array of colors, like an offset acid trip consisting of simply distorted rainbows and muffled voices… voice. I had heard the voice before, but it wasn’t one I frequently encountered, in fact it reminded me of—… No, there was no way it was he.

… Shadow Moses?

I must have been going mad. I had just paired the voice in this psychedelic dream to that of one I had only heard a few times in my entire life, and the number of times I had I could count on a single hand. And yet at the same time there seemed to be no other explanation, no other possibility. The colors shifted and shimmered against the black surroundings in which I now somehow stood, as if trying to form shapes but to no avail. How had I come to be in such a place? Where had the voice gone? Taking a cautious step forward, it didn’t take long for me to find myself sinking into the seemingly nonexistent floor, and yet it was consuming my foot, making it invisible to the eye but I could still feel it, still move it.

“Show yourself!” I opened my mouth but the words didn’t come out, and yet they still reverberated throughout the scene somehow. The colors twisted about themselves, like snakes trying to eat their own tails, and when it seemed like they were going to succeed, there was a bright flash of light, and before me stood a terrifyingly familiar figure. Clad in a split colored cloak, the figure held an object in each hand; one held a dagger, and the other a set of skeleton keys. Upon its face was a gold mask, and from one of the vacant eye sockets there was a black ooze dripping from it. The left side was covered in scars, however most were likely hidden by the dark purple robe about its humanoid form. On the right it was dressed in a white robe, apparently free of scars hold for the… Was that a keyhole in the center of its chest?

“Young Sleepwalker, your time of glory has come.” The voice shook the entire area, and my hands abandoned the efforts of trying to remove my foot from the flooring in order to clasp over my ears to keep them from ringing. Whether the words had come from this figure or not was unclear, but they hadn’t come from me so I figured they must have been his—I say “his” because it was quite a deep tone in which it had spoken. Raising its arms out in between us, the masked figure held up the two items before me at eye level. The fact that the dagger was so close made me feel nauseous and my hands returned to tugged at my rooted foot. “You must choose your fate.”

I stopped then, looking up at this man with an expression of complete shock and disbelief. My fate? Was this guy crazy or something? ‘You’re only dreaming remember, this isn’t real.’

“This is very real, Sleepwalker,” the voice echoed, and this time the figure adjusted its eye-line in order to match mine. Black began to seep from beneath the mask now, but only on the left side, just as the eye had and continued to. It began to raise the dagger above my head then and I felt like I was going to be sick, but then it spoke again, saying, “Take the dagger and you will join the Empire and the terrible goal it is working towards.” Dropping the weapon to its side, it raised the other arm now. “Choose the keys and you will guide your people—our people to safety. You will defeat the Empire.”

Talk about an intense dream.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I breathed, shaking my head as I willed myself to stand up straight, but an ever present dizziness prevented me from doing so. Shaking my head once again, I bent over, hands on my knees as I focused on taking deep breathes to try and keep my head from spinning and rolling off my shoulders. “I’m not going to do either of those. I’m just a kid, a really pissed off kid at that, but I’m no solider.” Somehow I produced a laugh, but it ended up sounding like a balloon hissing as it lost its air. “… I’m just a kid.” The words were a beg now.

"You are the chosen one,” the voice answered; the keys were brought down to my eye level. The white metal glistened brightly despite the dull lighting about us. “You have been chosen to lead our people, Oliver. Take these; you will need them in your ventures as our Sleepwalker.”

It was only after this mention of such a thing did I ask come to think of asking what that meant. “Sleepwalker? What… What are you talking about?”

“It is told that a great hero would arise from our people, a hero that would be known as the Sleepwalker. It is a gift, Oliver. The Sleepwalker is untouchable during his waking hours, able to lead an army through a shower of bullets and come out unscathed every time. You have always had this blessing, but it has only now been awakened in our peoples’ time of great need.” The keys were brought closer to my face, and as much as I wanted to draw away from the advancement, I couldn’t seem to move at all. “You must be warned, however. Once you awaken from this dream the Wolf will gain knowledge of your ability and seek to extinguish you, which he can only do while you are asleep. You are most vulnerable when you are asleep: It is only here—in your dreams—where you can perish. Heed my warning, the Fox will come for you while you sleep with every chance he gets.”

Suddenly I was clutching the keys in one hand, still using the other to support my hunched position. The metal grew warm, so warm that I believed it was going to burn my palm, but there was no pain, and soon a calming wave of relief washed over my being and I relaxed. The figure retreated then, stepping backwards slowly, but did not disappear until it spoke for a final time.

“My men will be loyal to you, Sleepwalker. They will come to your aid when you need them most. Remember the Crooked Youth as well, remember your people.” Within the next blink of an eye, the figure had vanished, leaving me crippled over and in a state of total confusion. What had just transpired? I hadn’t even gotten a word in to ask who he was, but a part of me knew I didn’t need to because I had known who it was all along. It had been the Shadow Moses, that much I knew, but that was about where my knowledge on this event seemed to end. Despite all of the information I had been given, I felt as if I had retained none of it.

Sleepwalker?

It sounded more like a disorder than a gift.

Somehow I brought myself to stand up straight, grasping the ring of keys in my hand. How was I supposed to defeat the Empire with a set of keys? What, was I supposed to open all their doors and pester them to death? That seemed highly unlikely. Staggering forward a few steps, I was then jolted to the floor, and suddenly my eyes opened, breaking away from the floating colors to now reveal reality and the pale ceiling of my room that hung above my terribly confused head.

“Oliver, time for dinner!” Those had been the words that had awoken me, the words I had asked my mother to send up to me once she was finished with the meal preparation. Sitting up, I brought my hands to my face in order to try and rub off the odd discomfort that crawled over my skin, only to feel my blood run cold.

The ring of keys was still in my hand.