We didn't have prep assignments that night, so I went to sleep earlier than usual. My body felt drained in a way that had nothing to do with being tired, like something had been pulling energy from me all day.
I knew I was dreaming because everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time. You know that feeling when you're underwater and can hear your heartbeat but nothing else? It was like that, but worse.
The ground beneath me was cracked black earth, dusty and dead. The sky looked like it had been ripped open and stitched back together wrong, all jagged purple scars against a sickly yellow background. I wasn't in Central anymore. Hell, I wasn't anywhere that belonged to the normal world.
And then I saw them. Giants. No—gods. Just... standing there in a perfect circle around something I couldn't see yet. Seven of them, each one massive and glowing, floating above the dead dirt like they owned the air itself. Their forms kept shifting, like my dream-brain couldn't quite process what it was looking at.
They looked tired. Scared, even. And if gods could be scared, that was probably a bad sign. In the center of their circle was another figure—one of them, but different. This one was made of fire and rage and something worse than both. He didn't have a proper face, just this grin that stretched too wide and eyes that looked like they'd watched stars die for entertainment.
"You're all weak," the fire-man said, and his voice was like grinding stone. "You gave up your teeth when the Universe needed you most. I kept mine."
One of the other gods raised a hand—not in greeting, but like a warning. When she spoke, her voice shook the entire dream, made the cracked ground tremble.
"You've broken the earth six times over, brother."
"You drain everything," said another, this one shimmering like water made of starlight. "The oceans, the air, the people— they're all dying because of your hunger."
"We trusted you with the power of the ancient," whispered a third, and somehow the whisper was louder than the shouting. "And now you've become the very thing mortals needed protection from."
The gods began to glow brighter, their power building like a storm. I could feel the energy crackling in the air, making my teeth ache even through the dream. They were preparing for something massive.
That's when the fire-god's head snapped toward me. Not in the general direction of where I was watching—directly at me. Like he could see through the dream itself.
What the hell?
"There you are," he said, and his grin got wider. "You're watching, aren't you, little vessel?"
My stomach flipped. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. I felt like I was stuck in thick honey, trapped in my own dream while this thing stared at me with eyes like dying suns.
This is just a dream. Wake up, Ernesto.
"You're carrying a piece of me," he continued, taking a step closer. The other gods were still building their attack, but he ignored them completely. "A piece that doesn't belong to you. You have to surrender what isn't yours, because I am about to awaken."
Take whatever you want. I didn't ask for any of this. His fire flared brighter, and I could feel the heat even through the dream. It burned like the liquid those cradlewalkers had poured down my throat—the same golden fire that had exploded out of me in the grave.
"Don't forget who I am," he said, his voice getting louder, more real. The other gods were moving now, positioning themselves like soldiers. "I am Ramapho—"
And then they struck—fast, together, like a net of light snapping shut around him. Seven gods hitting him all at once with everything they had, and the world exploded into white-hot nothing.
The blast wave hit me like a physical force, and I was falling, screaming, burning—
"Ramaphosa!" The name tore from my throat as I bolted upright.
"Nesto! Nesto!"
Someone was tapping on my shoulder, shaking me back to reality. My eyes snapped open and I was gasping, covered in sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs. The golden energy was flickering under my skin again, visible in the dim morning light.
It was Derrick, leaning over me with concern written all over his face. "Dude, you were thrashing around and yelling. Are you okay?"
I sat up, blinking in the morning light streaming through our window. Usually I was the first one awake, but apparently my divine nightmare had other plans. I pressed my hands against my eyes, trying to make the golden flicker fade.
"What time is it?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
"Almost seven," Derrick said. "James already left for his final processing, and Clinton's in the shower. You were really out of it—I've been trying to wake you up for like ten minutes."
Ramaphosa. The name echoed in my head like a warning bell. The fire-god from my dream—he felt real. More real than anything I'd ever experienced. And he was waking up.
"I'm fine," I lied, running my hands through my hair. "Just a weird dream."
"Must have been some dream," Derrick said, sitting on the edge of my bed. "You kept saying some name over and over. Rama-something."
Shit. "I don't remember," I said quickly. "You know how dreams are."
But I did remember. Every detail, every word, every moment of that cosmic showdown. And the worst part was the feeling that it wasn't just a dream—it was like a message. Or a warning.
Ramaphosa was coming. And when he woke up, he was going to want his power back. The power I didn't ask for and definitely didn't want to keep.
"Ernesto," Derrick said, studying my face. "You sure you're okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Not a ghost. A god. And he's pissed.
"I'm fine," I said again, forcing a smile. "Just need some coffee and I'll be good as new."
But as I got up to get ready for the day, I felt that strange hunger stirring again—stronger now, more insistent. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I could swear I heard the echo of grinding stone laughter.
Whatever was coming, I had a feeling coffee wasn't going to be enough to fix it.