Ferri, Roberto. 'Fallen Angel'. 2011
Words: 504
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The Summer Solstice
He blinked his eyes, lids heavy with sleep, as they adjusted to the dark room around him. Gradually, he could begin to make out a wooden desk and a chair cloaked in shadow. Within the depths of the chair's shadow sat another shadow, deeper and darker, a nearly formless silhouette that seemed to defy the very essence of light itself. ¹
"Castellan."
The voice pierced through the silence, sounding colder than the chills that were spreading from the base of Luke's spine. And like all his dreams, Luke found himself unable to speak back.
"You are wasting time," the voice continued, its words devoid of warmth or mercy, yet carrying with them a weight that seemed to crush Luke's very soul. Guilt flooded through him like a torrential wave, drowning him in the realisation of his own greed. Choking him with his selfishness.
"The boy is in the casino as we speak, but time grows short."
"Do you think I wouldn't notice your little distraction?" The emotionless form spat out, its tone laced with a disdain that cut through the air like a blade forged of ice. Luke felt the weight and implication pressing down on him, the pressure squeezing the breath from his lungs, suffocating him.
"There is too much at stake for some daughter of Apollo to jeopardise your mission," it continued, the name of the sun god uttered with a venomous contempt that sent a shiver down Luke's spine. As if Apollo's very essence was something vile in its mouth. Something bitter and rotten.
"If the time comes, you must be ready to eliminate her."
The ringing in his ears became deafening, drowning out all other sounds. Luke felt his chest constricting, a vice-like grip squeezing the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath in the suffocating darkness. It was as if the weight of the shadow's command was crushing him from within, a relentless force that threatened to overwhelm him entirely.
He tried to move, to open his mouth and draw in a desperate lungful of air, but his body remained frozen in place, unresponsive to his commands.
Panic surged through him as he struggled against the invisible bonds that held him captive, his mind racing with a primal instinct to flee, to escape the oppressive grip of the vision that threatened to consume him whole.
"Do what must be done or another will take your place."
Suddenly, Luke burst back into consciousness, his blood pumping loudly in his ears, the echoes of the shadow's words like a chorus. His clothes clung to his skin, drenched with sweat or perhaps rain from the walk, he couldn't quite remember. In the oppressive darkness of his room, he lay still, paralysed by the fear that gripped him, afraid to move for fear that he would once again be confronted by the formless silhouette, that he never actually left the dream.
That he will never leave the dream.
He felt something within him start to rot.
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¹ Stover, Mathew. 'Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith'. 2005
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Till Sunrise ┊Luke Castellan
FanfictionLuke Castellan ✧. ┊ Percy Jackson and the Olympians ✧. ┊ ｡･:*˚:✧｡ "At a touch of love, everyone becomes a poet." - Plato ｡･:*˚:✧｡ Words: 58,442 (Contains spoilers from the books)
