THE DREAM BENEATH THE ASHES

Daniel didn't know when the dream began.

One moment, he was lying beside Velma, her breath soft against his shoulder. The next, he was standing alone in a clearing—barefoot, shirtless, the cold air brushing against his skin like breath from another world.

The forest around him was silent.

Ancient.

The trees stretched impossibly tall, their trunks twisted like they had grown under pressure, bent and strained toward the sky. A heavy mist coiled between their roots. There was no path. No stars. No sound.

Only the faint crackle of fire somewhere far off.

Daniel looked down.

The ground was scorched—black, cracked soil beneath his feet. But the air didn't smell of smoke.

It smelled of blood.

He turned slowly, and behind him stood a woman.

She was tall—taller than any human should be—with skin like obsidian stone, smooth and shining as if carved. Her eyes glowed like coals—ancient, angry, and knowing. Her robes were layered in red and shadow, billowing softly though no wind stirred.

Daniel's throat tightened.

He didn't know her.

But something inside him did.

"Do you remember me?" she asked. Her voice echoed not just in his ears, but in his bones.

He couldn't speak.

She stepped closer. Her feet left no prints.

"You were made of fire," she whispered. "And I called you son."

Daniel stumbled back. "What is this?"

The woman smiled—slow, sad, terrible. "You don't remember. Of course not. They made you forget. But your blood remembers. And your time has come again."

"I'm dreaming," Daniel said hoarsely. "This isn't real."

"Dreams are the only place you are still real," she said. "The world above has sealed you away in a lie. A name. A wife. A life not yours."

Daniel clenched his fists. "Velma is my wife. That is my life."

The woman's face did not change. "Velma… sweet girl. She sees it already. She hears the house speaking. She feels the shadows. She knows your blood is not asleep."

He tried to move, to run, but the forest twisted. The sky above cracked open—not with stars, but with eyes—thousands of them blinking down at him, red and molten.

"Who are you?" he shouted.

She looked at him with a strange tenderness. "I am the one who gave your mother what she begged for. She traded a womb for a weapon."

"I'm not a weapon," he breathed.

"You were never meant to be just a man," the woman said. "You are mine. Born of pact and power. And the world will remember you soon—whether you want it to or not."

The ground beneath his feet glowed suddenly—markings forming like fire beneath the surface, lines and sigils and circles glowing deep crimson.

Daniel fell to his knees.

His head pulsed.

His skin burned.

And a name echoed all around him, over and over:

"Azrah'el."

"Azrah'el."

"Azrah'el."

Not Daniel.

Not the name he knew.

It roared in his blood.

It clawed at the walls of his mind.

"Wake up," he whispered to himself. "Wake up—wake up—wake—"

---

He jolted awake.

Gasping. Soaked in sweat. Chest heaving like he had drowned.

Velma sat up instantly, startled. "Daniel?"

He looked around wildly, eyes adjusting to the dark. The room was quiet. The moonlight still poured through the curtains. But the forest was gone.

So was she.

Velma touched his shoulder gently. "You're shaking."

He leaned into her, breathing hard. "Just… a bad dream."

She ran her hand up and down his back, her voice soft but firm. "What did you see?"

Daniel hesitated.

The name still echoed faintly in his ears.

Azrah'el.

He swallowed hard. "Nothing. Just shadows and fire. I don't even remember it."

But he did.

And for the first time in his life, he felt afraid of himself.

---

The next morning, Velma noticed something.

Daniel was quiet.

Distracted. He smiled when she spoke, but it was thin. Not the kind of smile that reached his eyes.

He stood at the window too long.

He drank his coffee without tasting it.

She asked if he was okay.

He said yes.

But she knew he was lying.

Because something inside him had changed overnight.

And it was only just beginning