Is time real? I mean, do you ever get that feeling that you have dreamed situations before; that maybe, just maybe, you are reliving your life a second time, that this has already happened? The crisp and clear images of forgotten dream flash before your very eyes and you wonder whether life is real, if the very fabric of time you think you reside in is real, or if you are in fact, dreaming. Time… is calling. Time… is repeating, always.
Cynric woke with a start. The rampant beating of his heart woke him, and his mind raced with thoughts and images of the vivid nightmare that had startled him. Trying to remember every detail was like trying to hold water in a pitcher full of holes; and the harder he tried to remember, the faster the images of the dream seemed to flow out of those holes. Desperate, he grabbed his notebook he kept on his nightstand. Pen in place, he started scribbling furiously:
“Lines of people, all aligned in a military fashion. So many people… A vast country-side… Political or religious crusades? Both? Farrell is amongst the ones in the lines, I am looking out on a hill. Am I leading this, or am I looking from afar?”
The pitcher full of dreams was now empty and Cynric, befuddled, was left only with his thoughts and notebook full of scribbles from the recent reoccurring dream. For weeks now, this dream had haunted his subconscious; Cynric was tired of it, but felt like this annoyance was somehow important. He had been writing down what he could remember for the last couple of days, and could never get past his vision of himself on the hill. He felt empowered every single time he woke from the dream; however it was a complex feeling, full of sadness and regret, but also of power and valor.