The gift of dreaming had always been two-edged. Every dream brought a nightmare. If he dreamed of something beautiful, the cruel reality became a nightmare when he woke up. But usually, when he slept, he was alone in the dark, and nothing moved or could be heard.
It was the same now. In the darkness of the dream, Zeir's soul cried out for help. He called for friends, loved ones, even enemies in the hope of escaping his torments. But he had no friends, he had no one close to him, only enemies, but even those were dead, their lives cut down by his own hands. Whatever he did, he remained in the dark.
Every time his dreams reminded him of the horrible deeds he had committed, the lives he had taken, the blood that stained his whole body and soul, Zeir tried to convince himself that there was no goodness anywhere in the world. With such an overabundance of evil in the universe, how much does another evil matter?
