The unsettling premonition from the previous day lingered, a heavy weight on Rex's chest. He found himself drawn back to his recurring dreams, the fragmented memories more vivid than ever. He sat by the village pond, the usually tranquil water mirroring the turmoil within him. He closed his eyes, allowing the images to wash over him.
This time, the city in his dream was clearer – grand buildings of polished stone, bustling streets, and the faint scent of expensive perfumes. He saw himself and Ren, younger, their faces still carrying the soft contours of childhood. Ren, ever the adventurous one, was a whirlwind of energy, his laughter echoing in Rex's memory. Ren, with his unruly black hair and bright eyes, was always the first to climb the highest trees, the first to explore the deepest caves. He was impulsive, fearless, a whirlwind of chaotic energy that Rex, more cautious and contemplative, often found himself struggling to keep pace with.
Rex remembered Ren's relentless energy, his ability to find joy in the simplest things, his infectious laughter that could brighten even the darkest day. He remembered his own hesitancy, his tendency to overthink, his quiet contemplation that often contrasted sharply with Ren's boundless enthusiasm. They were opposites, yet their bond was unbreakable, forged in shared experiences and a deep-seated affection.
He saw a recurring image: a lavish birthday party, filled with brightly dressed people and the sweet aroma of cake. Ren, beaming, offered him a slice, urging him to join the festivities. But Rex, lost in thought, always declined, preferring the quiet solitude of his training. He felt a pang of regret, a sense of longing for those simpler times, a time before the darkness consumed their world.
The dreams, however, always shifted from these joyful scenes to images of chaos and violence—a blur of shadows and flashing steel, the screams of people, a sense of impending danger. He saw himself and Ren, separated amidst the chaos, their desperate attempts to reunite ending in a horrific separation.
Tonight, the flashback was different. The memory was sharp, brutal, and terrifyingly clear. He was seven years old, holding Ren's hand, his brother's face filled with worry. They were inside a large house, opulent and grand, very unlike the simple dwellings of Everwood. The air was thick with the scent of fear. Then, a sudden eruption of violence – men in black, their faces hidden by shadows, their movements swift and deadly. A cacophony of shattering glass, the screams of terrified people, the glint of steel.
He saw a flash of light, a blinding explosion, and a searing pain that made him cry out, even in the dream. He was separated from Ren in the chaos, and then... darkness again. The dream ended abruptly, leaving Rex gasping for breath, his heart pounding.
This time, the dream felt different. It felt real. The vividness of the memory, the sheer intensity of the emotions, left him shaken. The idyllic peace of Everwood felt fragile, the familiar comfort of his life in jeopardy. He knew instinctively that the seemingly random attack on Everwood wasn't random at all. It was linked to the chaotic vision he'd just experienced, the violence that had torn his childhood apart, the trauma that left him separated from his brother, his only connection to his lost past. He knew that the quiet life he had found in Everwood was about to be irrevocably shattered. A terrible premonition, cold and sharp, settled over him. The night of his childhood trauma was about to be repeated.