As the laughter subsided and the fire dwindled, the group settled down for the night. The stars twinkled above them, a silent testament to the battles they had fought and the bonds they had formed.
As Benjo drifted off to sleep, his mind was filled with the revelations of the day. His father, the Dark Sorcerer. His brother, the dark warlock. And him, caught in the middle.
In the depths of his slumber, a nightmare took hold. He saw himself standing tall, a cloak of darkness swirling around him. He was powerful, commanding, feared. He was the enemy.
He watched as Rico, Lyra, and even his brother stood against him, their eyes filled with determination. He could feel the surge of power, the intoxicating lure of the dark magic. But he also felt a pang of regret, a sense of loss.
He woke up with a start, his heart pounding. The dream had felt so real, so terrifying. He looked around, his eyes taking in the sleeping forms of his friends. They were safe, and he was not the enemy.
The dream had been a reminder of the path he could take, the path his father and brother had taken. But he was not them. He was Benjo, the chosen one, the protector of Lumina. And he would not let the darkness consume him.