Jacey dreamed.

Blond hair whipped around his frail figure, tying in knots. The wind howled around him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He tilted his head back, staring straight at the shining sun. The light caressed him, chasing away the chill of the wind.

His lips moved as if not his own, the voice seemed strange, the words nothing he'd ever heard before and yet he knew them by heart. Shivers of power trickled through his body, hands flung out to the sky.

/Not my body/ a small voice spoke from outwith the dream. Too tall. Too old.

"Child of the Sun," another voice spoke. "High priest. Saviour." The words hung in the air. He did not look to the speaker.

"They're coming," he murmured softly, staring straight at the sun, wishing the warm rays could chase away his sense of foreboding. "Had the midsummer feast been prepared?"

"Yes M'lord. You have a vision?"

"I see dark clouds on the horizon."

"There's nothing there."

"I know," he replied, clutching tighter to his staff, trying to draw strength from the wood.

"Must we hand the skies back to the Night."

"Yes, it is the way of the seasons," Jacey replied. "It is only until midwinter." An eternity and more. Why did he feel as if something would go wrong.

The priests of night arrived, carrying with them flagons of bitter wine for the ceremony. Two temples celebrated as one, limbs became leaden, sleep overcame as the sun faded from the skies and night eclipsed day forever.

Jacey awoke, body aching, head throbbing for a moment he thought he was back in his bed.

Limbs bound by ropes he struggled, wrists, ankles rubbed red raw.

"So you're finally awake."

Jacey shuddered at that voice, that tone wisps of memory, sweaty hands, heavy breathing.

/A dream, it's just a dream,/ he tried to remind himself.

Pain flowered on his shoulder, agony tore through the roots of his hair as his head was dragged up to meet cold blue eyes.

"I was speaking to you."

"Why?" one word that contained a depth of meaning. Why had they been betrayed.

"Because," it wasn't an answer at all.

"WHY?" Jacey virtually spat the word.

A dagger was drawn, sparkling silver in the moonlight, the dream dissolved into a crimson mist of blood.

Jacey awoke screaming, sweat soaked sheets clinging to his slight frame. Trembling he slid off his bed searching for a candle to scare away the shadows of the night.

Shaking hands tried desperately to coax a flame onto the wick.

Alone. So alone.

A spark flickered in the dark, the shadows loomed briefly before retreating to their corners. Clutching the lifeline of light desperately he returned to his bed, placing the candle on the night stand he retreated back under the covers, clinging to the light like a moth to the flame.

Sleep did not come again.