To David it felt like the tearing of sharp, gnashing teeth against flesh, but only inside his head, every time he would slam a barrier between his mind and the thought-construct: a huge gaping mouth filled with fangs and armed with claws. But those hungry jaws always prevailed; it tore through his shields of resistance, his memories slipping from his grasp, one by one, leaving a terrifying blankness in his mind.  He cried out, not as much from pain, but from a desperate fear that he was losing himself, piece by piece. David saw his childhood memories disappear into the mouth, and he struggled anew.

Then he saw himself standing on a hill.  It was their favorite place, him and Gran and Grandpa.  But the trees swayed, caught in a strong wind, bare of leaves, the hill scoured as if a great storm was upon it.  He was five years old—no, he was older, surely, but he couldn't remember ever being more than five.

Coming toward him and filling the horizon was a whirlwind of teeth and claws.  He screamed and hurled a whirlwind of his own, a mind-shield that slammed at the thought-construct, momentarily stopping its course. But the gaping jaws started to rip through the storm.

"Save your strength, child."  A familiar, well-loved voice admonished him.  He turned, surprised to see his grandmother at his side.

'Gran!  Is it really you?' He gasped as the pain of the rending hit him, sending him to his knees.

His grandmother only nodded, her green eyes filled with weariness.  She placed a gnarled hand on his shoulder, and strength flowed into him, enough to reinforce his barriers. The mouthful of teeth roared, unable to find purchase in the mind-storm.

"Listen to me, Davy,"  Gran said calmly, belying the urgency in her tone. "I haven't much time.  Remember the box in your dreams?  The box that I told you must never be opened?"

"Yes, I remember,"  said the boy, one eye at the hideous jaws above them—it seemed to be coming closer by the minute—the other seeing a plain black box, its lid tightly shut as to appear seamless, sitting in a dark corner in his mind that could be reached only when he dreamed. "I was three, at the time, but I remember that much.  You  told me not to open it—a box of horrors, you said."

Gran smiled at the thought. "It is.  But not the box.  That one can be opened, if all else fails, but the chest inside it must never be opened." The green eyes met his, hard and compelling. "Promise me you will guard it with your life."

"I promise," he whispered, not understanding, but as he said those words, a chill ran through his mind, and he knew he would die first before that oath was broken.

Teeth and claws scoured the hurricane above them, and the boy shuddered.

"Gran, why is this happening?  Please make them stop hurting!"

His grandmother looked at him, the hardness in her gaze replaced by regret and pity.  He noticed that she was fading, becoming transparent by the second.  Her time was running out. David grasped her hand, afraid to let go.

"Laareth—Darkness—remember his name." His grandmother spoke as if from far away. "We thought we could hide you, keep you forever safe from his reach. But it is not to be."

Gran touched his cheek with a hand that trembled, her eyes glistening.  She was barely visible, and he could hardly hear her. "You must be strong, as your father before you. Do not fight it.  Save your strength until the final moment. Your Power may be your downfall,  but in  your  greatest need it will preserve you . . . "

She was gone.  Her last words echoing in his thoughts, and with her all measure of hope.

Then the gaping maw was upon him, crashing through his defenses.  He cried out as it tore at his mind, consuming his remaining memories.

: See what comes of defiance.:  Rasping laughter, like acid in his mind.

His grandparents disappeared into the mouth, as if they never existed.

Detached, he saw himself an infant, a tiny thing enclosed in someone's arms, a man with eyes the color of sage in summer smiling over him . . .

Primitive thoughts of hunger and comfort—those relentless jaws devoured them all.

Floating inside an enclosed space, safe in his mother's womb—then nothing but darkness.

Nothing but the emptiness inside him, and the constant burning of his flayed mind.

Who was this fanged, clawed thing, he wondered?  It looked confused and puzzled, as it whirled around in the emptiness.

: Where is it?  I must have it! :  It grated angrily.

Its voice hurt him and he shrank away from the thing—into a dark corner where a black box stood, unnoticed.  Something—a feeling—told him that the mouthful of teeth must not have that box, or what was inside it, at all costs.

Too late!  It swiveled around the corner and found him.  In his mind's eye he clutched at the box protectively.

: The secret of the Shield, give it to me.  It is pointless to resist, child.:

'No,' he said, surprised at his own calm.  'If you want it so bad, take it.  But you'll have to kill me first.'

: So be it!:

The whirlwind of teeth and claws pounced on him—at the very core of his mind, tearing and ripping.  His mind screamed in terrible agony, no longer able to defend itself.

After what seemed like eternity, the beast left him, mind-shattered.  Agony traveled down his body, still clasped by the Myrdraath, throwing it into convulsions.  But a part of his dying mind held on to life, watching as the thought-construct clawed at the box, lifting the lid—

A surge of unparalleled Power struck the hideous mouth with such force that it burst, teeth and claws flying, disintegrating.  Suddenly severed from its victim, the Myrdraath staggered in shock, dropping the unconscious boy to the floor.  Uncontrolled Power swelled like a torrent into the boy's mind, filling the emptiness to bursting with life.

The overflow traveled through his body,

and  out . . .