The dream does not take place in Croma, even after all the reading I did on that land. Even filled with information, both incidental and important, I couldn't conjure even an imaginary glimpse of that land. The dream I'm living now, however, is just as lucid. There is a dark hallway, a red light glinting against the window. The curtains look black in the inky depths of night time; the place looks damned, like one of the circles of Hell. I'm alone, wandering. There is a draft, although the windows are closed and there is no door. I look for a light switch with my air, but find none. Either there are no light switches, or I have no wind.

I wander into a room, where the flowing curtain waves me forward. There is a song playing. It is unmistakingly "Fuel" by Metallica; I couldn't miss those lyrics anywhere. My brow pinches, and I step deeper into the room. "Is there anyone in here?"

The music switches off. There's a click after the absence of James Hetfield's perfect voice, leading me to think it must have been playing on a CD somewhere instead of downloaded; I didn't know anyone who downloaded music anymore. I glanced around the room, although my eyes were greeted by the pits of blackness replacing every object around me. A sudden chill rushed up my arms, sending them up in goosebumps. I attempted to warm them with my hands, glancing about for a source of light.

"I can kill you, if I wanted to," I call in threat, afraid under the dominance in my tone. There is a shuffle of someone rising up out of bed, their feet hitting the floor. "Who are you?"

"Emma? Emma, are you awake?" It was Mary's voice, drowned in concern. "You're up, Sis. Did you have those night terrors again? Are you recovered?"

"I'm never recovered," I answer without thinking, sticking my hands in a raggedy hoodie's pockets. I didn't even know I had those clothes on. "When did you get to my home?"

I can hardly see in this Hell, so I am surprised when her arms suddenly clasp around me. Mary isn't much of a hugger, either, so I have that going against my common sense as well. I pat her knotted black curls with a hand. Half ignoring the embrace, I glance around. There is suddenly light. The place is ruined, speckles of light shining through cracked spaces in the wooden wall. It suddenly looks midday outside. The curtain stops flowing, lying still over the spider web-pattern cracks on the window. The bed is rough with yellow splotches over it, and the blankets are all just towels. Cobwebs litter the walls, as does the dust. For a moment, I wonder why my home looks so ruined. Then, I realised I have never seen this house before in my life.

"Emma," says my best friend, "This is our home."

***

The Saturday dawn began with a frantic discovery.

I rose out of bed, yawning as I rubbed my dark eyes. School took a lot out of me, especially when I naturally woke up early on weekends. Like a routine, my phone went off in it's text tone, "The Unforgiven II". The small device seemed to tell people exactly when I woke up. Either that, or it psychically woke me moments before I got a message. I reached over with one popping limb, and clicked to see it.

It read, "Hey, this is Fango. Oliver gave me your number after he got it from Mary. You awake?"

Narrowing my eyes, I replied, "No."

"Good. :) You read Dillan's book?"

I stiffened, wondering if I should answer to that. After a moment, I decided to answer honestly. After all, he was friends with the tacosexual. He probably knew about it. "Yes," I answered to Fango's question. I waited for his reply.

In seconds came, "And? What do you think?"

"Creative," I lied.

Fango didn't respond. I had no problem with his silence; I partially trusted my thoughts with Dillan because of how perfectly he explained everything, but not Fango. He'd most likely think I was hysterical, believing that. Then again, didn't the book list Fango as an Extant? Whatever... I won't trust him until I get more proof... I slid to the edge of my bed and popped my back, stretching.

Instead of going to get breakfast, I went over to my computer. I shoved aside my earlier stress involving Croma, and became alive with a new worry: my little unborn sibling. And so, for nearly an hour and a half, I sat on the computer questioning everything from poop color to healthy birth. My heart warmed.

I slid off of the chair, ready to eat. However, before I could even open the door, "The Unforgiven II" played softly from my dresser. Sighing, I sauntered over and clicked the message.

"Emma, check the news." It was from Oliver.

Brow arching in question, I walked out of the room. I turned the television on, and continued to make a coffee.

"Milton Alabama came under a devastating discovery today," said the woman holding a microphone. "Ten people have vanished in what law enforcement believes is a sort of trafficking movement."

I poured the black coffee into my mug and walked over to get the creamer. Just once, I'd love it if there were no crimes. Why can't I turn the news on and the lady be like, 'Hey, nobody died today'? Dear Croma, people and their violence and greed... I had the feeling 'Dear Croma" was going to become a phrase for me.

"First Grade teacher Jenna Fontenot along with her student Macy Flores have vanished. If it weren't for eight similar movements, police would have suggested the teacher had kidnapped her student. Two brothers, Steven and Adam Grey, have also been abducted."

Although it is tragic, why would Oliver call on me to witness this? To make me aware? In all honesty, I could easily harm a kidnapper with my air if I wasn't able to harm them with my physical self. I dumped two spoonfuls of sugar in my coffee and began mixing.

"Other victims include a homeless man named Sheldon Wright, a banker named Joseph Jill, a single mother and waitress Beth Foster, college student Phil Baker, infant William Grey, and Middle School student Mary Clarkson."

I spat out my coffee, choking, wide eyes trained on the blonde woman showing the pictures of each victim. Mary's picture came up and, of course, I was in it. However, I was blurred. The memory of my best friend's eyes stared back at me with joy, her white teeth glinting at the camera with her smile. My own eyes met hers, welling with tears even as the picture flashed away. A hot, dry lump formed in the back of my throat.

"In each scene, there was a struggle. Each victim was taken from their home, and there were identical strange notes left at each scene."

I struggled to listen. At some point, I had dropped my coffee, and so it was shards of plastic and puddles of hot tan all over the floor. I swayed, dropping to my knees. The shattered mug's pieces dug into the smooth skin of my bare legs.

"The notes each held a symbol of a deranged mark that looked like a three." A picture of the note flashed behind the woman's head. It looked like the symbol that had shown up often in my Croma dreams: a three-looking figure, an angle at the top, a loop at the bottom. However, this one was flipped. "A symbology expert is working on looking to see if this has an occult meaning. If you have any information that could be helpful, call the number below. Next up, a shooting in Florence has spiked the crime rate dramatically..."

I covered my mouth and screamed. My throat burned, and my eyelids shut so hard it felt like my eyes would pop under the pressure. The shattered plastic dug like knives into my skin, and so the kitchen floor was streaked with blood and coffee. The air mingled with sugar and copper. My face felt like I'd just dunked it in hot water. I wasn't even sure where I was crying from anymore. Tears dribbled from every part of my face. For the first time since I was a small child, I prayed. I hated it, but I was so desperate...

My mother walked into the kitchen. "Emma, are you alright? What's going on?"

"Mary... She..." My voice crackled, and became so quiet that I couldn't even hear myself. "Mary has been kidnapped..."

Of course, my mother didn't hear me. She pulled me up from the red-and-cream puddle and held me to her chest. "Was it those night terrors?" She said it as if she didn't expect to be answered. And she wasn't. She pulled me over to the kitchen table, setting me down so that she could clean up the shards covering the floor.

Mary is gone...

After lost time, I went back into my room and isolated myself. I pulled my covers around me, grabbed my phone, ignored the five new messages, and pulled up my camera roll. Again and again, I flicked through pictures of my best friend and I. Gone... She can't be gone yet... Gone... Swallowing the bile in my throat, my mind played out everything that could have been happening to her. Torture. Death. Rape. Selling. In that moment, I regretted every time I watched the news and felt nothing but hatred for humanity when a crime came up. After all, each victim was someone's loved one. Someone's mother, someone's child, someone's lover... I hugged my knees to my chest, shuddering against the wall.

With courage, I glanced over the messages.

"You have the chance to win a brand new car from Nigeria! Just input your address, and we'll choose an address at random to send the car to!"

"hi emma this is delta did u watch the news :(?"

"This is Dillan... I'm so sorry about what happened..."

Fango sent, "I can't imagine the pain you are going through right now. Now that the law won't give up on the victims, and neither will we. We'll fight this... Call me when you get this."

Oliver messaged, "If you want to talk, I'm just next door."

I was filled with a sudden rage. My blood was hotter than my tears, and hatred boiled inside of me. There had to be something I could do before something actually happened to Mary. I called Fango, the urge to kill shivering through me. When he picked up, I didn't even give him a chance to greet me. "Alright, mud boy, what do you have in mind?"

"If you weren't aware, I have computer skills. Better computer skills than other people. I can research this from a lot of different websites. In addition, I can hack into the police record of the kidnappings without leaving a trace or cookies on my computer. There's bound to be tons that they're leaving out of the public report."

"Alright," I said. "How do I play into this?"

Fango's service-muffled voice sounded annoyed. "I can string these crimes together. Matter of fact, I'm sure I already know who did it. However, I need to find out where they are keeping the victims. You're the physical part of this operation. We figured that since you are closest to one of the victims, you have more reason than anyone to do this."

"We?" I questioned, gritting my teeth.

"You think I'd go in alone?" scoffed Fango. "Dillan is helping me, and Delta will be helping you, along with Oliver. Although... We aren't sure if he's coming yet. He hasn't replied to us. Will you go ask him to help?"

"Whatever. Who do you think kidnapped Mary? And you know, Fango, calling them simply 'victims' won't take away the fact that they're human." I ducked into my backpack, pulling out my class notes to write down more urgent information on the back of.

"You wouldn't believe me, would you? It has to do with some people in Dillan's book."

"Lay it on me," I challenged, heartbeat fluttering.

"Dark Generals. Gary Bluethorne. Salt. Satan. Demons. You don't believe me, but the symbol proves it. Even if you don't believe that Croma exists, you've seen that symbol before, haven't you? It's the Croma symbol, adopted by the Kalos. The symbol in reverse is the Dark Army's logo. Each of the ten that they kidnapped is a candidate for Minium. Each has a little bit of Faerie in their bloodline."

"You're crazy," I whispered. Nevertheless, my pen harpooned across the notebook paper. "So, explain why they'd take a Minium."

The boy sighed, exasperated. "The Minium is the missing prophet. We have a prophet of every kingdom, save for Minium. If the Dark Army can find and corrupt them first, there will be no war against them. They'd have already won." There was a pause, and the line crackled. "What do you say? Will you work with me?"

"Yes. For Mary. And Fango?"

"Yes?"

"I believe this." I ended the call, and crawled back against the blanket folded up on my bed. Did I really believe in Croma? It really explained everything. My air, the dreams. I was in the game this time. I was part of the kingdom. And I was ready to fight... For Mary only.

***

I'm sitting in the library, which has become Oliver's adopted room. There is a heat spread across everything. It feels lost, as if the temperature is a human away from home rather than just uncomfortable. Oliver is by my side, kneeling. I sit up immediately, growling as I toss my gaze over to him. "When did I get here?"

His blue eyes widen in surprise. "You're awake. Completely awake."

"Yeah, I know. What do you know about Mary?"

"Quick to the point..." My Apotropaic mutters, pushing himself off of the ground. Through the curtain of shock white hair, he frowns. "She is the Minium. It is certain. Of course, the celebrating will hold off until we actually have her. There's proof the Dark Generals took her: she isn't even in Croma. I hope she's alright..."

It isn't even a dream to me. Everything is vivid, and my thoughts all make sense. It's only an alternate reality. I am completely awake, and I don't plan to ever sleep. I push myself out of him chain, aching. "The missing element is fire, right? That's what this heat is. The castle is on fire outside. Just like the tornadoes that showed up when you found me."

"You don't seem very shocked," muttered Carter from behind me. I turned to him. His gray eyes were seething, and his dirty blonde hair was as messy as ever.

"No," I agreed. "I'm determined. I'm going to save Mary." A grin creased my face. "All you have to do is show me who to fight."

The pic is the closest to Nahara I could find. Minus the icy blue eyes. Vote, comment, thanks for the reads! Still lacking a book cover!