Born Tomorrow, Chapter 1: The Dream
Evan jolted upright, heart hammering like it was trying to escape through his ribs.
Dark room. Ceiling fan spinning slowly. No burning sky. No falling stars. No castle.
Just his bedroom.
But the dream clung to him—sharp and vivid. A stone castle beneath a bruised sky. Stars falling like glitter on fire. And a voice, whispering through wind and time:
“You’re not ready. But you will be.”
He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face like it might scrub the memory away. Spoiler: it didn’t. He reached for the notepad by his lamp and scribbled, same as always:
French castle. Falling stars. Her voice. Still don’t know who “she” is.
The notebook had half a dozen pages just like it. A dream diary he didn’t mean to keep, but couldn’t stop writing in.
In the hallway, the thump of push-ups shook the wall like a polite earthquake.
Cassian was up.
A second later, came the voice—gravelly, too loud, and way too cheerful for six in the morning:
“Let’s go, princess. It’s game day.”
Evan flopped backward with a groan. “It’s not game day.”
“It’s always game day. Somewhere.”
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like tea and burnt toast.
Vera stood at the counter, sleeves pulled over her hands like usual. Her hair was tucked behind her ears, and she had that look again—like she was halfway between a migraine and a memory.
“Morning,” Evan said.
She smiled. “You’re up early. Dream?”
He nodded and poured himself cereal. “Same one. Castle. Stars. Mystery girl. Voice telling me I suck at life.”
“Encouraging,” she said, pouring hot water into a chipped mug.
“I mean, she said I’d be ready eventually.”
“See? Progress.”
Evan smirked, but it faded when her sleeve slipped just enough to show the faint blue glow under her skin. Not a trick of the light. It pulsed softly—like lightning caught in a snow globe.
She noticed him looking and tugged the fabric quickly.
“Refraction,” she said, too casually. “Something about light bouncing off nerves.”
“That’s not how nerves work,” Evan said.
“Shhh.” She sipped her tea. “Let me have this.”
Cassian entered like a linebacker charging a buffet. Shirtless. Grinning. Already sweating.
He grabbed a banana, peeled it with his teeth, and said through a mouthful, “You were talking again.”
“Great,” Evan muttered.
“Said something about stars and love and dying. Super romantic.”
“Very poetic,” Vera offered.
Cassian pointed the banana at Evan. “Maybe you’ve got a girlfriend in your dreams. That’s the only place I’ve seen you with one.”
“Real mature.”
“I’m just saying, it’s a strong strategy. She can’t ghost you if she doesn’t technically exist.”
Vera choked on her tea and gave Cassian a look. “You’ve got the emotional sensitivity of a fridge.”
Cassian beamed. “Keeps things cool.”
After breakfast, Vera sat down slowly at the table. Evan noticed the slight wince as she bent her elbow. Her hand shook when she reached for her tea.
“You should see someone,” Evan said quietly.
“No one can help with this,” she said. “I just need time.”
“I thought that’s what made it worse.”
She gave him a soft look. “Sharp this morning, aren’t you?”
“Dream girl told me I’m not ready. I took it personally.”
Cassian was stretching in the living room, making weird noises like he was trying to summon strength through grunts. “Tell her to wait. I need Evan in one piece until we win the championship.”
Vera raised an eyebrow. “Are you still calling it a championship if it’s just intramurals?”
“It’s a spiritual championship,” Cassian replied. “For pride.”
“I thought you got disqualified.”
Cassian frowned. “That was a technicality.”
Evan grabbed his backpack. “Let’s go before I lose IQ points by association.”
Cassian saluted him with the banana peel. “You’d miss me if I stopped talking.”
Outside, the sky was overcast, and the world felt off in a way Evan couldn’t name. Across the street, a woman stared at her phone like she didn’t remember what it was. A man wandered into the street and then back onto the sidewalk without crossing.
On a nearby power pole, a poster flapped in the breeze:
MISSING: Michael W. — Last seen forgetting where he lived.
Cassian barely noticed. He was too busy arguing with his reflection in a car window.
“Tell me I’m not the fastest guy on this field today,” he said to his mirrored self.
Evan rolled his eyes. “If your reflection could talk, it would beg for a restraining order.”
“Jealousy,” Cassian said, flexing his arms. “It’s loud today.”
Evan shook his head, but smiled—just a little.
Some days, Cassian was too much. But other days—like this—he was the only thing that made the weirdness feel survivable.