Prologue

I keep dreaming of light. Whenever I drift out of consciousness, I dream of a place where there is light. There are people in this place, people that I know. I see their faces – brief, flashing images that disappear too quickly for me to absorb detail – and I know that I love them. I love them all differently, but I love each one of them. That one – an older male, large and clumsy – makes me feel... a warm, humorous sort of affection. And that one, the girl with red hair. She makes me feel... frustrated, yet supported. There's another girl, but her hair is dark. My feelings toward her are definitely romantic. And a boy – a brother? Or a friend? And a woman, strong and caring. I know them. I love them. There is an ache in my chest that swells when I think of them, when I think of that place where there is light.

But what is worse, what is much worse, is that I can't remember who they are. What is that place of light? Surely it has always been dark here, and I have always been in the dark... haven't I? The Enemy and I, we fight here. We have always fought here. We always will fight here. It has always been so. It always will be so. These visions cannot be real. I am deluded, demented. I need to put my head on straight.

But... I still keep having dreams of light.