The boy have no idea if it was a dream or a memory. 

He was in his old house, recognizable by the excessive number of plants and religious ornaments. Decoration done by his grandmother, of course.

 

It was night, and he walked into the room, leaving his grandparents alone in the living room. The elders were watching television, captivated by a charismatic host. 

Twelve-year-old Damian was a boy with white hands and a tan face. His thin hair, freshly cut, stood on end. He wasn't very tall for his age, which made him the butt of jokes among schoolmates. 

His friends' humor was low and senseless. He didn't know why he always hung out with them, as he was constantly belittled and considered an easy target. 

At home, being in the presence of his grandparents was not uncomfortable. However, the two adults struggled to understand him. Damian found humor in them, especially his grandfather, an old man who walked with difficulty, wore small glasses, and had a controversial taste in food. He felt fervent affection in their actions. The boy was loved. 

Flopping onto the bed, not caring to hide his laziness, he considered reading a comic book. He had a new one, still wrapped in transparent plastic, given as a gift by his older brother. It was just before Elio left, carrying a backpack for no apparent reason. 

Damian, lying on his back, saw the comic on his desk. Initially, he wanted to throw it away.

 

One day, on his way home from school, he tried to toss it into a river, but one of his classmates interrupted him, saying, 'Why throw it away? If you don't want it, just give it to me.' The boy pondered this idea, staring at the comic in his hand. It was red, with a cheerful-faced boy on the cover. His name was 'The Trickster's Call.' Angry, he didn't throw it in the river or give it to his friend; he just took it back home, keeping it under his arm. 

Getting out of bed somewhat sloppily, he stood in front of the desk. With the comic in hand, he heard his grandmother's voice coming from the living room:

"Damian! Don't go to sleep without brushing your teeth!"

"I know!" he replied with the same intensity. 

He closed the door of his room and sat in the swivel chair, moving it close to the window. The boy looked at the object in his hands, somewhat upset. He thought about the day his brother left, remembering staring at the sky that day. 

It was cloudy, with dark clouds heavy with water. That's when he started to dislike rainy days and love sunny ones. The memory of Elio walking away from him haunted him. He had begged so much to go along, but his older brother only said, "Not yet. Maybe one day, but for now, you're still a child." Damian detested Elio.

The smell of new paper penetrated his nose. Running his hand over the soft cover, he read the synopsis of the story: "Imagine the fate of the world falling into the hands of someone cunning and irresponsible, being the only one capable of doing so? That's exactly what happens to Trickster, a mischievous and unruly boy tasked with saving the world from a terrible threat called the Lough Dur Ring, a cunning and criminal sect seeking to resurrect an ancient God of Sinister."

Damian scratched his nose at the story. He had never heard of anything like that. The boy let the pages roll through his fingers, with no intention of reading. That was when a sound caught his attention, forcing him to look away. 

His open window offered a good view of the night outside. They lived surrounded by various trees, in a sparsely populated area full of natural landscapes. There were no neighbors nearby, no cats or dogs. 

However, staring outside so intently, the boy swore to himself that he saw something. Something shapeless, something his brain didn't recognize, something that made his heart beat faster. 

The boy let out a sob, dropping the comic on the floor and standing up. He took a step back, taking a deep breath. The sound continued, and the darkness gained shape. The boy had lost his voice. Despite knowing he needed to call for help, call his grandparents and ask if they could see it too, he couldn't.

It had the face of a woman and the body of a snake. Arms existed, thin and pale. The eyes were opaque, green, the red mouth salivated eagerly, as if anticipating a grand feast ahead. 

Damian swallowed hard, rubbing his eyes forcefully, searching for his own voice. The feminine head moved stealthily past the window. The boy felt icy fingers, and the oxygen was beginning to disappear from his room. 

Thinking in a childlike manner, he used to dismiss the nightmares of his friends. He even boasted about not having such dreams, silly and unreal dreams.

At that moment, he understood what was happening. It was a dream; he was inside a dreadful nightmare. The sharp teeth of the unknown entity near him were nothing but creations of his disturbed subconscious.

The boy blinked, hoping the head would disappear from his sight.

"Can you see me?" The head spoke, making Damian's chin tremble. "Poor thing, full of so many emotions... Sadness, loneliness, rebellion... You will make a great meal."

The boy finally screamed. Closing his eyes, tears welled up in reflex, and his entire body shook in fear. The door behind him was abruptly opened, and the grandparents took over the room. 

That night, no strange-creature-with-a-woman's-head was found. The grandfather went outside and returned shortly after, claiming not to have seen anything out of the ordinary.

Damian was embraced by his grandmother, crying in fear. The adults tried to convince him that it was all just a dream, that nothing like that could exist. Of course, later, the boy would start telling himself the same story. What happened was a dream; I had my moment of madness. Still, at that moment, on that night, he still didn't believe it. What he saw was real; there was a voice, a form, and a presence. And it wanted to devour him, above all else.

That's why he continued to cry. He didn't sleep in his own room for several consecutive nights, not even stepping in there. Fear was felt in every cell of his body; what he witnessed was gruesome and terrifying. So traumatizing that only his grandmother's embrace could calm him.

And as he clung to her, never wanting to let go again, he felt a strange burning behind his head. As if something was on fire.

His head was hot, burning.

He sat up hastily, realizing where he was. The small apartment of the waitress, the girl who had saved his life, Autumn. He ran his hand behind his head, feeling the heat. Looking to the side, he glanced at the girl who had fallen asleep just like him. He surveyed the whole place, realizing that everything was as it was before. He was still wrapped in the fragrant blanket; Autumn was on the sofa nearby, asleep, and outside, the night lingered.

"Why is my head so hot?" he asked himself softly, recalling the dream he had just had.

"Why did I remember this now?" he questioned, lying back down, resting his head on the makeshift pillow he had made with his coat. What repelled him immediately was the heat hitting him. Damian sat up in surprise, noticing an orange spark on the fabric of his coat. It shone like a firefly, drawing attention. The boy hesitated, looking for Autumn, but she was still sleeping soundly.

It was tough, but he managed to hold the coat in his hand, taking it to the kitchen in silence. Unrolling the coat, a heavy sound of something falling echoed. He feared he had made a commotion that would wake the girl, but she remained undisturbed.

He searched for the object that made the noise and found it in the sink. It was golden, but it didn't shine as brightly anymore. He dared to pick it up, realizing it wasn't so hot. He could hold the object in his hand and examined it up close. Initially, he thought it was an electric lighter. It was small, coated in a material similar to gold. Wings were sculpted in relief, and a long sword resided in the middle as if completing them. It was a very well-made design, impeccable work.

Damian had never seen Elio smoke; he found it strange. When he turned around, about to go back to his place, he came face to face with Autumn. Stepping back, placing his hand on his chest, he noticed an impassive expression on her face.

"You startled me," he said a bit flustered.

She didn't respond; her eyes were fixed on the object he was holding. On instinct, the boy pressed what he thought was a lighter.

"How did you..." Autumn spoke slowly, "get that?"

"Oh, this? I don't know, it was in the pocket of my coat. Why? Do you know what it is? It seems to be an electric lighter."

Autumn shrugged, taking a deep breath.

"It was in your pocket?" she asked distantly.

"Yes, actually, I was awakened by it. A while ago, I could feel it getting hot." A slight memory crossed Damian's mind. It was of Elio, before pushing him away, putting his hand in the pocket of his coat. "Was it him? Elio?"

"Your brother?"

"I think so. Did he put this in my pocket? Why would he do that? What is..." He held the object between two fingers, bringing it closer to his eyes. The brown in his iris brushed with curiosity. "There are wings drawn with a sword between them."

"Wait!" Her voice came out loud. "Don't do anything, okay?"

"What's wrong? I wasn't going to do anything; I was just taking a close look."

"Can I see?" she asked, opening the palm of her hand. She seemed eager.

"Sure, you can." Damian made a motion to hand it over but tricked her by hiding the object in his hand. "If you tell me what it is first."

Autumn blinked.

"Don't play games; you have no idea what you have in your hands. It must be protected at all costs..."

"You're right; I have no idea what I have here with me, and that's why you're going to tell me what it is." Damian noticed her incredulous face. "From your shocked expression, this must be something very valuable. You seemed even more surprised to know that it was my brother who gave it to me. Did something about my brother click in your head, right?"

"That doesn't matter now! We must hide this immediately!"

"Can you stop saying things I don't understand?!" The young man shouted, squeezing the hand, and Autumn reacted with concern. "What is this? What happened to my brother? Why did that hybrid try to kill me?"

"I already told you I don't know! How would I know?! Don't wave your hand like that!"

"You know something! You have to know something. Why are you so worried, huh? What could happen?" Damian raised his arm, lifting his chin visibly upset. Autumn clenched her fingers, angry.

"I'm asking. Hand it over. Now," she hissed, gritting her teeth, but it didn't make him hesitate.

"Why not use your spear to take it from me?" he taunted.

"Because it wasn't made to attack people." Hearing her say that, the boy snapped back to reality, overwhelmed by the vision of her saving him. Facing the pathetic situation he was creating, Damian lowered his gaze, giving in. Looking at his closed fist, he said, "I have no idea what I'm doing... And this certainly doesn't belong to me. Take it." Extending the golden object to her, the boy sighed.

It was then, ready to be handed over, that the object came to life. A life that radiated something as strong as sunlight. The object opened, breaking into several parts. From the fingertips to the forearm, Damian's skin was covered in a golden armor, magnetically joining together in a supernatural attraction.

"What have you done?!" Autumn's voice filled the kitchen.

"I didn't do anything!" Damian tried to say as he watched his left arm being consumed by it. It was like armor, almost embedded in his skin. "What happened? Why is this stuck to my skin?!"