"Wake up, Lyon. They are coming. You need to prepare for their arrival. There will either be a celebration or a funeral. Don't fret. You already know what to do. Just remember: when you remove a heart, there will still be a body left behind."
"Who's coming? What do they want?"
"They are the ones born of hearts and darkness. They are feeding. Don't trust those of the Organization. They are looking for something dear to them and the ones of the darkness are in the way. When they come, be careful, there will be a war for hearts"
"Why are they coming?"
"They are coming for you. If the ones of the darkness or the Organization get you there will be hell to pay."
"Why me?"
"I cannot tell you but one thing. It is my fault that they are coming. I am so very sorry. I hope to be able to see you before the end."
"The end of what? Hello? Why won't you com out of the dark?"
A light ahead of Lyon shine brightly making him block his eyes with a hand. He moves slowly towards the light even though he tries his hardest to stay in the comforting darkness.
"I'm sorry, Lyon, We have to cut our time short. They are here. Be careful. Trust no one in the black coats! I love you!" The man's voice fades away into a faint whisper inaudible to Lyon.
"Come back! Why won't you stay and help me?" Lyon's voice echoes in this strange world.
Unseen forces tug and pull at Lyon making him cringe in pain. He tries to pull himself free, but his efforts are wasted.
Then, many hands, arms, and claws pull him towards the darkness. They pull at his arms and legs making him edge ever-so-closer to the darkness.
"Let go of me! Get the Hell off!" he screams.
The light side of this world shines brightly onto Lyon's back making, what seems like, the darkness scream.
"What the…? "A white, sphere-like barrier forms around Lyon cutting off the darkness' and freeing him.
"It is not your time to choose between us," says a comforting voice. The voice did not speak aloud, but inside his mind.
"Let him choose! He is already here! Why can't he!" another, more agitated, voice now spoke.
"He has to find, in himself, who he truly is. Until that time, we shall not bother him again. Agreed?"
"No! Make him choose or I will choose for-"
"Lyon, don't listen. Hurry back to Traverse Town! Your chance shall come later! Now, go!" At the end of the calmer voice's sentence, Lyon started to float higher and higher.
Lyon closed his eyes tight hoping all this would end soon
And it did, luckily.
Once he opened his eyes, he saw that he was back in his tiny room on his tiny bed.
"Thank God," he mumbles while he sits up and rubs his eyes. He then holds his head in his hands, listening to those strange voices arguing back and forth.
Noticing the clock on the desk beside his bed, he hurries and pulls his legs over his bed, gets up, and heads toward his closet full clothes.
He reaches into his closet and cringes in pain. "Ow! What… no." Scratches run up and down his left arm from wrist to shoulder.
"Lyon! Hurry downstairs!" a old and scratchy voice calls tom him. "It's time to celebrate! Or did ya forget that it's your birthday?"
"Celebrate… 'celebration or a funeral.' Good, no funeral." Lyon reaches, once more, into his closet and ignores the pain and grabs his white, long-sleeved shirt and black jeans.
He leans on the wall next to him and puts on his black jeans over his white boxers, slips his thin, pale arms through his white shirt, and slides on his black boots. And then he hears the familiar voice call again.
"Come on, Lyon! Don't wanna miss out on your birthday presents, now do you?"
Lyon made sure he hid the cuts and scratches on his arm so his poor father wouldn't see them. He wanted to hide the reality of his dream. He wanted to hide it not only form his father, but from also from himself.