The time has come to be reborn my son, came a voice he knew all too well it always came to him in his most secret of hours, when he needed it the most. The one who calls itself, Mother, he could see her piercing gold eyes as her shadowy form emerges from the dark. The world seamed to form around him the stars were the first thing followed by the mirror floor and then the giant clock gears and the clock that never seemed to move but always ticked

"He has awoken" she said.

"Who has a woken?" He bellowed trying to be heard over the clock knowing full well she could hear him anyways

"You must decide," she continued as everything started to fade.

"Decide what?" he questioned. As usual there was no answer… the dream faded into a grey fog,

how come she never answers? He thought as he sat up in his bed, his dark hair plastered against his face. He sighed pushing it out of his crimson eyes. Looking over at the clock it must have been 3 o'clock he could hear the sound of the traffic below the building and the people next door who were arguing as normal. "What the hell was that about?" He asked himself for what must have been the thousandth time, he had the same dream almost every night for the last 4 years, forever leaving the same questions. He got up slowly heading for the apartment's wash room trying to shake the confusion and nausea as he stepped into the hall there was a loud bang on the door.

"Blake Eversteen! This is the police open up!" came a roar from the other side of the door a male voice from the other side.

"Shit," Blake cursed under his breath, what the hell did they want? Running into the front hall he grabbed his jacket, he could hear the whispering …. No, the warnings coming from his backpack. Taking off he grabbed it as he headed out the window, onto the balcony below. How had they found him? He wondered as a shot erupted from inside the apartment, he ducked at the noise.
"Fuck!" He looked around before jumping down and heading into the alley. The only light coming from the odd lights on the backdoors of buildings which helped him flee into the night
"You need my power Blake," came the voice from the bag. "It's the only way you're getting out of this," it continued as Blake ran down the alley. It's the kind of voice that resonates in your head it comes from everywhere and nowhere all at once

"Fine," he said as he came to his third dead end. Reaching into the bag he pulled out a gauntlet.

"Good. Now let me get us out of here," came the voice radiating in his head as he put it on. With that, the wind picked up, the snow started to whip around him. Here we go again, Blake thought as everything seemed to stretch askew, which almost caused his stomach turn upon landing in the woods. "ugh" he groaned doubling over I hate that feeling he said to himself remembering the first time it happened it was around his fourteenth birthday he warped across the block how was sick to his stomach and in the middle of the winter with no jacket he was in the hospital with extreme influenza for about a week he wouldn't even touch the gauntlet for the longest time after that

"Where are we?" He asked trying to keep his stomach down.

"Burgess, United states," it replied quietly, teleporting that distance took a lot out of it. "They shouldn't be able to track us here," it said weakly.

"Good," he said as he took off the gauntlet, looking around at the snow coated evergreens. ''Wow, Frost has been busy," he said to himself. He personally does not know frost only what mother had shown but he knows that he does not like frost due to the fact he brings the cold with him but he had to admire his work .There must have been more than six feet of snow on the ground where he was standing it must have taken him hours .

"Head to Burgess," mother had said to him weeks before, but he never thought anything of it.

"Which way is town?" He asked the gauntlet, while still holding it a small flame of blue light emerged from the eye on the back and it slowly took off to the west.

he turned to put the gauntlet back in his bag before taking off to follow the flame. Thinking about the gauntlet he remembered how it was one of the three gifts that mother had given him: One was the bag which currently stored the gauntlet. It never seemed to fill up or get any heavier. Two was a sword its blade shrouded in a shroud of shadow and it could change its shape as need be. The third was the gauntlet which seemed to be alive in sorts,It seemed to be most useful so far.

As he approached town he could see the gold sand of sandman's power, heading into the houses. "Great" He had to show up for this. Lovely, He thought angrily. He hated how his dreams were never anything more than mother or nightmares, it was almost as if the Sandman hated him. He put his hands inside his ox-blood red leather jacket as He walked down the cold empty street.