After breakfast is prepared, the three of us sit down at the kitchen table. Dan pinches the fabric of his cloak, pulling it backward onto his chair, revealing a collared shirt. Even without the cloak, there is a less friendly edge to his appearance. A weighted tiredness pulls on the lids of his eyes. Jonas begins to eat first, his hood obscuring his line of sight as his head is bent down.

I look down at the food in front of me. There is a glass of water, two eggs, a slice of bread, and a piece of melon, courtesy of Jonas.

A few minutes pass in silence, aside from the chewing of food. Dan looks up at me, the smoothness of the small motion conveying a sense of volition and purpose.

"I recall you telling me that you had a nightmare last night," Dan remarks.

I nod, recalling the chase with dread. It seems as if the dreams are only getting more vivid and coherent. The thought of running through the endless grey persists in my mind, kindling a fear which tenses my muscles, despite my logical belief that the threat isn't real. I want to run away. I want it to disappear.

"It must have been a bad one," Jonas adds, his purple eyes observing me with concern. "You don't look good at all."

"You really do not," Dan adds. "Perhaps you should talk to us about it. At the very least, it could make you feel better."

"I suppose I could..." My speech comes slowly, bogged down by the worry that my words could carry to unwanted ears. But whose ears? It doesn't matter; there is no good reason for me to feel this way. Maybe if I talk about the dream, and describe the feeling, I could finally convince myself that it isn't real.

"The dream began at a peaceful cottage in the spring. The air was warm, and there were many flowers. I remember laying down upon the grass, trying to ignore the feeling that something was searching for me, something very dark..." I pause for a moment, feeling the anticipation soak in. It's no use trying to wait for it to pass. "The sun started to set, and then I heard someone calling me. I think it was my mother."

It's been a very long time since I've seen my mother. Perhaps that was one reason the nightmare effected me so deeply: there was the knowledge that regardless of what I did, I might never see my mother again. Still, I'll never know for sure if it was her. The voice was so faint.

"I tried to turn around towards the cottage, but I stopped because I saw silver smoke on the grass. It made me afraid to look behind me. I thought there was someone there that would trap me if I looked into his eyes."

Dan nods in acknowledgement. His eyes appear more open and alert.

"I tried to run away from him, but the longer I ran, the more silver smoke there was. He kept calling after me, telling me that running was useless. I kept running, but I started to get tired. I felt myself go blind. I was pulled off my feet by hot coils and clamped in place. He gloated over me, claiming that he could do terrible things to me, telling me that I would become his unconditional servant. Then I felt the ground give way underneath me. That's when the dream ended."

Both Dan and Jonas are looking down, deep in thought. Their reaction doesn't seem like enough. I didn't describe the nightmare well enough, did I? I couldn't adequately describe the events which made me so afraid. I don't think I ever could; somehow the true detail of the events is hidden from me. They can't sympathize with me, no matter how hard they try.

"This man..." Jonas speaks first, "...seems very controlling, not unlike the book."

"That's no surprise, considering that the Book created the dream." I remark.

Dan raises his head. "I wouldn't be so sure. It might be a memory from someone that got trapped in the void, perhaps the memory of a miner."

"So, does that mean that, while the Book was passing through the void, it may have heard the thoughts of a miner?" An idea inside me clicks, a realization that excites me. "Or... perhaps the book actually is the miner, and all this time I've been hearing their thoughts?"

"Not quite," Jonas corrects me. "'Thoughts' are not the best way to describe the sorts of fleeting impressions that drift through the void. When a human consciousness enters the void, the void has the tendency to tear it up into tiny pieces. They become more or less dead; they aren't capable of new thoughts or ideas. The book would have come across one of the miner's memories, at the very most."

"I see..." My sigh echoes my deflated hopes at an explanation of the Book's existence. On the other hand, the existence of fragmented memories within the void may explain where the terrible nightmare came from. This possibility, however, does not get rid of the fear that I feel. "Still, who was that man who was chasing me?"

"It's hard to say," Dan responds, "especially since you couldn't see his face. Do you remember him having a name, or perhaps you remember what his voice sounded like?"

"No."

Jonas resumes eating, his hood covering his eyes once more.

"In that case, it's unlikely that we will ever know who the man was," Dan admits, his brows lifted in sympathy of the mystery. "He might not even be a real person, depending on how much of the dream came from a memory, and how much was, in fact, made up."

I suppose it can't be helped that I may never know who that man is, but I still feel a bit disappointed. When Dan mentioned that the nightmare could have come from the memory of a miner, the possibility gave me hope. It made me feel as if I could have knowledge over the Book, a psychological power of identity that would allow me to struggle against it.

A force within me tugs down upon my defenses. The female voice of the Book coos in my inner ear. "Why struggle? There is no point in trying to explain my existence, when your failure only sheds yet a bigger spotlight upon your human flaws. In fact, it is pointless for you to struggle at all, because you have already become so weak and agreeable that you think and act as I will you to. It is only a matter of time before you anticipate my desires without my intervention, and from then, only a matter of time until my desires truly become your own."

With the weight of all my hopelessness, my ability to struggle against the nightmare collapses. The fear of the nightmare becomes real and inescapable. The Book is just like the man in the dream; it points at the inherent failure of my struggle, promising that I will become its slave. I am doomed to be naive of the Book's methods... but perhaps I may at least know its motives. It will likely do me no good - the knowledge of its plans will make me only more aware of its superior genius - but I can at least seek out the knowledge as an exercise in futility.

"What would motivate the Book to make me have that nightmare?" I wonder aloud.

Dan pushes his chair back, stands up, and lifts his plate. "I think that if I am going to make any progress with reducing the book's influence on you, that is one of the questions that will need to be answered."

At this point, I doubt that reducing the Book's influence is even possible. On the other hand, Dan seems so certain of his proposition... What could he possibly know that would help me?

I pick up my plate and follow Dan to the sink. That wasn't the only dream I had last night, was it? There was another, more peculiar dream. It wasn't exactly a nightmare, but it seemed to be a continuation of another, much more frightening dream, a dream where I fell into the void and felt its flames. The dream began in a library. There was a very old book that mentioned the WOC.

Dan sets his plate upon the counter, then starts to pump the wooden lever of the sink.

"I had another dream last night," I add.

A tiny stream of water begins to flow out from the faucet in spurts. I can hear the water's dripping echo as it enters the tub. "What sort of dream?" he asks.

"I'm not sure. I thought it was going to be a nightmare, but nothing happened. Well, at least, nothing scary happened. I was in a library, walking around, when I found an old book. It talked about crafting and the WOC. On the blank pages, a magician had written some harsh criticisms about the WOC. I'm not sure whether or not they're true... What do you know about the WOC?"

Dan is thoroughly scrubbing his plate with a yellow sponge. A firmness arrives to his jaw. "A bunch of pig-kissing scum, the lot of them," He replies, a sarcastic joy tapering off from his tone. "They'll yield to any politician that shakes their hand. But then again, I'm probably not the best person to ask." He sets his plate aside and steps away from the sink.

I submerge my plate into the tub of warm water and take the sponge from Dan. "What do you mean? What is it about the WOC and politics?"

"They try too hard to maintain their public image. If given a choice between supporting a radical new technology, and maintaining the status quo, they will always go with the latter."

I continue scrubbing. Dan's description sounds familiar. "It's interesting that you mention that. I remember the magician writing something similar about how the WOC is afraid of progress."

"Well, that isn't quite right. It's not that the WOC is afraid of progress in itself. I doubt the WOC would have any issue with, say, another dye for wool, or a new redstone gate. What they're more afraid of are altogether new technologies, especially if they clash significantly with cultural norms. The WOC was worried about enchantment, not too long ago. They feared that there would be no way to know how many enchantments exist, and that rare, powerful ones could be used to terrorize society."

I place my plate on top of Dan's, then step away from the sink, handing the sponge to Jonas. The WOC is probably the reason why void magic is illegal. That may explain why Dan despises them so much. "It seems like the WOC wouldn't think too favorably of magicians like you."

"No, most certainly not."

"Has the WOC ever tried to hunt you down?"

"Hunt me down?" Dan reacts with surprise. "No... I don't see how the WOC could do that. They don't have that kind of power."

"That's strange. I remember the magician saying something about how the WOC was waiting at his doorstep."

"I'm not sure why that is so."

Jonas places his clean plate upon our stack of plates. I start picking up the silverware.

"Perhaps it was just a dream, then," I reason, "or perhaps the magician was just crazy."