Dinner that night is even more awkward than the nights preceding it, and Adam has gone from 'slightly uncanny' to full-on vow of solitude. He inhaled his steak in ten seconds, and now that he has nothing better to do, he's started moving his broccoli around the plate with alarming frequency, stabbing it so that the butter-covered juices gush out and then sliding it around in a garish form of vegetable torture. His free hand rests against his face, fingers spread into a web of disinterest.

My parents are smiling as if nothing's wrong, discussing work and the weather and who knows what else, but I can see the strain on their faces as they watch their two disappointing sons sit in utter silence next to each other.

"How'd your first test go?" asks my mom, with a pitying smile.

"It's a pre-assessment. They're not going to grade me on it." I say, grateful for the hundredth time this week that I'm not taking advanced math like the sourpuss across the table.

"Do you think you understand the material better?" asks my father. He has Adam's eyes and his cold, calculating stare.

"Yup," I reply, but add a thumbs up for extra, unnecessary enthusiasm. "I think this year's looking up for me, now that I'm taking classes where I can understand what the teacher's saying, even if they're... not as rigorous." Since I couldn't keep up with Adam's classes, I think to myself, because that's what they're all thinking.

Adam's utensils clatter against the plate. The broccoli is gone, presumably freed of its torture. "Can I go now?" Adam asks, sitting bolt upright.

"Honey, you know we have to wait until-"

"Yeah, everyone's finished, I've got a ton of homework. Please." Adam says, bluntly.

With a curt frown, she snaps, "I don't appreciate your tone. You can wash the dishes, then you can leave."

"My dishes?"

"All the dishes."

Adam gets to his feet, still slumped halfway over, and starts washing the dishes.

"Mom, may I please be excused?" I pipe up.

"Of course, Will."

I pass my dishes off to Adam as I pass the sink. He shoots me a rueful glare as I pass.

I don't see him for another thirty minutes, by which time he's taken his twenty-minute shower and changed into his pajamas. His hair still a water-filled mop, he throws himself across the bed and looks up at the ceiling.

"Don't you have homework?" I ask.

"Screw homework," Adam says, rolling over so his voice is muffled by his pillow.

I pause, hands clasped in each other. I'm scrunched up against the edge of my own bed, with a few dozen papers from school spread out across the sheets. I wait a while for another response (anything, really) before asking, "Are... are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Adam says. "Just tired. Homework. School. I don't know, something."

"You can take easier classes if it's already stressing you out this much. It doesn't make you stupid." I say. "I'm not stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid." replies Adam, empathetically.

"You so do." I protest.

"Name one time-" he stops himself. "Why would you even think that?"

"You've been trying to ditch me all week," I reply, feeling a hollowness fill my throat.

Adam looks up from his pillow with a scarily neutral expression, though his dark, piercing eyes are full of unreadable emotion. "I'm sorry."

"Okay."

"We should... we should sleep." Adam says, though the tension between us has only grown stronger.

No matter what I think or whatever my mind is racing to put words to, the point is null now. Adam's passed out. Wearily, I get to my feet and flick the light off, brushing papers off my bed into a semi-reasonable pile. I have the whole weekend to work on it, anyways.

My mind has other plans for me tonight.

When my eyes shoot back open after a period of dreamless sleep, I don't realize how much time it's been until I look around the room and get a faceful of harsh red light. 2:55, my alarm clock reads. I toss my blankets back over me and roll towards the other side of the room, towards the bare wall, but I can't fall back asleep. If the lights didn't do it for me, my brain's going like I had a shot of pure caffeine.

The wall of my room is unusually dark. As my eyes adjust, I realize that a large portion of the wall is gone, cut straight of reality. In its place lies an expanse of nothing, dully awaiting me.

The moonstone, which lies in the pocket of my backpack, beckons to me.

"Not now," I whisper to the void.

Yes, now.

I ease the blanket over my head with a soft rasping grumble.

I mean, if you want to.

"Oh, now you're backing out of it." I accuse.

I'm not backing out of anything. Calm down.

I close my eyes again, attempting to hold them shut by sheer force, but the wall refuses to return to normal when I open them again and my eyes refuse to shut.

This is stupid, this is dangerous, this is not how I planned to spend my Saturday morning. I have cartoons to watch, a brother to bond with, and a lot of quality procrastinating to do.

Sounds like you're not doing much of anything.

"You're kind of a jerk. You know that, right?" I whisper, unzipping my bag to retrieve the moonstone. Adam sleeps no more than a few feet away. A sad smile crosses my face, in spite of myself, but when I reach out to tap him my hand jerks itself away.

You can't tell him. He can't see this, he won't believe you, and furthermore, he's a liability.

"But-"

Let him sleep.

Turning the stone once between my fingers, I walk towards the void, floorboards whining beneath my step. I breathe in, trying to work up some fear or a reason not to go, or anything resembling human emotion, really, but I'm too alive and too calm right now, all at once. I'm numb in the way I am in dreams, where things occur without much reason or pretense, but this doesn't feel like a dream at all.

It feels like destiny.

Swiftly, I leave the world behind and fall from darkness to darkness. Unlike my room at night, which is painted a soft blue, I'm now standing in a room with a clear violet-red hue despite how dark it is. There are some areas which seem lighter than others, if only by a minute amount, and the whole place has an uncanny familiarity about it. The smell is strange, but not unpleasant, and when I run the hand that used to hold my moonstone along the wall I find it has a texture like the skin of a frog mixed with something bizarre and completely alien.

The moonstone's gone. It takes a second to process it but I'm not holding anything, and upon feeling up my arms I find they're covered by fingerless gloves that stretch almost to my elbows and then a suit of some kind, in a comfortable, lightweight material. Last time I checked, I didn't wear gloves to bed, and I definitely didn't have a shield around my waist, but there it lies, silent and imposing. I run one hand along the edge and pick it up, clasping it so that it lies firmly in my left hand.
I'm not alone.

Walking down the hall is some bizarre mix of ferret and goat, no more than two feet tall. It has luxurious white fur dappled with markings around its eyes, short corgi legs, bulging indigo eyes, and two stubby horns that rest atop its head. It's ears are long and fly out to either side, angling towards me as it watches me inquisitively, and a golden collar sits around its neck.

"Do not be afraid," it tells me.

"Easier said than done." I say, though I'm not panicking (who knows why). "Who are you?"

"My name's Shiloh."

My name's Shiloh.

"That's you," I say, feeling a sudden spike of adrenaline as the voices sound through my head in unison. "The voice, I mean."

Shiloh nods. "Sorry it took me so long. Just a little longer, now, but I wanted to get to you before the others."

"There are other people here?" I ask.

"Not currently, but you have teammates. I guess you kids were just a little cautious about jumping in. I don't blame you. This is probably very new to you, but I also have full confidence you're going to be able to save the world."

"Back it up," I say, reattaching the shield to the clip on my waist. "You want me to save the world."

The creature tilts its head. "Well, to be more precise, you have to save the world."

I've fallen face-first into all my wildest fantasies. This is incredible. "Oh. So, uh, is there some kind of prophecy, or..."

"I chose you, obviously! I'm a good judge of character." Shiloh informs me. "That's what the stone you found was. It's what's known as Diosite, or a small shard of it, anyways. That particular shard is a part of what powers my soul, though it also conforms to the characteristics of whatever wielder I entrust it to- right now, it's scattered throughout your physical form, powering your abilities and attire. There are others with the other shards out there, and as soon as I can get them to come down here, we'll get started."

"Alright." I say, trying not to burst out laughing from excitement or fear. "S-so, what's the mission?"

"I'll explain further once we have everyone together, but a crystal of Diosite has fallen into the hands of a human civilian."

"You mean like me." I say.

"Not quite. It's a renegade shard, with no cherub attached to it. As such, a human has stumbled into an infinite power source with similarly infinite corrupting influence. We don't know how that energy will manifest or what will happen to the poor person who stumbled upon it, but the faster we get it out of his hands, the less likely we are to risk it ending up in the hands of someone... less friendly than a civilian. This is the type of weapon that really could end your world as you know it." Shiloh says, "Furthermore, if anyone finds out about this, you're going to put them in grave danger- and risk blowing your cover. Whoever you think you can trust, drop them. Whatever you think you know, leave it behind."

Though the knowledge is dizzying, I manage a brief nod.

"You came before anyone else, so I'll also be asking you to help organize the others. I think you and I will make a good team, Will Rosenbloom. No one in my lifespan has ever been so..."

"Talkative?" I ask.
Shiloh makes an expression I think might be a grin, ears tilted up. "Oh, certainly. You're in, though? You're not going to say you're not cut out for this, or..."

"No. Is it selfish if I want this?" I ask. "I mean, to do something. Be someone."

"Should it be?" asks Shiloh.

A wave of drowsiness hits me like a brick to the side of the head. Whatever adrenaline kicked in earlier is ebbing fast.

The cherub flicks its ears. "You need to go, don't you? It's late. I'll be in contact."

"I'm guessing I don't get to keep the clothes," I laugh.

Shiloh shakes his head. "Not that you'd want to sleep with that shield."

"I kind of like it," I say, but the world is already blurring away. I find myself standing back in my room, which is indifferent to the insane curveball the universe just threw at me. I clutch my shirt with my left hand, feeling the cotton, assuring myself this is real. In my right, the moonstone has returned, and it throbs in my hand like a heartbeat.

The world, so much smaller than how I left it, is quiet and still late at night, with distant streetlights casting shadows onto forms that are only familiar during the daytime. A passing car illuminates the window panes, scattering light around the room before darkness returns, like an exhaling breath.

Somewhere out there in the same dead darkness, my teammates are waiting for me.