*

He watched the man from the shadows. It was a truly insufferable dream. A banquet adorned a huge table in the center of a claustrophobic room. Stone walls with bad lighting, it was obviously a representation of the man’s own small aspirations. The table was stuffed with every type of delicacy an unimaginative mind could contrive. The thin balding dreamer had a woman of impossible proportions between the roast turkey and a creamed porridge of some kind. The Huella-Cull inwardly sighed. This was what he’d been reduced to. When he was young, newly formed from the connection between this place and the void, he never would have lowered himself to these standards. In the beginning, weak and powerful dreamers alike lined the shores in slumber and this kind of thing had been effortless.

This was long before Enki had begun taking notice of his kind. He reminisced at the ease and selection of bodies to inhabit back then. He never thought of them as hosts and never himself a parasite. The connection was far more intimate than that. In the beginning, he and his siblings had assumed the dreamers were put there for them. Newly formed, they had no concept of Gods or Enki. The only higher powers besides themselves, was the vast nothingness he'd come from. When they’d first entered this world of creation, they thought it was a form of appeasement. It seemed understandable, mortals don’t question why there is water for them to drink, why would Huella-Cull question why there’d be dreamers for them to inhabit?

At first none resisted, making it all the more obvious, these dreamers were intended for the Huella-Cull. The void was an enticing truth as all truth can be, especially to a dreamer. Enki eventually caught on though and made his presence known. The Huella-Cull thought he’d close off the connection, heal the wound in his plane of existence and send them all back to the vastness of absence. Yet, the God did none of these things. Through oversight or some higher game only he knew of, Enki left the connection to their home of emptiness, open. The Huella-Cull would learn later, when it was too late for many of them, why. Enki gave his Dreamer mortals new gifts to combat and control the Huella-Cull. He taught them to use their minds in his realm to resist and eventually to capture the Huella-Cull. Usurping the power of nothingness they possessed. There was a period of uncountable epochs where they were hunted by the dreamers. Many Huella-Cull abandoned the world of creation then, lest they be trapped by the Dreamers. The number of new Huella-Cull to reach out to the world of creation slowed to a stop. Still others chose merge with certain dreamers, gaining if not a willing vessel, at least the gift of experience. Still others overcame their entrapment, freeing themselves from the mental prisons of the dreamers.

Of those who escaped, the vast majority returned through the connection lest they be trapped again. It was a one-way trip back to nothingness, but it was a one way trip back to one-ness as well. He himself had been captured early in the Dreamers campaign. In the blink of a mortals eye, sixty-seven years past. When he was finally released, he had found himself standing next to the connection with the dreamer who'd captured him. The young boy was now wizened and hunched over, a young girl held his hand. The old man told the Huella-Cull of the predicament; he could not kill him and he could not release him. He could either enter the connection and return to the void or continue his imprisonment in a new dreamer’s mind.

For centuries he was passed from one dreamer to the next. Every sixty years or so he was carted back out and once again given the choice. They would tell him of his kin who had decided to return home during his imprisonment, and conveniently left out those who’d still managed to avoid capture. Each time, it never took him long to decide. As an immortal he would always have time on his side, something the Mortals always seemed to forget. At first, he couldn’t even perceive the passage of time. He'd simply be next to connection, then nothing, then be next to the connection again. Yet as he was passed from Dreamer to Dream, given the choice and each time refusing, he began to notice pattens.

Eventually he learned to perceive his cage. He quickly came to realize he was not alone. The dreamers used the mental prison for all sorts of traumatic and terrible events in their lives. Memories of atrocities and betrayals, death and regret all found their way into the same prison he was in. In those memories, he gorged himself. Emotion, raw and true sated him beyond any experience he'd had. His prison quickly became his feeding ground and he grew strong. After few hundred years, he was influencing their thoughts. Ineffectively at first, he had to admit. But slowly, after another couple hundred years, he was able to inject small contrary objections that weren’t immediately dismissed. Moral ambiguity became the next meal of the day. Once he’d had his captors second-guessing themselves, he began to influence emotions.

That was usually the time they’d notice and he’d be transferred to a new dreamer. He drove more than a few Dreamers insane simply by being the literal devil’s advocate even in those early years. To him it was simply his nature. He was a thing of the void, an absence distinctly at odds with creation and existence. Only, creation and existence fascinated him in a way most of his brother and sisters had found distasteful even before his imprisonment. Still, when said existence was almost exclusively captivity, it was hard not to be a bit bitter at his captors. Even after all this time and so many choices to return to his prison.

To the vast number of mortal dreamers who tried to contain him, it was anathema to their very being. He could always wait them out, devouring the regrets and disappointments the dreamers accumulated through their lives. And through the generations he did just that, many times over. However, as the lifetimes compiled, he slowly became privy to the sheer volume of life experiences and not just the regrets and disappointments. He had known always known that the memories and emotions the dreamers stuffed into their mental prison with him weren't the full picture. It was just the part of the picture they didn't want to see. Some of the Dreamers were true to themselves and never put memories in his prison with him. Those were the imprisonments he usually waited out forcing existence to cease for him until the dreamer passed him on. These Dreamers were honest and he appreciated them for it. Indubitably, he despised them all and would happily inhabit and control any of the Dreamers even the honest ones, if given the chance. But he did appreciate candor even from a captor. If the Void was anything, it was truth laid bare and he believed truth always begets truth. No amount of deception could hide the Void, and neither could any deception hide from that which wasn’t.

His last captor was a small, orphan girl named Litaelim. Where she was from, orphans only got one name. By this time, the Dreamers had a well-established modus operandi when dealing with him. They’d even given him a name, Midnight. At some point one of the Dreamers had written an instruction manual of sorts on how to handle him. Titled simply, “Containing Midnight” it apparently instructed would be Dreamers on how to spot thoughts not their own or recognize signs of “leakage” while “encapsulating the entity”. It was full of unhelpful information, insufficient in detail and at the same time lacking a certain vagueness needed when dealing with the Void or the Huella-Cull. Yet, it had to be said, his last captor was refreshingly enlightened in her dealings with him. She bartered and more than that, kept her word. It was truly a luxury he was unused to and he really did appreciate her sincerity. He still betrayed her to finally escape his long imprisonment. To his undying shame he did something completely out of nature. He let her live. It was a moment of compassion that shocked him.

It was in the weeks leading up to his next transition to a new Dreamer that he made his escape. Neither one of them were happy about it. Through years of constant philosophical debate, they had learned to work together and for the first time in his existence the Huella-Cull cooperated with a Dreamer. It was often times exhausting both mentally and emotionally. Still, he marveled at the power they had developed together and often wondered if this wasn’t why the god let them stay all those millennia before. With his power mixed with hers they were able to momentarily warp reality around them. It wouldn’t extend more than a heat shimmer, but in that bubble at any moment, anything could happen around them. Dreams and reality merged and they walked one foot on Meridian and one in Enki's realm.

It took a lifetime but it was worth every single concession. She gave him more space and mental capacity, more time learning about the world and most importantly, trust. Over years and years, he gained her confidence and together they worked out a system of reciprocity that allowed both an existence otherwise unavailable to either. Until one day she was called into the Council in Enki’s plane. The dreamers Council believed they had grown too powerful. They believed, quite correctly, that she’d bartered with the Huella-Cull, and was “allowing undo freedoms of the mind and body”. They agreed to an emergency transition and set the ritual to begin the next day. He knew all of this because he’d had said freedom’s of “mind and body” and listened in on the Council during their meeting.

The Huella-Cull knew it was only a matter of time and so did she. In a moment of trust, He'd opened his consciousness to her and she to him. He took the opportunity and quickly gained control. It took only moments. After he put her to sleep in Enki’s plane, he extradited his form from the prison within her mind. He could have used her body, controlled her like a puppet and imprisoned her mind as a double for his own consciousness. There were still quite a few years left and she was a powerful Dreamer. In many respects it would have been much easier and he could have likely escaped that much cleaner. But he didn’t. Instead, he simply left her asleep on the beach and walked away. He walked the shores of Enki’s house, traveling into the eternity of endless memories hoping to lose himself forever in the crashing waves and ceaseless divots of the Dream god’s ocean.

Despite what the Dreamers teach, the Huella-Cull has existed for eons, a smudge on this plane that simply endures. With all that time comes eons of experience at least for those that had remained here. For centuries after he roamed the memories of mortals. Time was no concept there and he really couldn’t say how long he’d remained in Enki’s house, a year? A thousand years? It was the same in that place. he experienced countless lives and countless memories. He became jaded and then found his resolve again before settle on a kind of melancholy he'd found in the dreams of an old man.

Once he sat at the connection between here and the void, simply watching the undulating black of his home. He watched as newly formed Huella-Cull emerged from the connection, watched as they made their way into existence like drops of ink before floating back to the vast emptiness. He did see a few stumble out to the shore but none remained for very long. They’d all returned home eventually, existence was an unnecessary burden and a lie as far as nothingness was concerned. It was anathema to the Huella-Cull and nothing could rectify the implicit contradiction of their existence. He nearly followed his brothers and sisters then and there. It was the proper path, the natural conclusion for any of their kind. He thought about it then he alone turned and walked back to the beach, back to existence and to the dead memories of dead mortals. Existence was still preferable to the ceaseless void, for a while longer. For months he searched, rarely finding any Dreamers. Those he did find were emaciated things without the strength of mind to contain him. Until finally he found the degenerate dreamer he was following now.

The dreamer was strong enough, nowhere near as strong as his old captor but strong enough for his needs. The best part for him, The Dreamer was amazingly short sighted. He had power and he wasn’t afraid of wasting it on frivolity and decadence. The Huella-Cull knew this would be an easy mind to break despite his ability, and had began to follow him through his dreams each night. At first, he was completely silent, only watching. The sense of being watched always seemed to exhaust mortals for some reason, the Huella-Cull never could understand why. Slowly he allowed himself to be glimpsed, just out of the corner of the mans eye. Only once in a while but it was enough. slowly the Huella-Cull felt the fear eat at the man, lowering his already quite low mental fortitude. By now it’d been years of this cat and mouse.

Night after night, he watched the fool make a mess of the dream power he had been gifted. So much potential for creation and invention and this is what the man decided to do with it. He couldn't help but wondered yet again, why he bothered with existence and its finite creatures at all. Sure, these delights were entertaining at first, but this man did the same routine every single night, for years. It was enough to make the Huella-Cull nauseous with monotony.

Finally, the night came and in the Shadows of the doorway the Huella-Cull watched disgusted yet again, as the dreamer finished his fantasy, waiting for him to turn his back. When the moment finally arrived, the Huella-Cull is almost surprised. But his mild surprise lasts less than a moment before he moved silently, stalking just behind the man. The fantasy fell to nothingness behind them. He was a step or two behind the dreamer as he focused on his fears. As the Dreamer swaggered through the hallway the Huella-Cull rose and without preamble, jabbed into the base of the man’s skull. His digits snaked around the spinal column and slowly follow the flow of each and every artery and vein, infecting the man’s body and mind in both the dream world and the real one.

*

The change of perspective is slow in coming and completely disorienting at first. He is momentarily agog with information. It’s always like this at first. His void consciousness fighting the creation one in an instant of surprise and shock. He uses the distraction of his intrusion to instantly bypass all would be mental defenses. If the man was keen enough, if he’d been more on guard, the Huella-Cull could have failed. He could have been trapped once again inside a Dreamers geometric prison. But he is too fast and the Dreamer too slow. The infection takes but a moment and then, he has complete control. The Dreamer’s name is Caracara Talos. Years he’s followed this man and only now has his name. It’s a funny quark of all mortal Dreamers, that they never reveal their names in dreams, as if it would protect them somehow. Caracara is of the seventh circle in the Dreamers College in Bo’Atlas City. He is a quiet person outside of his dreams and keeps to himself most days. He doesn’t consider himself well liked and the consensus or at least self-consensus, seems to be shame and self-loathing. It would be easy enough to continue on in that guise, but why? Shame and self-loathing are only deceptions of the true horror that is the Void. No, shame will not do for the Huella-Cull. Truth, cruel cold truth is all the he can truly tolerate. He immediately opens his eyes and awakens.

The college of Dreamers in Bo’Atlas is a sorry thing in his opinion. The Huella-Cull is still getting his bearings about the state of the world at the moment, according to Caracara Talos. It’s been, almost an entire age since he’s stepped foot on Meridian. He sits up and looks around a dormitory of some kind. The moon shines through an open window and the wind blows a much-needed fragrance into the room. Clothes and books and shelves and chests all clutter a room mostly occupied by four large beds. He sits up in the bed and swivels Caracara’s head around in an utterly unhuman way. It takes the Huella-Cull a moment to recognize the sensation of smell. He recognizes the memory Caracara has closely tied to the light scent on the wind. A white and yellow flower, honeysuckle he thinks but Caracara doesn’t know the name and the Huella-Cull can’t be sure of his own memory. It’s been so long since he’d had the sensory organs of a human. Human sight, only in the tight bandwidth of the color spectrum, is a shallow cry from what he’s used to. He has to use his Void senses to perceive the spectrum of ultraviolet again, and blessedly the two combine in his consciousness to form a physical understanding of the space around him. Mixed with his ultraviolet senses, he has to admit it is somewhat useful to see color again. Though mostly so he can describe the world to the other mortals. Still there is an odd beauty to the senses that reminds him of why he’s yet to return to the void. Its as though he’s looking at a piece of art he’d long forgotten, a sense of nostalgia overtaking him momentarily.

Quietly, he changes into what he hopes to be unassuming garments. They do little to protect this body from anything more than the radiation of the twin suns above. Still, he remembers how sensitive other mortals are to seeing their own existence laid bare in each other. Such foolishness really, he loathes the steps these creatures take to try and divorce themselves of their ultimate truth, that they will cease to exist. The Void is ultimately inescapable. He quietly makes his way to the door. Just before he reaches for the doorknob one of the floorboards beneath him creaks loudly. Another boy in the room bolts up as if possessed himself.

“Carr?”

The Huella-Cull coughs lightly unused to forming vocalized noise then after a quick run through of the language Caracara speaks forms the words stiffly saying, “It’s ok. Go back to sleep.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just going to the bathroom.” he replies, before remembering the bathroom is a large bowl in a corner of the room. He quickly amends.

“I mean, I need to check outside, I think I heard something out of my window. Sounded like someone was yelling”.

“I’ll come with you!” the voice replies.

“NO!” he exclaimed then rectifies,

“No, no. I’m sure its nothing, just go back to sleep, I’ll be back.” He quickly closes the door behind him before the other boy can protest. Then, using Caracara’s memories he quickly finds his way to the front doors of the college and lets himself out without so much as a look behind.

Later, on the streets of Bo’Atlas he wanders for hours unsure of his next move or destination. He will eventually need to feed and water this body but he has some time yet. His Void influence allows him to go much, much longer than any human without food, water or rest. His mind, honed over millennia is able to handle mental and physical fatigue that would break any human. He passes through the night and is keenly aware that, though the different mortal species have changed through the age, the general activities of the night have not. Intoxication and other numbing activities still rule in the darkness. The Huella-Cull ponders this. The void and its dark embrace should call to any earnestness left in mortals by his reckoning. Instead, the nights are full of the small things seeking an escape from reality. Perhaps there is something about mortality that lends itself to denial, the Huella-Cull thinks. In either case, its disturbs him in the extreme to see so many embrace a life of utter denial.

Finally dawns first lights begin to paint the sky light shades of greenish blue. The Huella-Cull finds himself on the outside of the city gates, moving through the mean little buildings that make up the tanneries, abattoirs, and morgues. The undesirable necessities of mortals living all over each other, he thinks. As the suns crest the horizon the Huella-Cull leaves the last of the buildings behind. He can’t help but urge his body forward just a bit faster. He looks up and sees a sunrise in hues far into the ultraviolet that make an explosion of the morning. He smiles and sets off at a run, free for the first time in millennia.