This is the first of Christopher's journal entries.
Christopher knew Max and Seth's parents long before their story began. His gift is not strength or scripture, but sight where his dreams and visions edge into prophecy.
These interludes trace the days leading up to his journey into the Pale Expanse and the Sepulcher of Echoes.
They are shorter, more fragmented, and written in his own words. Think of them as pieces of his diary.
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I woke shaking. The dream clings to me like frost.
A cavern opened before me, its walls bleeding with gold light, though no flame burned. At its heart stood a structure that was neither palace nor tomb, yet it breathed with both. A mansion carved from radiance, every column alive with shifting script I could not read.
Then it came... a whisper so soft it felt breathed against my ear, though the cavern was empty. A butterfly, its wings spun of molten gold, drifted past my face. The air stirred as it passed, sweet with something ancient, and it tugged at me. Not a voice, not a command, but a pull threaded through my ribs. I stepped after it before thought could argue.
The butterfly vanished into the light, and the dream split apart.
I woke, my chest tight, my hands already reaching for the pen. I had to record this. My gut insists it won't be the last.
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A note from Amanda Hannibal
Thanks for reading Christopher's first journal entries. His voice is very different from Max or Seth's because he has no scripture or power to shield him. What he carries instead are his visions, fragile and uncertain, yet vital to the path ahead.
Let me know if you enjoy this perspective. Do you prefer shorter entries like this as standalone posts, or paired together in twos? Your feedback helps me decide the pacing.