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The young man knelt on the stone floor, bound, his head of dark hair hanging low. The room was unsuited to such a display, he thought: high ceilings, an opulent chair of red velvet, a fireplace crackling behind him.
He didn’t recall how he’d come here- only saw what lay ahead.
The room’s great door opened, and a man strode in- one who’d populated his nightmares for some time, before new and greater horrors. The baron, corpulent as ever, grinning thinly in the firelight at the hawk he’d caged.
“Paul,” he said. “Leto’s boy.”
“Grandfather,” Paul returned.
The baron chuckled. He moved leisurely to the fireside chair, marking the green eyes that never left him. “You’ve grown.”
Paul said nothing. The baron tilted his head, picked up his wine and swilled it. “You wear power handsomely.”
“You don’t frighten me anymore,” Paul said flatly.
“Don’t I?” The baron drank. “What does, I wonder?”
The only sound was the crackle of the fireplace and Paul’s shallow breath. He shifted away from the baron, looked into the fire. “You couldn’t possibly…”
“You fear your power, foolishly,” said the baron. “You might have much to learn from me.”
“I have nothing to learn from you,” Paul spat. “I am nothing like you.”
The baron laughed, and it rumbled through the room. Paul flinched.
“You are my blood,” said the baron. “But perhaps you are a fool after all, as your father taught you.”
“Perhaps,” said Paul. “But I warn you, Grandfather, I shall show you the same mercy you showed him.”
The baron yawned. “Very well, boy. Say I’m your dragon to slay. It makes for quite the tale.” He rose from the chair, casting a long shadow. He smiled at Paul’s sharp intake of breath. “I wish all the best for you, truly. Farewell.”
“Enough,” Paul snarled, as the baron reached out a hand. “Enough!”
And he opened his eyes to darkness, sweat matting his hair and his thin bedding twisted around him.
A dream, he thought. A dream and not a vision, for once.
But he saw the fire flickering still when he closed his eyes.