Forbidden Confessions of a Dream Walker - Part 4: Allies and the Hidden War

At first, I thought I was alone.
But as I wandered the dream world, testing my abilities, I began to realize something:
I wasn’t.

Others were out there.
Some were humans like me — though they came in different shapes and strengths.
Some were not human at all.

Not all were friendly.

There were demons, like the Hag — hateful things that fed on fear and suffering.
But there were also beings of light — the ones I would later understand were Angels.
And there were dogs.
Faithful, joyful companions who moved through the dream world as easily as they did the waking one.
They became good friends — loyal allies in battles that most people would never even know existed.

I don’t remember exactly when I first met the Angels.
Dream memories are slippery that way.
I only know that before I met them, I encountered other human Dream Walkers.
Or, as we sometimes called ourselves, Demon Hunters.

The human Dream Walkers were generally welcoming.
Meeting them felt natural — like running into old friends you didn’t remember you had.
We didn’t always have formal plans.
Sometimes, we stumbled onto each other in the middle of a mission.
Other times, we worked in groups when the job was too big for one of us alone.
The dream world was chaotic, fractured — and yet, somehow, we found each other when we needed to.

The Angels came to me not as soldiers, but as teachers.
One at a time, they appeared — guiding me, showing me glimpses of deeper truths.

It was through them that I first learned about the hidden war.

There were three sides, they told me:
The Angels.
The Demons.
And a third, more mysterious faction they would not fully explain.

Humans, they said, were central to the war.
But whether we were pawns, prizes, or something more — they wouldn’t say.

Some knowledge, it seemed, was too dangerous to share.

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NEXT - Part 5: Years of Purpose

 

Forbidden Confessions of a Dream Walker - Part 3: Awakening to Power

After that night, everything was different.

In my very next dream, I could feel it — a courage I had never known before.
At the time, I thought it was the light I had received, some gift from above.
Now, I wonder if it was simply the realization that fear no longer ruled me.

I discovered that the dream world wasn’t just a place of helpless terror.
It was a world of thought.
A place where belief and will shaped reality itself.

I tested my newfound strength.
I flew.
I shifted my form — turning into a dog, a bird, anything I could imagine.
I sent blasts of energy from my hands, defeating enemies I created just for target practice.
I learned I could move instantly to distant places just by willing it.

I realized something else, too — something important.
Anyone can travel in dreams.
Sometimes people get lost — find themselves in strange, distant places without understanding why.
If it ever happens, all they have to do is close their eyes and wish themselves awake.
It really is that simple.

For the first time, dreams were not a prison.
They were a playground.
A training ground.

I didn’t know it yet, but I was becoming something very rare.
A Dream Walker.

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NEXT - Part 4: Allies and the Hidden War

 

Forbidden Confessions of a Dream Walker - Part 2: The Turning Point and Discovery of Powers

Everything stayed the same for years — the fear, the battles in the dark — until the night something changed.

It happened in a dream like so many before.
I was in the kitchen of my childhood home.
I remember the lights dimming — that was always the first sign she was coming.
The Hag would usually enter from the back porch, and I would scramble toward the living room at the front of the house, desperate to escape.
But it was always the same: as soon as I tried to run, reality would thicken around me. Moving felt like crawling through tar, like something unseen was pulling me backward.

This time started no differently.
I was on my hands and knees, dragging myself toward the living room — when something inside me snapped.

I thought, "I'm sick of this."
I stopped crawling. I stood up.

And instead of fleeing, I turned and marched straight toward the back porch door.

As I moved, a brilliant, sparkling light poured into me from above, entering through the top of my head. It filled me with a strength I'd never known before — not just strength of body, but strength of soul. Somehow, I just knew what I needed to do.

I flung the door open.

The porch beyond was dark, but I could see her — the Hag — cowering in the back corner, huddled in the deepest shadows. She knew. She understood that I wasn't afraid anymore.

Without hesitation, I spoke:
"Leave me and my family alone. Leave, and never come back."

And that was the end of her.

I never saw the Hag again.

---

NEXT - Part 3: Awakening to Power

 

Forbidden Confessions of a Dream Walker - Part 1: Introduction and Childhood

I don't know if anyone will believe me.
Sometimes, even I don't believe myself.

My name doesn't matter. I'm not telling this to become some kind of hero, or to prove anything. I'm just here to tell you what happened to me, the way I lived it. As best as I can, anyway. Dreams are strange things — hard to hold onto. Some details stayed with me, sharp as broken glass. Others slipped away like smoke the moment I opened my eyes. But I’ll give you everything I can.

I am — or at least I was — a Dream Walker.

It started when I was very young. Night after night, something terrible came for me in my dreams. I called it the Hag. She wasn't just a nightmare — I could feel her hatred, her rage, her hunger. She would isolate me from my family, trapping me alone with her. She would scream at me, threaten me, try to wear me down. I think now that she was trying to break me — to make me give in to her somehow. Maybe to open myself to possession. Maybe to something worse.

I never gave in.

Sometimes I would curl up into a ball on the floor or press myself into a corner while she towered over me, shrieking.
Other times, I would just endure it, silent and shaking, waiting for the dream to end.
Always afraid. Always alone.

I told people a little about what was happening. But not much.
The Hag threatened me — told me she would hurt my family if I spoke out.
And she proved she could.
After one threat, my mother suffered a medical emergency so severe she was technically dead for a time on the operating table. I learned then that the Hag's reach wasn't limited to the dream world. She could touch the waking world, too.

I grew up afraid, living with a terror I couldn't explain. My only real goal as a child was simple:
Resist.
No matter what, resist.

---

NEXT - Part 2: The Turning Point and Discovery of Powers

 

Entry from the Journal of a Dream Walker: The Revelation

I wasn’t sure I wanted to ever share this with anyone. Most of what I’ve seen belongs to a world that slips away the moment the sun rises. But this... this has stayed with me. And I think it always will. So I write now, not to remember, but to understand.

It happened on a night like any other. I had just entered the dream world. There was no mission waiting. No call to banish anything. I was alone, standing in a space I hadn’t yet shaped. A blank canvas, still dark and mist-choked. The kind of place that feels like the edge of something vast and unfinished.

That’s when I felt her.

Not saw. Not heard. Felt. A presence I knew, as familiar as any coworker. We’d fought side by side on occasion. She was always calm. Clear-eyed. Competent. One of the few you could rely on in a nightmare. But as soon as I turned to face her, I knew something was wrong.

Her appearance was disheveled, like someone who had wandered too far for too long. Clothes torn, hair wild, eyes too wide. There was a crackling energy around her—not magical, but mental. As if her thoughts were trying to escape faster than her mouth could keep up.

"They won't let me say it," she said, words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "They know. They know I know and they’re coming. I have to tell you before they stop me."

I raised a hand. "Calm down. Just breathe. What are you talking about? Who's coming?"

She laughed. Then whispered. Then screamed. Her voice modulated wildly—laughter turning to sobs, then back to panic.

"It's not what we think!" she gasped. "None of it! Not demons, not angels—not us! We’re not what we think we are."

I tried to steady her. I reached out, gently. "What did you find? Tell me. One thing at a time."

She looked at me, pupils dilated, lip trembling. She lowered her voice to a whisper so soft it barely brushed the air. "I found out why we exist. Humans."

The mist around us thickened, as if the dream itself was listening.

"They kept it from us," she hissed. "The angels. They guard the truth. They bury it. Because if we knew, if any of us knew..."

She looked over her shoulder. There was nothing there. Still, she trembled like something was watching. "I thought it was beautiful at first. But it’s not. It’s not. It’s horrible."

And then she said the word.

Just one word.

I will not write it here. I cannot. To speak it, to read it, to even hear it... is to begin unraveling. That is what happened to her. And what almost happened to me.

The moment she said it, I understood. I felt it. The weight of truth crashing down on a mind not built to carry it. My vision blurred. My knees gave way. My heart raced with an emotion I couldn’t name. Fear, yes. But something deeper. A kind of existential vertigo.

She repeated it again and again, louder each time. And then she began to scream.

Not words. Just sound. Fury and terror and broken laughter all twisted together. And then she ran. Disappeared into the mist like a shadow losing shape.

And I was thrown out. Forced awake, gasping in my bed, soaked in sweat.

I remembered everything. That was unusual. Normally, waking erases the dream world like chalk in rain. But not this time. This time it stayed.

I tried to go back. Not to find her—I knew she was lost. But to find the angels.

They met me only once.

"You are no longer one of us," they said.

I asked why. I begged. They gave no answer.

Cold. Silent. Gone.

I was angry. I was confused. For years I carried that weight—this secret that I hadn’t even asked for. In the waking world, things became difficult. I could function, even thrive on the surface, but everything drained me. Even the simplest tasks felt like lifting mountains.

Eventually I left it all behind. Moved to the country. Found a quiet place far from crowds, from noise. From questions.

And that’s where I began to heal.

Over time, I understood. I hadn’t been punished. I had been protected. Removed from the fight not out of anger—but out of mercy. The angels had saved what was left of me in the only way they could.

Sometimes, they let me back. Briefly. But never for long. I’m not what I once was. I can’t be.

And now, I write this.

Not as a warning. Not exactly.

But you should know this: the world you know isn’t all there is. There are other truths. Other realities. Other meanings.

But be careful what you seek.

Some answers do not liberate.

Some answers only destroy.