The dream began in silence. Ethan walked through a narrow tunnel carved from stone, the air damp and echoing. Water dripped from somewhere above, each drop striking the floor with a hollow rhythm. The tunnel stretched endlessly ahead of him — dark, breathing, alive.
At the far end, a faint glow waited.
Golden light. Warm and alive.
He walked faster. His footsteps rang against the stone, chasing the light as it grew brighter, spilling across the walls like sunlight fighting to reach him.
Then he saw her.
A woman stood at the mouth of the tunnel, her face half-veiled by the brilliance. Her hair caught the light like threads of gold, and though Ethan couldn't see her eyes, something in his chest ached with recognition.
He didn't know her name, yet he did.
Ellie.
The name came unbidden, like a whisper from the edge of his mind.
She smiled faintly. A small, knowing smile. Then she giggled — soft, almost shy and turned away, stepping into the light.
Ethan followed.
But as he passed through the tunnel's end, the light fractured. The sky beyond warped.
Sunlight bled into shadow.
Thunder cracked across a suddenly black horizon. Rain poured in heavy sheets, washing away everything bright.
And there, standing in the storm, was the boy. The same boy from before — soaked, trembling, his eyes burning with something unreadable.
The boy lifted a hand and pointed straight at him.
"Behind you."
Ethan turned.
A fist connected with his jaw — hard, cold, and real.
He gasped and woke up.
He sat upright, breath tearing out of him, sweat beading across his skin. The remnants of the storm still echoed faintly in his mind.
Nearby, Dogger sat cross-legged on a flat rock, eyes closed, his posture calm and deliberate. His breathing was steady almost mechanical.
Without looking up, Dogger said, "Another dream?"
Ethan wiped his face and nodded. "Yeah… but this one was different. It felt.. I don't know, real. Like something I lived through."
Dogger opened one eye and studied him for a moment before chuckling softly.
"A dream inside a dream, that's always a strange one."
He leaned back slightly, his voice low and reflective.
"But it's no dream, Ethan. It's your mind pulling pieces together."
Ethan frowned. "Pieces of what?"
Dogger smiled faintly. "Yourself."
Ethan stared at the ground, words heavy in his mouth. "That woman… and the boy. They were there again. Are they part of my past?"
Dogger shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe they're what your mind wants you to remember. Either way—" he stretched lazily, "—you're waking up. Piece by piece."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward, it was thoughtful. The kind that pressed on the air between them.
Ethan finally asked, "Do other dreamers get this? The visions, the flashes?"
Dogger tilted his head. "Probably. The deeper they wander, the more their mind starts clawing back at what it lost."
Ethan looked away, muttering, "Then why not just show me everything?"
Dogger grinned, a sharp gleam in his eyes. "Because the dream doesn't trust you yet."
A low vibration rolled through the ground.
At first it felt like distant thunder, but the sky above them was clear. Then the air began to hum, like static crawling through the wind.
Ethan stood, scanning the horizon. "What's happening?"
Dogger rose to his feet slowly. His expression had shifted — calm, but sharp. "He's here again."
Ethan's pulse quickened. "The Warden?"
Dogger nodded once. "He's not coming for you this time." His eyes tracked the horizon where the air shimmered and folded in on itself. "He's fixing what you broke."
Ethan watched in disbelief as the world began to rewrite itself.
Hills bent, folding into perfect symmetry. The cracked plains smoothed over, buildings began to form — not real buildings, but half-rendered shapes, flickering like blueprints trying to exist.
The fog thickened, organizing itself into rigid walls. Even the sky looked wrong — like someone was painting order over chaos.
The dream wasn't healing. It was resetting.
Ethan clenched his fists. "If he's fixing things… that means he'll find us soon."
Dogger didn't look afraid. His tone was steady, almost amused. "Good. Then we'll be ready."
The ground beneath them flickered — once, twice — then a voice echoed faintly through the mist.
"All errors must be erased."
It was the Warden's voice, distorted, mechanical, stretched by distance.
Ethan felt the world pulse around him. Every surface trembling like the dream itself was holding its breath.
Dogger smiled faintly.
"Looks like he found us."
The light in the distance flared white and the chapter fades to black.