Ethan's breath came in quick, shallow gasps as the darkness continued to fold in on him. His heart beat erratically, as if it, too, was uncertain whether to continue. His mind buzzed with fragmented thoughts—pieces of memories, broken connections, half-formed truths—that refused to align into any coherent shape.
The world felt like it was splintering, unraveling at its edges. He could feel it—feel the threads of everything he had known slipping away.
It's not real.
It's not real.
He whispered the mantra in his mind, but even his own thoughts felt out of place. Like the echo of someone else's voice, someone who wasn't supposed to be here.
The air was thick, heavy with something that pressed against him from all sides. The floor beneath him had begun to crack again. Deep fissures split the ground open, and through them, he could see nothing but blackness—a void that stretched on forever.
He staggered to his feet, his knees trembling. The weight of the situation pressed on him like a thousand invisible hands, holding him in place.
The shadow's voice echoed in his head again, more distorted than before.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Ethan closed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. What does it mean? What wasn't he supposed to understand?
The room began to shimmer, the air bending around him like the world itself was distorting. He could hear the sounds of voices again—his own voice, fractured and faint, as though coming from far, far away.
"I can't wake up."
"I have to wake up."
"I'm sorry."
Each whisper felt like a knife slicing through his chest. Guilt. Regret. Fear. They all came crashing in at once, choking him.
Suddenly, there was a shift. The cracks in the floor grew wider, and the shadows seemed to take shape.
A figure stood in the center of the room.
Ethan's breath caught in his throat.
It was him.
But not him. A different version. One that wasn't broken. One that stood tall and straight, his posture strong, his eyes clear—full of purpose.
This version of Ethan was… what he could have been.
The two of them stood there, facing each other across the widening chasm between them. The other Ethan didn't speak at first, but his expression was full of something Ethan couldn't quite place. Something sharp and knowing.
The air around them crackled, and the words came out of the other Ethan's mouth—slow and deliberate.
"You're breaking it."
Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat.
The other Ethan continued, his gaze unyielding. "Everything you've been through… It's been to get you here. But this place—this world—it's not real. You're just a memory, too. Just like all of it."
Ethan shook his head, confusion twisting inside him. "What do you mean? This is real. I—I'm real."
The other Ethan's lips curled into a faint smile—an echo of who Ethan once was.
"No. You're a loop. A reflection of something that was."
The words cut through him, and for a moment, the world seemed to shudder. The cracks in the floor deepened, swallowing the ground beneath him. Ethan's pulse quickened, the gravity of the situation sinking in.
"No," he said, barely able to find his voice. "I'm not a reflection. I'm me. I'm…"
The other Ethan stepped forward. Every step felt like it rattled the ground beneath them.
"You've been running from the truth," he said, his voice low and steady. "But now it's here. You've seen it. You've felt it. This isn't your world. This isn't your life. You're trying to wake up from something you've already forgotten."
The ground shook again, this time violently. Ethan had to brace himself against the walls as the world tilted, like a ship lost in the storm.
"You're the dreamer," the other Ethan continued, his tone shifting, almost pitying. "But you've been dreaming for too long. And now, you have to face it."
Ethan's heart skipped a beat. "Face what? What is it?"
The other Ethan's eyes softened, a flicker of something distant passing through them. A memory, maybe. A loss.
"You died," he said simply. "This is your last chance to wake up. To let go."
The floor beneath Ethan's feet cracked open entirely, and he fell. His body tumbled downward into the darkness, his vision spinning out of control.
The air around him turned cold.
He could hear his own voice again, the whispers echoing in the void.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please, forgive me."
There was no way to tell how far he fell. Time had lost its meaning. The weightlessness pressed against him, like he was sinking into some endless abyss.
And then—suddenly—everything stopped.
The darkness stretched into a field of light. A wide, infinite space that surrounded him, glowing with soft, gentle warmth.
Ethan blinked, his mind struggling to make sense of the change. The chill was gone. The weight had lifted.
He stood now, in the middle of nowhere.
For the first time since he could remember, he felt at peace.
He looked around, taking in the wide expanse of nothingness. There was no ground, no sky. No past. No future. Just… this.
And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, a voice spoke.
"You made it."
It was soft. A child's voice. Familiar, and yet… unfamiliar.
Ethan looked around, his heart racing. But there was no one there. No figure. No shadow. Just the endless space.
"Is this it?" he asked, the words escaping before he could stop them. "Is this… Heaven?"
The voice returned, a quiet laugh in its tone.
"No. This is the first place you ever dreamed. You're finally home."
And the darkness around him seemed to fade, leaving only the endless field of light.
But as the light enveloped him, there was a flicker.
A shift.
Ethan closed his eyes.
And then, it was gone.
He opened his eyes again—back in his room. The air was quiet. No glitches. No cracks.
Everything was… still.
But then, on the nightstand next to him, he saw something.
A note. Scrawled hastily.
It read:
"You're in his dream. Wake up."
⸻