home

search

Chapter 7 - Solitary

  “I’m sorry…”

  “Wh… what?”

  Alex found himself falling. He didn't slip, he was pushed. And Kira had done it.

  The why didn't matter. The betrayal didn't matter. He was falling, the wind tearing at his clothes, the world spinning into a blur of red sky and black stone. His last image of her was a sinister grin painted on her innocent face as she stared down at him.

  The ground rushed up to meet him, a slab of unforgiving obsidian. He could feel the impact before it happened, the pain of shattered bones already ghosting through his body.

  This was it.

  *****

  Alex jolted awake.

  His heart slammed against his ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. Eyes wide, mind blank, he stared at the pale ceiling of his apartment. He bolted upright, pressing his back against the cold wall, gasping for air.

  The dim light from the hallway spilled under his door, painting long shadows across the floor. He was in his room, but for a terrifying second, it felt alien.

  His eyes darted left and right, searching for the red sky, the tower, the betrayal. Slowly, the familiarity of his posters and his desk returned.

  “Just a dream, Alex,” he whispered, forcing his breathing to slow.

  His gaze swept the room one more time before stopping on the alarm clock.

  [20:30]

  “Wait, what?” Alex rubbed his eyes and looked again. [20:30].

  “No way. It’s only been thirteen minutes?” he murmured.

  It felt like hours had passed in that tower, days even. He had climbed, fought, and died… all in thirteen minutes?

  “It’s not the first time,” he sighed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Dream time is weird.”

  He stood up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, grabbing the bedframe to steady himself. His stomach let out a loud, demanding groan that filled the quiet room.

  “I guess I am just hungry.” He sniffed his armpit and grimaced. “But first, a shower.”

  The sweat from the nightmare clung to him, cold and sticky. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the memory of the fall.

  Freshly scrubbed, he slipped into grey joggers, a white vest, and soft indoor shoes, his standard uniform for nighttime relaxation. Feeling slightly more human, he zombie-walked to the kitchen.

  It wasn’t big or fancy, just a kitchenette with a two-burner hot plate, a sink, and a mini-fridge tucked under the counter.

  Alex decided to raid his leftovers. He still had noodles and eggs from the day before.

  He opened the fridge. The pale light spilled over the shelves, illuminating plastic containers and half-empty bottles. His eyes darted back and forth, searching.

  Then, he shut the door.

  He turned to the microwave and punched in the time, watching the timer count down in silence, the soft hum filled the room. He reached for a plate and a fork. His hand hovered over a cup near the sink when a thought struck him.

  “Wait…”

  Alex’s gaze snapped back to the fridge.

  Tsk. He clicked his tongue. “Didn't even take the container out.”

  He turned back to the microwave. The timer beeped. The door stood closed.

  “So… what is in there?” he whispered as he opened the microwave slowly.

  Empty.

  Alex groaned and rubbed his face. “I need more sleep.”

  He grabbed the actual leftovers from the fridge, shoved them into the microwave, and this time, he watched the food spin. He leaned close, his breath fogging the glass, eyes fixed on the rotating plate as if expecting it to vanish.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Ting.

  Grabbing his meal and a fizzy drink, Alex retreated to his room.

  He tapped the remote for his neon lights. The room bathed in a soft red glow, brightness set to fifteen percent. Perfect. He sat at his desk and powered on his computer.

  It wasn't a top-tier rig, but it could handle most games. However, gaming wasn't on the menu tonight. His mind was still stuck in the tower.

  The dream felt too real. The grit of the stone, the pain in his muscles, the look in Kira’s eyes… it didn't feel like a hallucination. It felt like a memory.

  “Alternate reality,” Alex mumbled around a mouthful of noodles.

  The thought clicked into place like a puzzle piece. He had read about it somewhere, the theory that dreams were windows into other worlds.

  He placed his plate aside and began to type.

  [Are dreams alternate realities?]

  He scrolled through the results on the "Web of Information" (WOI). Some articles claimed dreams were glimpses of parallel universes. Others insisted they were just the constructs of the subconscious as it shuffled through fears and desires.

  So which was it? Worlds beyond reach, or monsters from within?

  “Both?” Alex wondered.

  He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The thoughts looped in his mind. Every time he reached a conclusion, his brain circled back to the beginning.

  “Screw this!” he groaned, jolting upright. “I’m a scientist. Well, a computer scientist. Counts.”

  He turned back to the screen, the dark mode glow reflecting in his eyes.

  “Science is about truth,” he muttered. “If I want answers, I need data.”

  ‘But I can't experiment with dreams… can I?’

  To experiment, he would need control. To have control, he needed to know he was dreaming while it was happening. That awareness had a name.

  “Lucid dreaming,” Alex read aloud as he skimmed through the search results.

  Waking dream. Conscious sleep. The definitions were repetitive. But one title caught his eye: [The Path to Enlightenment: Dream Yoga].

  “What?” he whispered, leaning closer. “Tibetan Buddhism?”

  He read line by line. ‘Dream Yoga… an ancient spiritual practice that goes beyond simple lucidity. It involves maintaining awareness during sleep to explore the nature of reality.’

  “Huh… that’s crap,” he muttered, powering off the monitor.

  “Spiritual enlightenment?” He sighed at his dark reflection in the screen. “Should’ve known better. The web is full of cults and nonsense.”

  Sitting quietly in the dim red light, Alex’s mind drifted back to an old memory.

  *****

  He was at a concert.

  He didn't know the band, didn't know the venue, but he was surrounded by friends. Or at least, people who felt like friends. Their faces were blurred, smeared like wet paint, but their laughter was familiar.

  Just like the girl on the cliff in his other dream. He knew her, even if he couldn't see her face.

  At the concert, Alex was having a blast. Music thumped in his chest. Lights flashed.

  But then, the world slowed.

  People blurred into streaks of color. The music faded, and two thoughts collided in his mind.

  ‘Wait… is this…’

  ‘No… don’t.’

  ‘Am I… NO.’

  ‘Your heart will burst… wait.’

  ‘I am dreaming.’

  He remembered jolting awake that day, his heart hammering so hard he thought his ribs would crack. He had read somewhere that if you realize you're dreaming, the shock wakes you up instantly… or kills you.

  Obviously, it hadn't killed him. But the feeling had lingered for days.

  “That was definitely a lucid dream,” Alex thought.

  He had experienced a few since then, but they were always abstract, fleeing memories. However, these recent ones? The cliff? The tower?

  They were different. They were solid.

  “Damn that girl,” Alex gritted his teeth, the memory of the push making him flinch. “I should have never saved her.”

  He spun his chair around. “I wanted to see that throne. We risked our lives for it.”

  He paused, trying to piece the timeline together.

  ‘I remember the climb. I remember the snake. I remember saving Kira. But… how did we get from the ledge to the statue room? When did Kira lose her eye? When did the woman lose her fingers?’

  There were gaps. Huge, black holes in the narrative.

  “What room was she talking about?” he whispered as he rubbed his temple. The headache was returning. Dreams weren't logical, so why was he trying to solve them like a code?

  [Beep! Beep!]

  He glanced at the clock.

  [02:48 AM]

  “Crap. It’s late… or early,” he groaned. “Doesn’t matter. School tomorrow.”

  He climbed into bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin. The questions still buzzed in the back of his mind like static, but exhaustion was a heavy blanket.

  Whatever secrets dreams held, he wasn't going to solve them tonight.

  [LitRPG] [Cultivation] [Crafting] [Smart MC]

  


  Synopsis (Click to Expand)

  To transcend the heavens, one must first forge the ladder.

  He is a Cultivator who values volume over speed.

  He is a Chronicler who will not stop at the sky.

  


Recommended Popular Novels