Chapter 4: The Edge of Dreaming

  My brain sparked, but I found nothing. The void had no edges, no gravity, no sound—only a suffocating silence that pressed like a physical weight against my skull. I thrashed, my invisible limbs moving through the nothingness, but there was no resistance, no friction, no presence to ground me. Panic clawed at my throat.

  “Ktroll?” My voice dissolved into the abyss.

  A low, resonant voice filled the space around me, a sound that seemed to emanate from the very fabric of the dream itself. “I'm here, Arch.” The words seeped from the emptiness itself, as though the air were speaking. “All around you. I'm in the scaffolding holding the dream in place. For now.”

  “Where are you?” I asked, squirming, trying to find my body.

  “Don’t panic. Now that we’re here, I have some time to explain before you begin. You're in the Ultrasapien dream. The reason you and others like you rise above the ordinary. The reason you have the strength to come back from the brink of death. This dream is the subconscious realm where your power is forged. It's the bridge between our world and the higher dimensions. The gods… they watch from there.”

  “The gods?” The word echoed, hollow. My mind scattered, grasping for coherence. “What gods? Why haven’t I heard of this before?”

  “Because the truth is buried under milenia of fear.” Ktroll’s tone sharpened, though the void swallowed his edges. “The beings we call gods are not myths. They are real. They grant us god-energy—the strength to survive, to fight. But they don’t hand it to us freely. You have to prove yourself worthy. Here in this dream.”

  I staggered backward, though there was no floor. “But I’ve had these dreams since becoming an Ultrasapien. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you weren’t ready. I spent years unraveling my dream layers. But now there’s no time. This is dangerous, Arch. With me forcing the dream in place, you could die. Even as an Ultrasapien, if your will breaks, it could mean the end of you.”

  I shuddered as the weight of Ktroll's words settled on me. “What do I have to do?”

  “You must navigate the dream. Face its challenges, and, most importantly, encounter the entity that watches over it. A manifestation of the gods’ will. Then you might gain their blessing.”

  My mind raced. “And then what?”

  “Then," Ktroll's voice softened, “you'll find yourself at the edge of the dream dimension. The furthest point from where you began. From there, you’ll have the opportunity to cross over to the other side. To the hell dimension.”

  “The hell dimension.” The words left a bitter taste. My blood felt as though it turned to ice. “Will you be there with me?”

  “As much as I can,” Ktroll replied. “But I can’t risk being directly in your dream with you. I can’t risk following you into hell. Once you’re fully immersed, I won’t be able to communicate with you or influence it in any way. You are a strong Ultra. This dream will be hard to complete. Most wake before they reach the end. This is why it takes years of practice. The best I can do for you is hold the dream together from the outside. But once you’re at the end, I don't know how to help you cross over. I don't know what to do at that point.”

  The weight of Ktroll’s words settled on me. I was alone in this. Truly alone.

  “The dream,” Ktroll continued, “is a product of your own mind. It’s shaped by your experiences, your personality. It’s your interpretation of the power you're receiving. Most people don't realize its significance. They dismiss it as a simple dream. But it’s so much more. It’s the reason you’re here. The reason you have the strength to face what's to come.”

  My mind raced with questions, but Ktroll’s voice began to fade into the fabric of nothingness. Colors swirled and shifted, and I felt a sharp pain, as if my very essence was being pulled and stretched.

  “Ktroll!” I shouted, but his voice was gone.

  Colors erupted in a chaotic burst—blues, greens, yellows—before settling into a crimson red that seemed to bleed from the very air. I gasped for air as I recognized I now had a body. I was lying on the ground, the red sky above casting an eerie, otherworldly glow over the landscape. This was the dream. The real journey had begun.

  My mind was still shrouded in the fog of half-remembered pain, my thoughts sluggish. Faded colors swirled around me, dominated by a rusty red that clouded my vision. A dull throb pulsed in my skull, and as awareness seeped back, I realized I was pinned beneath the weight of a four-wheeler. The vehicle’s heavy frame dug into my leg, cutting off blood flow and sending sharp jolts of agony up my spine. Blood trickled down my face, mingling with the sweat that clung to my skin.

  “Where am I? What happened?!” I rasped, panic clawing at my throat.

  A voice cut through the haze. “Are you alright, man?!” came a familiar-sounding baritone, laced with concern. “Awww, shit!”

  I blinked, trying to focus. Two figures knelt beside me—a pair of men dressed in black uniforms adorned with rank patches. Their faces were strikingly familiar. The first man could have been no one else but my father, down to the weathered lines and stubble. The second, mirrored the friend my father had often worked with, even mimicking his posture. Yet something was off. Their eyes held no recognition of me, only confusion.

  “Wha… What happened? Where am I?”

  “We were doing our rounds,” my father said, his voice steady but strained. “You hit a rock on the trail. Got bucked off and the four-wheeler rolled on top of you. Lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

  My mind reeled. My own memories—a life, my family, my mission, the forest with the Enlightened Ones—clashed violently with this reality.

  Is this not my dream? Is this hell? Have I forgotten? I opened my mouth to speak, but the words came out jumbled. “Dad, what’s going on? Why don’t you remember me?!”

  The man stepped back, his expression wary. “You hit your head pretty hard, didn’t you?”

  I shut my mouth, the taste of blood metallic on my tongue. Don’t push it. Don’t give them a reason to sense something wrong. I forced myself to nod. “Yeah… I remember now. Just… hurts.”

  The two men exchanged concerned glances. My father’s friend nodded. “Are you able to drive back? We need to get you patched up.”

  I hesitated, but the alternative—drawing attention to my confusion—was worse. “Yeah. I can manage.”

  With the men’s help, I staggered to my feet. My leg screamed in protest, but I ignored it, focusing instead on the surreal landscape around me. The sky was a deep, blood-red hue, choked by a thick, eerie fog that clung to the ground like a living thing. In the distance, faint silhouettes loomed, jagged and unnatural, piercing the mist.

  The air here was thick with tension, as if the very atmosphere was charged with a hidden energy. I could feel it in my bones—a primal, almost instinctual awareness that this place was not as it seemed. The colors, the fog, the strange shapes in the distance—they all hinted at something deeper, something that lurked just beneath the surface of this dream world.

  “Come on,” my father urged, his voice breaking through my thoughts. “Let’s get you back.”

  I nodded, taking a tentative step forward. The ground beneath my feet felt unstable, as if it could shift at any moment. The fog seemed to swirl and shift with each movement, alive and watching. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being observed, that unseen eyes were following our every move.

  As we made our way toward what I assumed was the edge of the dream dimension, the weight of Ktroll’s words settled heavily on my shoulders. I was alone in this, truly alone. But I couldn’t afford to dwell on that now. I had to focus, to navigate this strange and treacherous landscape, and find the entity that watched over the dream. Only then could I hope to gain its blessing and cross over to the hell dimension.

  But for now, I had to take it one step at a time. One foot in front of the other, through the fog and the pain, toward whatever awaited me at the edge of dreaming.

  As we walked toward our four-wheelers, I stole another glance at the men. Their uniforms bore unfamiliar insignias, and their silence hung heavy, charged with unspoken tension. Were they military? Something else? The air felt thick with secrets, their roles in this realm as elusive as the shifting fog itself.

  I mounted my vehicle, the engine roaring to life with a guttural growl. The desert stretched endlessly, a barren wasteland cloaked in an oppressive red fog that clung to the ground like a living, breathing entity. Tracks in the dirt marked our path—the only thread of continuity in this desolate expanse.

  As we rode, the fog seemed to writhe, responding to our passage. Shapes materialized within its folds—fleeting visions of my past. A childhood home I’d long forgotten. The echoes of laughter from friends long gone. My chest tightened. Focus on the now, I reminded myself. But the fog wasn’t just taunting me with memories.

  It hid dangers.

  Shadowy figures emerged from the mist—creatures born of the fog itself, their forms fluid and ever-shifting. They moved with deliberate slowness, testing my resolve. One moment they were there, the next dissipated, leaving only a bone-chilling draft. My hands tightened on the handlebars.

  Outsmart them. Stay ahead.

  I adjusted my route imperceptibly, steering clear of denser fog banks. Instinct guided me, honed by years of surviving in the afterlife. These creatures weren’t random—they were the dream’s way of probing my resolve, a trial woven into the environment itself.

  The ride felt interminable until a colossal silhouette materialized ahead. At first, I mistook it for a mountain, its peak swallowed by the crimson haze. But as I drew closer, my heart quickened. It wasn’t a mountain—it was a castle, suspended impossibly on a floating island of earth. The same castle where we’d fought Sariph in Romania.

  How? The question reverberated in my skull. The castle shouldn’t exist here. Yet there it was, stone spires piercing the sky, windows glowing like ember-filled eyes. Had the dream pulled it from my memories? Or did it exist across multiple planes of reality?

  I forced calm into my breathing. No one could see my confusion. Stoicism was armor here. As we neared the castle, the men slowed. A line of people stretched from the bridge up to the horizon, each figure silent and still. Or so I thought.

  A scream split the air.

  A man in the line thrashed violently, clawing at the ground as he tried to flee. “No! No, I won’t go! You can’t make me!” His voice cracked, wild with terror. He shoved past others, panic radiating from him like heat.

  The two men with me immediately gave chase. “Stay here!” they barked back at me.

  I watched, my mind working furiously. Guards. They’re guards, maintaining order. The line wasn’t just a queue—it was a procession of the doomed. And the castle ahead? Not a refuge. A place of judgment.

  When the guards returned, dragging the screaming man behind them, I glanced down at my own uniform. Black fabric, rank patches identical to theirs. I’m one of them? How? Had I usurped another’s body? Or was this a deeper layer of the dream, a reflection of hidden facets of myself?

  The men resumed their journey. I followed, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The castle loomed closer now, its details sharper. Staircases spiraled upwards, defying gravity. Towers bristled with battlements, their windows shining with candlelight that somehow seeped through the fog.

  As I dismounted at the bridge entrance, I felt it—the castle’s pulse. A low, resonant vibration that hummed through the bridge into the ground, through my bones. It wasn’t just a structure. It was an entity. A prison. A gateway. Judgement manifest waiting.

  A guard shouted at the line. “Move forward!” His voice carried authority, but the tremor beneath it betrayed fear. The people shuffled, their movements mechanical.

  The man beside me—my father’s doppelg?nger—paused. “You’re pale,” he muttered, studying me. For a heartbeat, recognition flickered in his eyes. Then it died.

  I swallowed. “Just the pain.”

  He nodded, not convinced.

  Above, the castle’s gates awaited, their wooden doors flickering in the torchlight like the jaws of a sleeping beast. And somewhere inside, the entity that watched over this realm.

  I was deep in thought when a weathered hand gripped my arm. Turning, I found myself face-to-face with an old woman in ragged clothes. She looked exactly like my grandmother.

  “Grandma?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

  “It is you, isn’t it?!” she breathed, her eyes scanning me up and down. “Arch, you shouldn’t be here. It isn’t your time!”

  “What do you mean?” I stammered, confusion clawing at me.

  Her expression softened, but her eyes remained sharp. “Oh, Arch, it’s so nice to see you one more time. But we don’t have much time. You have to go—now—before they notice you!”

  “Notice what?” I demanded, lowering my defenses. Her familiarity felt like an anchor in this surreal place.

  “This is a part of the afterlife,” she explained hurriedly. “A place where souls come to be judged before moving on. Those who pass through the blue light are purified and move on to heaven. Those who fail are sent to be consumed by hell. You’re not supposed to be here. But your clothes—they’re an illusion. There’s an aura around you, I can see past it. You’re an anomaly. If the guards see through it, they’ll take you away. You must use this to your advantage while you can!”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, my mind aching.

  “There’s a sorceress in the highest tower of the castle,” she said. “She’s the only one who can help you in this place. Find her and she’ll know what to do.”

  The guards approached me, drawing the attention of the crowd. My grandmother pushed me gently toward the line. “Follow the line! Go! Now!”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Startled, I stumbled forward, the people parting reluctantly. Their stares turned to wary nods as they recognized my uniform. The guards’ suspicion lingered but didn’t linger long enough. I climbed the bridge, now the enormous wooden doors of the castle just ahead. Golden anubis statues flanking the doors radiated an eerie presence.

  As each soul passed between the statues, beams of light shone from their eyes. From the right statue cerulean and from the left statue crimson. The light pierced through each person exposing the texture of their souls.

  The statues spoke in unison, posed riddles about their lives or deepest regrets.

  Answer truthfully, or burn in the lie.

  Those who answered truthfully were rewarded, while those who lied or failed were punished.

  A man in his thirties stepped forward first. His hands shook as the statues demanded, What regret weighs heaviest on your heart?

  He hesitated, then said. “I—I never betrayed my brother.”

  The crimson light erupted, engulfing him. His screams pierced the air as his skin blackened and cracked. The castle doors creaked open, revealing a chasm of writhing shadows—the hell dimension. The light lifted the man presenting him as a present. A hand erupted from the abyss: Sariph, in full demonic form. He dragged the man screaming into the void. The doors slammed shut, sealing his fate.

  Next was a young woman, her breath shallow as she trembled. She tried to run but the guards shoved her forward into their gaze. The statues intoned, What bond do you cherish above all else?

  “M-my family,” she stammered, tears streaming. “I love them more than anything.”

  The blue light clashed with the red, a battle of truths and doubts. The cerulean wave won, enveloping her, disintegrating her clothes. Naked, she began to change as her skin smoothed. Her scars and blemishes quickly disappeared. She aged before my eyes—not withering, but perfecting—until she hovered radiant, her hair flowing like liquid silver. The gates behind the statues opened and blazed with golden light, pulling her forward. She disappeared with a silent cry of relief. The doors closed.

  I pondered what I had just witnessed. The castle’s imposing gates a challenge. To enter, I had to pass between the Anubis statues, but the path through was fraught with peril. I activated my power, visualizing the possibilities: hell’s gate opening with Sariph’s immediate threat, or heaven’s light lifting me away from my mission.

  Would heaven be so bad?

  No, neither appealed.

  A third possibility. Neither gate opens. Instead, I would be able to enter the castle hall. How could I go in without activating the extra dimensional portals? Then I felt it. Then Cinder’s flame honed my mind, urging me forward.

  After some hesitation I stepped under the gaze of the statues. Their voices boomed in unison: What do you fear losing more than your life?

  I froze, my mind racing. This was my test. My deepest fear... it wasn’t my life. It was the thought of failing those I loved, of not being able to protect them. I took a deep breath and answered, “I fear losing the chance to make a difference.”

  The beams of light tried to pierce me, but neither blue nor red took hold. Instead, two shadows cast off of me, and along with it the entrance groaned opened. Just beyond was neither the heaven or hell dimension, it was the main entrance hall.

  “Stop him! He’s alive!” a guard shouted.

  Guards surrounded me, but my power kicked in. I predicted all of their attacks, targeting their weak spots and using their momentum against them. I dodged a spear thrust, using its momentum to disarm another. With a kick and a twist, I wove through the chaos, creating an opening to the castle. I slammed the wooden doors shut behind me, barricading them with a heavy board. The hall fell silent, save for the echoes of angry shouts.

  I stood at the threshold of the castle’s cavernous heart, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and something sharper—the smell before a storm. Fifteen doorways yawned before me, their arches swallowing the light. My clothes suddenly felt too tight. Focus. Shado’s face flickered in my mind’s eye, his smile twisted by the smoke of the hell dimension.

  No time for panic. Not here. I must evolve.

  I closed my eyes. The world went black, but my mind’s eye flared to life. The castle’s blueprint unfolded—a sprawling maze of staircases and corridors, a spider’s web of potential routes. I split myself into fragments, each shard of consciousness darting down a separate path. Left, right, up, down. My mental clones sprinted through doorways that dissolved into brick walls, skidded around corners that corkscrewed into ceilings. One version of me stumbled into a dead end pulsating wall. Another slid past a gargoyle statue whose eyes bled crimson.

  There.

  The main staircase. It coiled upward like a serpent, its spire piercing the clouds. My consciousness recoiled—at the third landing, the vision blurred into static.

  Too far.

  But the path felt… right. Safe. Or as safe as this nightmare could be.

  When I opened my eyes, the castle seemed to breathe around me. The hallway to my left shrank, the walls inching closer as if sensing my doubt. I turned toward the staircase, and a door materialized at its base, its iron knocker shaped like a wolf’s head.

  Clever.

  The castle rewarded confidence.

  I ascended, passing the gargoyle statues perched at the base. Their stone faces glared, but I didn’t linger. Halfway up, a horn blared—a guttural, insistent roar. “Open that door!” a voice bellowed. “Hurry! We have to stop him!” The sound of boots pounding echoes. Panic prickled the back of my neck. I glanced at the door below. The gargoyles’ heads had turned, their eyes fixed on me. Unblinking. Unmoving. Or were they?

  A crackling noise erupted behind me. I stumbled, nearly losing my footing. The stairs below were splintering. I turned, heart pounding. The gargoyles had left their perches. Their stone limbs creaked as they climbed, joints grinding like stone on bone. I backed up a step, muscles coiling. They froze. Perfectly still.

  I sprinted upward, but the crackling followed. Another glance back—the gargoyles were closer. Four more stone hands clutched the railing pillars, faces twisted in rage. How many had been there before? My mind spun. Every time I looked away, they moved. Every time I blinked, they advanced.

  “What the hell is wrong with this world?!” I roared at the statues. My voice echoed, hollow. Weak. Another crackle. I blinked—quickly—and counted in my head: One… two… three! My eyes flew open. The gargoyles’ faces had shifted. Angrier. Eyes wide. Snarls etched into their stone mouths. They knew. They knew I was figuring them out. They couldn’t move if I was looking at them.

  Anger flared in my chest. Good. Anger was control. I breathed deep, the castle’s chill entering into my lungs. My thoughts accelerated—faster than normal. Hyper-focused. I could feel it, the threads of possibility. Something sparked. A plan. Where did this come from? It didn’t matter. It made sense. Solid. Clear.

  I split myself again. Not the entire castle this time—just this staircase. My consciousness fractured. One version of me stood frozen at the base, studying the gargoyles, not daring to take my eyes off them. The other half of me—an echo, a ghost of the mind—darted up the steps, nimble and fearless, as if my body had unshackled itself from my nerves. At the top, I found a torch. Perfect. I merged back into my body, the vision searing my mind. The torch was the key. I knew it could be my weapon against these stone monstrosities.

  I reached the top, heart hammering. The gargoyles were halfway up now—silent, relentless. I grabbed the torch, its heat biting my palm. The statues froze. Their eyes narrowed. I raised the flame. “Come on,” I growled. “Try it. I dare you.”

  They didn’t. Not yet.

  The hallway behind me began to warp—narrowing, the walls closing in like jaws. My heart thudded. Fear is the mind killer. The castle sensed it. But then I laughed. A real laugh, sharp and cruel. “You want me scared? Fine. See what happens.”

  The walls paused. Then retreated, widening. The torch flared brighter.

  I turned.

  Two gargoyles perched on the railing, wings half-spread. Just out of sight the others crept up the stairs, silent as nightmares. I stepped closer, the torch’s light casting their shadows into writhing things. One gargoyle’s face twisted—a future flickering in my mind.

  “What are you gonna do while I’m watching you?” I murmured. “Run? Or just keep staring?”

  I raised the flame. The gargoyle’s stone seemed to… soften. Like it was afraid.

  Kill it.

  Not a command. A certainty.

  I swung. The base of the torch connected with a crunch. Stone dust rained down. The gargoyle’s head split, rubble crumbling into powder. I didn’t stop. Not for the second one. Not until the railing was bare.

  When I turned back, the stairs were crawling with them. Dozens. Scaling walls. Ceiling. Everywhere.

  “Don’t mess with me,” I spat. “I know your trick. I’ll behead every last one of you.”

  I risked a glance behind me. The hall had shifted again—this time, the stairs curved left, a new door materializing at the bend.

  The castle’s gift, or its test.

  I walked away.

  Halfway down, stone shattered like a thunderclap. I glanced over my shoulder. The gargoyles on the railing had collapsed, their debris scattered into glittering dust. The others faltered. In stop motion fashion one had turned tail, retreating down the stairs. Another’s eyes—its eyes—widened. Panic stricken.

  I smirked. “That’s right. Run.”

  The castle sighed around me, halls smoothing into a pristine corridor.

  One step closer to Shado.

  I kept moving.

  Every step echoed, a ghostly percussion that drowned out the sound of my own breath. I kept the torch’s glow low, wary of drawing attention. Again the castle’s walls seemed to breathe—a slow, deliberate inhale that made the shadows ripple like water.

  At the end of the hall, a door, and two figures loomed. Not gargoyles. Two Anubis statues. Smaller versions of the ones in front of the castle. Their jackal heads tilted, eyes hollow as voids. My pulse spiked. Judgment. Weighing of the heart. Ancient history flashed in my mind—a classroom, a bored teenager scribbling notes on paper. Anubis, guardian of the dead. Protector.

  But these weren’t just protectors. These were judges.

  I froze, the torchlight gilding their faces. Their stonework was vivid, almost too precise—muscles coiled like serpents beneath hieroglyphic tattoos. They held scythes and shields, tools of battle.

  Time to move on.

  I sidestepped, eyes locked on their faces.

  Will they move when I’m not looking?

  I blinked.

  Nothing.

  I closed my eyes fully, counting to three. When I opened them, the statues remained still. Relief. Just decorations.

  But as I walked past, the air thickened. The castle’s architecture shifted subtly—the hallway narrowed, walls closing in like a vise. My breath fogged in the suddenly freezing air.

  They’re behind you

  The thought wasn’t mine. But it was vision from my foresight: fire erupting from the statues’ eyes. Shadows lunging. A scythe swinging.

  I spun.

  The Anubis statues stepped down from their pedestals, their movements slow as molasses. Their eyelids fluttered open, sparks igniting within. The hall plunged into flickering darkness, save for their smoldering gaze. Their shadows stretched, distorted, fangs bared.

  “Shit.”

  I bolted.

  The statues moved faster than stone should. Their scythes audibly hissed through the air. One leapt from the wall—a blur of shadow and fire. I ducked, the blade grazing my shoulder.

  Predict! Predict!

  They’ll flank you

  I veered left, the castle rewarding my choice—doors materialized where none had existed. I yanked one open, plunging into a chamber bathed in eerie green light. Books. Endless rows. Thousands. The door sealed shut behind me with a thunderous boom, its sudden disappearance leaving only smooth stone. The Anubis statues were sealed out, their snarls muffled by the thick walls.

  I breathed once, before scanning the room. The green light emanated from the books themselves, their spines glowing with an otherworldly luminescence. Titles shifted and swirled, as if the books were alive. I stepped closer, fingers brushing against a leather-bound tome. The title snapped into focus beneath my touch: “The Forgotten Deeds of the Unworthy”.

  I snatched another. “Memories of the judged,” I read aloud. The words seared into my mind—a soldier’s final battle, a mother’s grief, a traitor’s lie. Knowledge flooded me: sword techniques, forgotten languages, a map of long forgotten rivers…

  A tickle ran up my spine. These weren’t ordinary books. They felt… weighted, as if each volume contained not just words, but the very essence of a life. I opened another one at random, and the pages swirled with images—a thief’s final moments, a lover’s betrayal, a warrior’s cowardice. Again knowledge flooded my mind, temporary but vivid.

  The name came to me through the psychic visions. This was no ordinary archive. It was a tomb for the condemned, their memories preserved as fuel for the demon. A tool for those who, like me, needed answers desperately enough to plunder the dead.

  The Library of Lost Souls.

  They’re coming

  I spun as the wall where the door had been exploded inward, stone raining down. The Anubis statues stood silhouetted in the dust, their eyes blazing stolen suns. But it wasn’t their bodies that made my gut tighten—it was the way they moved. No delay or hesitation. They surged through the breach.

  But I wasn’t empty-handed. I grabbed a nearby tome—“The Weighing of the Heart”—and hurled it. The tome burst as it hit, its pages erupted into a storm of ash and whispers. The statue howled, as the trapped souls’ memories swirled around them.

  Hit the others

  I didn’t need to look to know. The gargoyles. A dozen of them, stone wings folded, eyes hollow. They’d been hidden behind the Anubis, waiting. But when I glanced back, they were gone. No—they’d shifted. Now they stood ten feet away, wings outstretched, poised to strike.

  They move when I’m not looking. A rule. A flaw.

  My mind raced, mapping their next patterns like a chessboard. Blink, and they’d strike. Stare, and they stay frozen. But there are too many. Too many variables.

  What can I do?!

  Then I heard it. A puuum. Not an explosion. Something… pulsing. I dropped behind a table, heart thundering, and peeked. The hole in the wall was glowing blue. Not just a light. A presence.

  A voice seeped into my bones. “You’re safe… for now.” It was ice-cold and melodic.

  I turned. Behind me, the woman hovered—an ethereal wisp of sapphire mist. Her eyes were twin diamonds, and her hair cascaded like liquid starlight. She wore a gown of shifting shadows that clung to her like living smoke, but her form was impossibly real.

  “Who are you?” I breathed.

  “Anput,” she said, her voice a whisper of wind over desert stones. “Daughter of the desert. Oracle of the Unseen.” Her gaze moved to the Anubis statues clawing at the shimmering blue barrier she’d conjured. Even as I watched, fractures spiderwebbed across its surface.

  Before I could speak, she drifted closer, her form flowing like a desert wraith. “My soul is bound to the highest tower of this cursed Castle. My barrier only hold a temporary strength here, where the dead still whisper. You must climb to me. Only there can I help you.”

  “Why?” I started, but she raised a hand, her fingers glowing with the same azure mist.

  “Because Sariph hunts you. He’s drawn to your light.” Her smile was sharp, almost cruel. “And I owe a debt… Now go. Through the window, climb to me before the barrier breaks and the guardians consume you.”

  I didn’t wait.

  I burst through the window, the frigid night air biting my lungs as I clung to the castle’s stone facade. Below, the ground yawned—a fall that would end my dream for good. Above, the tower’s peak loomed, its windows blazing with the same impossible blue as Anput’s form. But I wasn’t alone.

  A roar split the sky.

  Sariph. In full demonic form.

  His silhouette eclipsed the moon—a titan of obsidian scales and jagged thorns. His tusks glinted like splintered glass, and his eyes burned with a fuse of magma and madness. When he spoke, his voice was a landslide.

  “Arch. Little seer.” His claws scraped the stone where I’d been seconds before. “Your gift is… amusing. But even prophets bleed.”

  I swung my leg over a ledge, boots skidding against moss-slick granite. Sariph’s fist slammed into the wall beside me, cracks rippling outward. Visions flashed in my mind: his talons shredding my ribs, his laughter as I fell. But then another path—a duck, a leap, a grip on a hidden ledge. My body followed before the fear could catch up.

  “Clever,” Sariph hissed, tentacles erupting from his hips like living whips. They lashed at me, one after another, each strike shaking the castle. I saw the patterns in their strikes—saw the path between—and wove through the darkness.

  “You’re running out of walls,” he taunted, his voice layered with joy.

  Focus.

  I climbed higher.

  I reached a gapping window. My fingers found its sill just as Sariph’s claws grazed my ankle. I heaved upward, boots skidding against the stone.

  “Close your eyes!” Anput’s voice cut through the chaos. A wave of blue light pulsed from the tower, sending Sariph careening backward. He snarled, his form momentarily dissolving into ink-black smoke before reforming.

  “You’ll burn for this, oracle,” he growled. His claws raked the air where I was moments before. Two more times he charged, only to be repelled by the pulsing shield. Defeated, he slowly faded into the shadows.

  I collapsed through the window. The tower’s interior was littered with floating scrolls and flickering lanterns. A large stone bath dominated the center of the room. Chains bolted to the bottom. Anput materialized beside me, her form now as tangible as marble. The air hummed with the weight of her magic, a steady, oppressive pressure of power.

  “Your visions saved you,” she said, studying me. “You’re beginning to tap into your ultimate power. But Sariph is drawn to it. To you. You reek of purpose, Arch. And hell hungers for purpose above all else.”

  I panted. “What do I do now?”

  Her form morphed, her sapphire glow dimming as she studied me.

  “You’ve proven yourself,” she said softly, her voice echoing like wind through a canyon. “But time is a fragile thread here. The castle's walls are crumbling—not just in your dream, but in reality. You’re dying. Sariph’s been gnawing at the edges of this world. If he breaches, he will feast.” She stepped closer, her finger pressed to my chest. “Your power… it’s a beacon showing the way. But it’s also a prison of your own making. You’re clinging to the edges of your potential, Arch. Peering into futures but never fully shaping them. You have to break through.”

  “I don’t know how,” I admitted. “I mean Cole’s power—it’s raw. He can snap people like twigs just by talking to them. Mine’s… just existence. A shadow of what’s to come.”

  Anput laughed, a sound like shattering glass. “Cole’s a soldier. You’re the architect. Self doubt doesn’t suit you. The difference is this: he commands, while you create. Every vision you’ve ever seen—a thread in a tapestry. You could weave them. Rewrite them. Unmake them.”

  Her hand pressed to my forehead, and a surge of light blinded me. Memories flashed, or were they visions of what could be: my brother’s death, Shado’s face in the abyss, Cole’s path to evil—all in a constant state of being rewritten.

  “This power isn’t mine,” she whispered, withdrawing. “It’s yours. A spark from the Godwave—the source of all Ultrasapien gifts. I merely… remind you of what you already are. It is up to you to wield it.”

  I staggered back, colliding with the stone bath. The chains clinked, taunting. “Why help me?”

  Her smile was ghostly, perhaps sinister. “Because you’re the key to closing the door Sariph is prying open. I mean that in more than one way. And because I owe a debt to those who dare dream in the dark.” She gestured to the stone bathtub in the room’s center, its walls now shimmering with red runes.

  “Now, you want to go to hell? I can help you get there. You will have to trust me. Step into the bath.”

  I hesitate. Outside, the door shudders under blows—guardian statues, no doubt.

  “You must hurry.”

  I climb into the tub. The chains bite into my wrists as she secures me flat against the base. Anput turns the faucet allowing the tub to slowly fill with cold water. “Hold your breath,” she murmurs. “The portal will come. But if you struggle…”

  Her smile is a blade. “I know what you’re thinking, but this is no trap. The Godwave’s power demands sacrifice. To dream beyond death, you must first become death.”

  The water climbs my chest. My vision narrows. Panic rises like smoke. She’s lying. She’s drowning me.

  “Anput!” I choke out. “What—?”

  “Silence. You’re the one who wanted to go to hell. You thought it would be easy?” Her voice cuts through the chaos. “You think I’ve betrayed you? Let the fear drown you, Arch. Prove that you’re in control.”

  The water engulfs me. My lungs burn. My body convulses, thrashing against the chains. I try not to let the water in my lungs but the thought of it didn’t seem so bad anymore.

  This is it? I failed?

  Then I sensed it. The presence of my friends. Far away, yes, but they were there besides me. I felt the burn of Cinder’s love for Shado. It burned a fire in me. But no, there was something more. Another much stronger fire coming from within. My fire. It blazed lavender.

  Ah Cole. I sense you just handed me the crystal. I must truly be at the end.

  The blackness of the water transforms into prismatic light. A dream within a dream.

  Is this… A DMT release?

  My pain faded away like a blessing. Death wasn’t so bad. Scary sure, but it was comfortable. No, not bad at all. As I spied upon the endless colors they took shape. First the eyes, then the elongated shape. A dragon’s roar echoed in my skull. It commanded with a roar.

  Rise!

  I awoke.