It was almost 5 PM when I returned home. The group had organized a meal as a thank-you to everyone who had helped, but I still had one last commitment to fulfill. I apologized to them and headed back home—I wanted to wash off the dirt, and despite all the effort I had put in and the fact that I had only eaten breakfast, I still didn’t feel hungry.

  After a refreshing shower and changing into something slightly more formal than what I had worn that morning, I was ready to head out. I grabbed my helmet, my keys, and once again stepped out of the safety of my home. Still annoyed by the previous disappointment, I ignored the elevator and went straight for the stairs.

  All my material possessions boiled down to this apartment, which I bought after realizing my mother’s house felt too big for just me, and a Triumph Scrambler I had acquired a few years ago. She was my adventure companion, the one responsible for carrying me through the bustling streets of the city.

  ???

  After twenty minutes stuck in traffic—thanks to my brilliant decision to take one of the busiest streets in the city—I finally arrived at Mr. Charles’ office, the psychologist I had been seeing for the past few days.

  —Good afternoon.

  —Good afternoon, Mr. Patelsson. The doctor is already waiting for you. You can go in whenever you’re ready.

  As I stepped into the small office, a young woman dressed elegantly greeted me with her usual receptionist’s smile. It seemed to be a family business since she was Mr. Charles’ granddaughter and was also following in his footsteps in psychology. I wondered—when her grandfather retired, would she inherit his clients?

  —Would you like something to drink?

  —With this weather, I’d appreciate something ice-cold, please.

  I walked down the now-familiar hallway, letting my mind unwind a little—a necessary preparation for the mental massage I was about to receive.

  *Knock, knock*

  —Come in —a rough, weary voice responded, urging me inside.

  —Mr. Charles, as energetic as ever —I greeted him as I opened the door. An elderly man with a kind face and a thick beard welcomed me with a knowing smile.

  —And you, as punctual as always, Mr. Patelsson —the old man replied, glancing at the clock.

  I had to admit, I had only been on time for my first session. After that, I was always a few minutes late—not something I was particularly proud of, but not something that embarrassed me either. It wasn’t exactly a habit of mine.

  —With what you’re charging me, Mr. Charles, it’d be foolish to show up late.

  —Hahaha, just the fair price, just the fair price —the old man laughed, his smile making it clear he wasn’t the least bit ashamed of his high rates —Take a seat. Did they offer you something to drink?

  —Yes.

  If I had to describe Mr. Charles in one sentence, I’d say he was the kind of grandfather you’d love to spend your weekends with.

  We continued chatting idly, exchanging jokes, until, a little while later, my drink arrived—a delicious lemonade with ice cubes. Only once the young woman had left and he was sure no one would disturb us did he adopt his professional demeanor.

  —Well, tell me, how have you been feeling?

  —Honestly? Fine. I admit that the sudden appearance of my so-called mother threw me off a little, but I don’t feel like the impact has been too significant.

  —Have you been doing the exercises I recommended?

  —Yes, and I do feel mentally refreshed, but there hasn’t been any change regarding the issue at hand.

  —Are you still having the same dream?

  —Yes, with a few small variations, but overall, it’s the same.

  About three months ago, I started dreaming of the same ruined city—a vast, lifeless place, save for nature reclaiming its space…

  The first time, I dismissed it as a random event. It was fun, even relaxing. The beautiful landscape, the peaceful atmosphere, the sensation of being in full control of my body—it all felt so real that I let myself wander like an explorer. It was like having a second life, as if I had stepped into a parallel world. Sure, everything was just rubble and overgrown vegetation, but that didn’t stop my mind from reconstructing images of the city in its prime.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  I remember waking up with vivid memories of that place, convinced it would never happen again. I mean, what were the chances of experiencing the same dream twice?

  Contrary to my expectations, it did happen again, and I was thrilled—like a child unwrapping Christmas presents. I was sure it wouldn’t repeat, and yet, there I was, once again walking through the ruins of my dreams.

  That second night wasn’t enough to explore everything, but I was satisfied—I had been lucky enough to experience the same lucid dream twice.

  But it didn’t stop there. There was a third time, a fourth, and so on. It was strange, but it didn’t interfere with my daily life. Despite the dream’s emptiness, I never woke up feeling mentally drained. In fact, quite the opposite—my mind and body felt lighter than ever.

  Since the dream kept repeating, it allowed me to explore the place more thoroughly at my own pace. However, every time I tried to leave the city, the view that greeted me wasn’t the open fields visible through the gate in the walls but rather the ceiling of my apartment. It was like those dreams where you wake up upon dying, falling into an abyss, or walking through a door. So, in a way, it didn’t seem that strange.

  Since leaving the place was out of the question, I decided to dedicate my dreams to exploring the city in more detail. After all, the fields outside were probably just covered in grass—or at least, that’s what I told myself to suppress my curiosity.

  I’m no "dreamologist", but you don’t need to be an expert to know that having the same lucid dream night after night isn’t normal. On top of that, every time I "woke up" inside the dream, it was always in the same spot, like a respawn point in a video game. Anything I had moved in the previous dream, even a single leaf, would return to its original position.

  I took pride in the fact that my brain could process such an elaborate amount of detail, crafting a dream so vivid. And while I knew it wasn’t normal, I didn’t really care. It felt like my backyard, my personal zen garden where I could relax, forget about the real world, and even let my inner child run free, exploring the ruins.

  The dream world is an uncharted place, so I was excited to learn more about this dream and its mysteries. After all, how many people could say they had experienced something like this?

  My thoughts on the matter weren’t exactly mature, but in my defense, it was just a dream. Nothing I did there could actually affect me. And as the nights passed, my decision to conduct a more detailed search yielded intriguing results.

  The first signs of intelligent beings appeared in the form of fossilized tools. At first glance, I thought they were just fossilized branches. However, upon closer inspection, I noticed traces of craftsmanship, evidence that they had been constructed rather than naturally formed. Of course, it could have just been my mind grasping for some kind of mystery. And since I couldn’t determine their true nature, I eventually dismissed them—patience has never been one of my virtues.

  Doubts arose when I examined the rubble of a building that could have once been a library or a medical center.

  Beneath the foliage, buried among the roots of the trees, I found a perfectly preserved book. Its beautifully embossed cover had prevented any dirt from seeping inside, keeping its pages in pristine condition. It was as if the passage of time that had consumed the city had completely ignored it.

  Unfortunately, the text inside was written in a language I didn’t recognize. I memorized a few lines, but no matter how much I searched for those symbols or letters online, I found no clues. In the end, I understood that I wouldn’t get any answers. I mean, if it was a language created by my dreams, there was no way to decipher what the paragraphs in that book said.

  Another thing I noticed was that, despite the lush vegetation and its abundant fruit, there wasn’t a single animal or insect in sight.

  A water channel ran through the city, stretching from the wall to the center. However, despite the fact that the water didn’t flow, it was so crystal clear that I could see the sapphire-blue stones resting at the bottom. Just another detail I had no explanation for—so I simply tossed all these oddities into the same bag, under the argument that 'this is just a dream'.

  "Is my imagination so lacking that I can't even conjure up a single miserable mosquito?"

  I knew that if I truly wanted to find something, I would have to search the one building that, despite losing the luster of its former glory, still stood tall.

  After what felt like nights—or days—of exhaustive searching, and perhaps with more luck than actual skill, I finally found the elusive clue I had been looking for: a hidden door deep within the castle, so well concealed among the rubble and vines that I had nearly overlooked it.

  At first glance, the passage seemed to descend into the earth. The place might as well have had a massive sign reading "Secrets hidden here!" in bold red letters.

  If the city’s former inhabitants had wanted to preserve something they couldn’t take with them, they would have stored it in the safest possible place. And there was no place safer than the vault, where royalty zealously guarded their treasures.

  With a smile on my face and my expectations sky-high, I plunged into the darkness of the passage. I was ready for an adventure, just like in those movies where traps are triggered as you near the treasure. I was already preparing to run the moment a giant boulder appeared; however, none of that happened.

  It was disappointing. If this were a game, I would have already left a terrible review highlighting the lack of imagination from its creators. So far, the only real thrill I had in the passage was when a small rock fell on my head. I guess that was my own critique for the lack of creativity in my own brain.

  But the inside of the cave was an entirely different experience.

  The roots of the trees had created holes in the ceiling, allowing some rays of light to penetrate, illuminating the vault. These beams of light allowed me to clearly see the considerable amount of wealth piled up, forming a small mountain.

  ‘Damn!’

  For a moment, I thought I had hit the jackpot. In that brief instant, my mind already imagined what I would do with the riches, but I quickly shook off those thoughts when I realized I was still in the dream. And, even though no one was watching, I felt pretty stupid.

  In my defense, everything felt so real that it would be easy to confuse reality with a dream. In fact, I admit there have been moments when I’ve questioned that myself. Is this really just a dream?