Standing at the entrance of the chamber, I took a moment to shake off my initial stupor and let my eyes wander across the vault, taking in the general layout. Aside from the gold and precious stones, the only other thing that stood out was a somewhat larger pile of dark red, almost purplish rocks. Honestly, I felt disappointed. I had hoped to find some remnants of culture, a glimpse of history that could tell me more about this place.

  It’s moments like these that remind me that all of this is happening inside my mind. I shook my head, trying to dispel my disillusionment, and stepped into the room, deliberately ignoring the pile that gleamed under the beams of light with a hint of irritation.

  I only halted my frustration—and my steps—when I finally stood before my true objective, with the faint but persistent feeling that I had stumbled upon something significant.

  While it certainly wasn’t as flashy as mundane riches, these steroid-infused cherries had to be valuable; after all, they were stored inside the vault. Maybe it was just my own speculation, but I strongly believed it to be true. I mean, there was no way someone would store a bunch of rocks *just because*, right?

  As my bad habit of overthinking tried to take over, my eyes caught sight of a rock that stood out from the rest.

  At the very top, partially buried, was a stone that stuck out like a sore thumb. Its shape and color were different, and the way it was concealed gave the impression that someone had hastily tried to hide it. I’m no exceptional detective, but that rock—just like the passageway—might as well have had a giant neon sign screaming "MYSTERY".

  Despite my growing thirst for answers, I took a moment to acknowledge that climbing that small hill didn’t seem all that safe. Sure, none of this was real, but getting buried under a pile of rocks—even in a dream—wasn’t exactly on my to-do list. I was also worried about damaging or breaking the object of my curiosity, so collapsing the mound was out of the question.

  A crane would’ve been really useful right about now. That would’ve made my life much easier. Unfortunately, my dream seemed to be running on a preset template that I had no power to modify. It wasn’t for lack of trying—I had attempted to introduce modern objects into the dream before, but every attempt had ended in failure. That’s why, after careful consideration, and despite the risks, climbing seemed like the most viable option.

  I mean, worst case scenario? I wake up.

  What I feared didn’t happen. There were plenty of moments during the climb when I felt like I would lose my footing at any second, but, much like a turtle stubbornly pushing forward, I eventually reached the top. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like I had just run a marathon… or had sex. The silence in the chamber made every single heartbeat echo inside my chest.

  **thud thud thud**

  The rhythmic sound of loose rocks tumbling to the ground reverberated through the cave, gradually easing my racing heart. Slowly, I began clearing away what strongly resembled a nest, revealing more and more of the oval-shaped rock beneath.

  Contrary to my initial assumption, it wasn’t a rock. Small, broad daggers of jet-black color, stacked like a cascading formation, acted as scales that reflected the light, indicating that it was some sort of metal. Additionally, it was much larger than it had seemed from the ground—about 40 cm tall by 30 cm wide.

  Its shape resembled that of an egg, though if it was indeed an egg, I highly doubted it was natural. I didn’t even want to imagine the pain any creature would endure laying something like that, so I could only assume it was artificial. It was hard not to admire the craftsmanship that must have gone into its creation, as its outer shell looked like solid steel armor.

  Whether handcrafted or natural, it didn’t matter—the object was simply magnificent.

  'Shit!'

  I was so absorbed in this new discovery that I completely forgot how dangerous its surface seemed. And in a moment of either innocence or stupidity, I attempted to touch it. It was just a brief touch, but it was enough to almost slice my hand in half. I felt no pain, but watching my blood flow like a tiny fountain sent me into a panic. By reflex, I tried to pull my hand away, but something stopped me. No part of my body would obey me, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t move an inch.

  Blood seeped from the wound, spilling onto the object and staining it red. For a moment, panic took over—I could see the blood leaving the wound, as if some force were sucking it straight out of my body.

  This damned dream felt so real that, for a second, I truly believed I was going to die. Despite not feeling any pain, seeing the blood flow and hearing my heart pounding wildly was enough to make me forget this was all happening in my head.

  *Crack!*

  The sound of something breaking echoed through the silent chamber, like a lifeline pulling me out of my downward spiral. Instinctively, I turned toward the source of the sound and saw the "egg" trembling, swaying like a building caught in an earthquake. Its scales began to fall away one by one, like a row of toppling dominoes, producing a tinkling sound reminiscent of a string of tiny bells rustled by the wind.

  The unexpected spectacle seized my full attention, and my mind suddenly decided that bleeding out was no longer a priority.

  Beneath the hardened scales, a pale, ivory-colored shell appeared, riddled with cracks. The creature inside the egg gave one final push—a decisive blow that shattered the fragile casing. The event was so sudden that it caught me off guard. I instinctively stepped back, unsteady, nearly losing my balance as loose rocks slid dangerously beneath my feet.

  ????

  That day, I discovered four things. First, I have cat-like reflexes, and thanks to them, I avoided what could have been a fatal fall. Second, it doesn’t matter what kind of injury I sustain in the dream—it will heal as if by magic. Third, the egg belonged to some kind of reptilian creature. That was the day I met the one I would later name "Kairon". And fourth, dying doesn’t hurt… at least, not in the dream.

  I figured that out only after I recklessly tried to pet the lizard. I must admit, my approach was anything but subtle—more like a deranged stranger rushing toward you in a dark, deserted alley. So, I suppose the newly hatched creature had every reason to tear me apart with its claws and teeth.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  It certainly wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience either.

  Fortunately—or strangely—the egg, like everything else, reset to its original state every time I woke up. That allowed me to test different approaches to getting closer to it. It became a process of trial and error until I figured out how to do it without the lizard reacting so aggressively.

  They say the hardest answers to find are sometimes the most obvious. I learned that firsthand, as it took multiple deaths before I realized all I needed to do was be subtle. My excitement over finding another living being had blinded me to that simple fact.

  This was also the point where I started questioning my sanity. I don’t know whether it was the repeated deaths or the fact that, until then, everything around me had been lifeless objects, but Kairon’s presence changed that. I don’t know how the dream world works, but I do know my own mind. What was happening to me in my sleep wasn’t normal, and it was time to face it.

  Seeking professional help was the most reasonable thing to do. Since I didn’t know any oneirologists, I opted for the next best thing: a psychologist. Deep down, I firmly believed it was the right decision. I was convinced that, after so many years since my mother’s death, it was finally affecting me, and that this dream was a fantasy created by my subconscious to escape the loneliness I felt every day.

  I was reluctant to share this kind of fantasy with a stranger—I mean, a medieval city with a solitary mystical lizard as its only inhabitant isn’t exactly the most mature thing—but my mental health was more important than my embarrassment. I was terrified of starting to confuse the dream with reality and, in the future, running naked through the streets while screaming that the world was about to end in a lizard invasion.

  I have nothing against people who predict the end of the world in dramatic and colorful ways, but it’s not like I ever told my mother as a child, “Mom, when I grow up, I want to be a doomsday prophet.”

  It was only after searching for someone with enough experience to have heard stories as absurd as mine that I found Mr. Charles.

  I thought therapy might put an end to my ridiculous fantasies, but it didn’t. Everything remained the same, and in the meantime, I allowed myself to delve deeper into them—to the point where I started wondering if maybe my ancestors were trying to teach me about my roots or perhaps even giving me clues about where they had hidden their treasures. It would be an insult to their efforts from beyond the grave if I didn’t at least try to find out.

  During this time, I discovered that my sense of taste followed me into the dream. Despite the abundance of fruit in that place, it had never occurred to me to eat it, so realizing this was a huge surprise—one that only raised more questions. I couldn’t feel pain or smell, but touch and taste were present… it was strange.

  Amazed by this new discovery, I decided to try the five types of fruit I had found, hoping to experience some unknown, exotic flavor. That curiosity led me to yet another revelation—one that was far less pleasant.

  Only two of the five fruit species were edible, and I had to suffer to gain that knowledge. It was unfortunate, but such is the price we explorers and scientists must pay to uncover the unknown. Learning through experience—even when the price is suffering—is simply part of the journey.

  Of the remaining three, two—though just as delicious as the edible ones—turned out to be poisonous. I reached this conclusion after waking up immediately after consuming them; essentially, I had died in the dream.

  The last one was the most diabolical—it was a powerful paralytic. I lay there, completely unable to move a single muscle, until the day in the dream ended and I was finally able to wake up. It was torture. The oxygen in my lungs ran dangerously low, and I could hear how my heart had slowed to a near-hibernation state, beating only just enough to keep me alive.

  And so, through experiments and small discoveries, more days have passed in this dream than I ever imagined. I can still tell reality from the dream—or at least, I think I can—but I’ve reached a point where I no longer know if everything is just a dream. There are moments, wrapped in such peace, when I wonder: 'Perhaps being trapped in this endless cycle that leads nowhere is my true reality. Maybe, to escape my own harsh truth, I invented that world where Mae exists'. That’s exactly what I think about the ruins whenever I wake up.

  —Don’t forget to do the exercises. Most importantly, when you feel your mind blending with that alter ego, take a break and reclaim Mae’s will.

  Both Mr. Charles and I knew these sessions did little to actually solve the issue at hand. However, being able to talk to someone about all the absurd things that lived in my mind—without being seen as an adult refusing to grow up, or worse, being labeled insane and thrown into an asylum—was a relief.

  —I’ll follow everything to the letter. Thanks for your time, Mr. Charles. See you next week.

  Every time I walked out of that office, I felt renewed, as if a massive weight had been lifted off my shoulders. It was a much-needed dose of reality to keep myself from getting lost in that limbo of thoughts.

  I was driving at a slow pace when the delicious aroma of freshly made food hit my nose. It was just past 6:30, and the only thing I had eaten that day was breakfast. I needed something quick and satisfying for dinner.

  My mind quickly shuffled through the various options the fast-food market had to offer, and the answer was clear: kebabs or burritos. Either one would be perfect to quell my hunger.

  ??

  I arrived home exhausted and starving. I rushed up the stairs and headed straight to the shower to wash the fatigue away. Of course, not without first waiting a short while for my body temperature to drop—a habit I had picked up from my mother, though I never truly understood its purpose.

  An entertaining show on TV was the perfect complement to dinner. I picked up my phone, which I had ignored since the morning, to check what had been happening in my small social circle. There wasn’t much: some work-related things, dull conversations asking about my day, and a few bits of gossip. That was all the device had to offer.

  I wanted to ignore it and go straight to bed, but it was a hard-to-resist source of entertainment—especially the gossip. So, in the end, I replied to all the pending messages.

  It’s no secret that phones are an absurd yet effective way to waste time. By the time I set mine aside, more than three hours had passed. It was time to give my bones a break—those martyrs that had endured twelve continuous hours of service.

  Before surrendering to Hypnos’ sweet embrace, I forced myself out of bed to do a quick check of my home, making sure all doors and windows were properly locked. One can never be too cautious. I don’t want to go to sleep and never wake up just because some intruder decided it was a good idea to grant me eternal rest… or, even worse, wake up to find my apartment completely empty. The thought alone sends chills down my spine.

  The moment right before sleep is the strangest part of my day. My body and mind long to disconnect, to stop thinking and rest until the next morning. Yet, I know that when I open my eyes, it won’t be here—I’ll wake up in the dream. That simple thought—will I truly wake up, or will it just be another layer of the dream?—sends my mind spiraling into a loop of confusing thoughts.

  I’ve tried multiple times to bring objects from reality into the dream. If my mind is the one programming everything that happens there, what’s stopping me from taking whatever I want with me?

  Failure. That was the result. I tied red strings to objects, but the outcome was always the same—they never appeared in the dream.

  I also tried changing the ruined city for another setting, stimulating my imagination with movies and shows, like the one I was watching at that moment. But it was another failure. Not even a single miserable stone changed place.

  Though, in truth, I don’t really mind the ruined city. In fact, I’ve grown fond of that quiet place. I don’t know when these dreams will stop or if they ever will, but they’ve become part of my life. Three months of dreaming the same thing—it’s hard not to get used to it.

  If there’s one thing that bothers me, it’s the lack of control. All of this happened out of nowhere, and I can’t do anything to change it. It’s a frustrating feeling.

  My thoughts… Mae’s thoughts… faded away as drowsiness took hold of my mind, until they were replaced by the thoughts of the alter ego, who walked through the ruined city with a smile.