The morning sun peeked through the curtains, but a heavy feeling surrounded me. I lay still, eyes half-open, counting the seconds between heartbeats. The only background sound was the ticking of the clock — an unhurried metronome for a life that had gone silent. Or was it?
It was a myriad of emotions clouding my being — the wild zone, the creatures I fought — but more than anything, just one name echoed in my head: Akai. I’m still not sure why he disappeared. Was he actually there, or just a figment of my thoughts? After all, it’s a dream world. But he was too real to be a thought, and too much of a stranger for me to have imagined him into being. Plus, we were still mid-conversation. Somehow, I feel we weren’t — or shouldn’t have been — allowed to interact. But if so… why?
I guess I’ll only know when I get to meet him, or any other dreamer, again.
I was too addicted to leave the world now. Even though the dream world had settled into a routine of fight, kill, survive — it was the kind of mundane that felt like a calling.
Days blurred. Weeks, maybe. Each session back in the Wild Layer followed the same rhythm: login, adapt, kill, log out. I kept growing faster, sharper, detached.
Day 3. Grimbats were no longer a threat; minor slashes were all it took to defeat them.
Day 7. The screen in front displayed: Sync 58%. Reflex latency reduced by 0.4 seconds.
Day 10. More creatures appeared — clever ones. The System displayed their names as Weavers. That’s how they fought: never on the frontlines, but by creating infinite sprites.
Day 19. The Weavers were also no longer a threat. Killing them brought an insane satisfaction. I caught myself smiling after — and in the back of my mind, that forgotten feeling of disgust slipped in just a little again.
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Strength was always my edge. But the meaning of the fights was getting blurred.
I was able to see Akai too, on multiple occasions. Once I saw him at a distance, half-hidden behind a shifting tree — and suddenly he was gone.
Once, during an intense battle against a group of Behamoths, I heard him:
“Wait—” he’d started.
Static.
Teleport.
I felt it again — something was preventing us from meeting.
I did meet him once more, and this time we were actually able to interact. We fought side by side. I finally learned why he was here: he was trying to revive his sister, who had been declared brain dead by doctors who wanted him to pull the plug. But she was all he had, and this was his one last try.
His cause felt almost noble. I’m still not sure what I want from this place. The reason I started feels pale in comparison. I wonder if other dreamers — the ones I’m sure are out there — also have such deep reasons. And can this world actually solve any of it?
But that was the only time I was able to interact with him for so long. After that, if we stumbled across each other’s paths, it was always static, a glitch, a teleport. I understand now — whatever this world is, it desperately doesn’t want dreamers to interact. But I wonder why. Most systems like this thrive on connection. What’s with this isolation?
And why does this system want us to “uplift” our reality? It seems too good to be true. I wonder what this world is hiding.
Today, when I came back, it wasn’t the wild zone that greeted me. I was inside the white walls again. The screen in front of me had new directives:
[SYSTEM UPDATE // DREAMER AMAYA]
Zone Unlocked: Dream Dwellings – Exploration Mode
Objective: Descend. Retrieve Dream Cores.
Warning: Conscious strain expected.
I didn’t understand the meaning behind the warning. The white walls dissipated too soon. This time, I was inside what almost felt like a cave. I’m not sure what it was about this place, but the feeling of nausea and dread was overpowering.
The system kept flashing Keep exploring — and that’s what I did. I started moving forward, but each step felt heavy, as if I were carrying a weight on my back.
I’m not sure what awaits me next.
But I hate how this place feels.
