Between the noise of my thoughts, the voice returned.

  Dreamer Amaya.

  Form stabilization complete.

  You have ascended to Level O.

  Light poured down from nowhere.

  The pod walls rippled—then parted like silk curtains.

  Reward: 200 Dream Coins.

  Gate to Utopia unlocked.

  I stepped through.

  The world outside was nothing like I’d imagined—

  and everything I’d ever wished existed.

  It was like walking into a painting that refused to stay still:

  a horizon brushed in soft blues and golds,

  skylines glimmering like glass cities caught in morning dew,

  air that smelled faintly of rain after a storm that never was.

  Everywhere I looked, people were smiling—

  not the kind that hides pain,

  but the easy, weightless kind that made me want to believe again.

  Music drifted from somewhere unseen—half lullaby, half memory.

  My body felt lighter here.

  Even the ground moved with me—soft, forgiving, almost alive.

  For a moment, I forgot about pills, instructions, rules.

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  For a moment, it was beautiful.

  Here, I felt... me.

  A soft chime rippled through the air.

  Not a warning—

  a welcome.

  A frame shimmered in front of me, listing my Dream Coins and a small shop icon.

  Then another replaced it, showing only one phrase:

  UPLIFT REALITY

  Weird. I’d expected potions, armor—something game-like.

  As the thought formed, text flickered to life:

  Want detected: Heal Potions. Coin Requirement: 800.

  Disclaimer: All items are of no use within Night Lattice. They are designed to uplift your reality.

  I didn’t have enough coins. Still, curiosity won. I tapped the potion icon.

  Alert: Ascension Level Low. Dream Coins Insufficient.

  So that’s how this worked—a system, a ladder, a dream that rewarded belief.

  I remembered a post from the Use Your Dreams forum:

  “Ascended to Level 3. Finally bought clear small debt. Worked like a charm.”

  I didn’t see that option.

  Then it clicked—the system responded to want.

  When I’d thought potion, it appeared.

  Just to test it, I imagined a knife.

  Instantly, a new line of text flared up:

  Item: Knife. Price: Free.

  I hesitated, then bought it.

  When I woke, the knife was there—

  cold metal pressing against my palm.

  My brain buzzed.

  Dreams leaking into reality.

  Marks bleeding across the line that shouldn’t exist.

  I told myself it was fine—probably fine.

  But can things slip through from a place that isn’t real?

  Can anything cross over if you want it enough?

  If so—

  there’s only one thing I want.

  And maybe now I finally understand why this world chose me.

  The hum returned.

  Somewhere behind the white, something whispered—

  “Keep wanting.”