Proto woke with a springtime feeling. If he didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn he felt the warm sun beaming on him, and a soft breeze billowing in from somewhere.

  Today was a big day!

  Tossing off his covers, he leapt from the bed and opened the wardrobe.

  He blinked at the shadowy nothing inside. That semi-dirty and wrinkled tracksuit he’d been saving? In the wash. The tunics? In the wash. Even the chiton was getting its first cleaning!

  Of course, there was one thing in there, hanging in rumpled menace in a lonesome corner, like Strider at the Prancing Pony.

  He’d forgotten to pick up his clothes after washing them all yesterday. There was just one exception, which he’d never worn in the first place.

  One exception. This was like opening the pantry, seeing all the food was gone, and saying “one exception” was the dead fly in the corner.

  How could he have forgotten? Now, it was too late. He had to wear it. He couldn’t even call in sick today. This was his big day!

  Proto slipped into his robe—the yellow, blue and white one with a Saturn emblem, otherwise identical to Somnus’. He stared grimly at the bohemian magus-looking fellow staring back at him in the mirror.

  “I put on my robe and wizard hat,” he grumbled groggily at his image.

  Well, when life gives you rocks, you gotta roll. Maybe Somnus would approve. That’d be a very good thing, today.

  For today was the day of decision—Evaluation Day! Today was the day that Provisional Visitor Proto might just lose his Provisional!

  Or he might be banished back among those slumbering dreamers outside of Somnus’ Palace, wandering the Mists, submerged within their dreams.

  In any event, this was a big day!

  Brushing his rumpled raiment, Proto strolled out of his room and recalled everything that’d happened lately.

  Time had flown since they’d visited Fyrir’s dream weeks ago. During that time, Proto had kept visiting dreams the same way as ever.

  This had been disconcerting, given the fiery pandaemonium that’d recently engulfed the earth. He felt like a monk isolated in an abbey during the Dark Ages, living out his peaceful days, as the far world burnt and reeled, slowly recovering from the destruction of civilization.

  “Recovering”—for Proto and his friends had, in fact, saved the world. Or perhaps the world had saved itself, and Proto and his friends had just enjoyed a manic romp through a dreamt-up cosplay convention. In any event, the world might be wrecked and burnt, but it wasn’t going to end.

  They’d learnt that several days after Fyrir’s dream. Somnus had convened another impromptu meeting in the lounge. Evidently, the day after his dream, the old scientist had had some insight about how to protect the world against the fiery Elements raging across it.

  Proto didn’t really understand the hows of it. As Somnus had put it: “Fyrir drew on the Fossil of my mother to create uncrossable Boundaries dividing the earth into Fragments, which, in turn, drained the power of the Elements. Their range of destruction was thus limited to little Fragments. And even now, they’re crashing from the skies and burning out upon the earth. Many have been reduced to Fossils like me already. They no longer live in the breathing world. Only in dream and Mist, like me. This will cause problems eventually. But, for now, the world is saved.”

  Whatever. That was all way beyond Proto’s paygrade. He was just a guy who visited dreams and delayed making big decisions.

  “The bottom line is this,” Somnus had said. “Many died, but many survive. Modern civilization as you know it is gone, but life will go on. Dreams will go on. Of course, the people up there won’t be dreaming as much about little things like ‘Will I fail my exam?’ and ‘Should I switch jobs to get a raise?’ Not for a long time, anyway. But I’ve seen the world rent before. And I can tell you, while things will be different, they’ll reorganize themselves back toward the familiar, eventually. As they say, different trees, same forest.”

  At this point, Proto had asked Somnus if all this could’ve been averted. He’d asked if they could’ve done something differently—if, by visiting the right dreams, they could’ve steered humanity away from this.

  “I don’t think so. As my mother tells me,” Somnus had responded with a sad smile, “the future’s not an endlessly branching set of possibilities. No, it’s a set of roads. All we visitors of dreams can do is steer humanity between them. The roads are laid by Fate. And I think all roads led to this. Or something like it. Who knows? Maybe we avoided a dead end.”

  In any event, life in Somnus’ Palace had gone on much as before. For the most part.

  Astrid had acted odd for a while—first disappearing for a couple days, and then acting shaky and uncertain toward him in a most un-Astrid-like way. She’d even smiled and called him Proto!

  He’d been on the verge of staging an intervention or something, when, abruptly one day, she’d gone back to normal. And he’d gone back to being Bozo, Coco, Dodo, and whatever other insulting double-rhymes Astrid could come up with. And all was well, and all would be well.

  Wentsworth, the mustachioed man in the three-piece suit, had been despondent while Uberta was Lost in the space between dreams. But she’d eventually been rescued and now seemed fine, with only occasional shrieking nightmares of eldritch horrors.

  Soon thereafter, the man had struck up a conversation with Proto while passing by—just the second time they’d ever talked, as far as he could recall.

  “Queer, isn’t it?” Wentsworth had mused. “It happened just as Uberta imagined. Or foretold, perhaps? Lost in the space between dreams. The unbreathing realm. My Birdie!”

  “You know I was the one who found her? Me, not even a visitor! She called me ‘my hero,’ in that lovely midcentury American way. Probably the only thing lovely from midcentury America. Besides her.” He’d shaken his head and smiled, twirling his mustache. “Horribly unlucky, what happened to her. But when Lady Luck takes with one hand, she gives with the other, eh? Lady Luck or Fate. Or Aitvaras.”

  At Proto’s uncertain chuckle and sidelong glance, Wentsworth had inclined his head knowingly, leaning in close and murmuring, “Ahh, yes, of course. Can’t say those things here. Ears in all places, eh? My lips are sealed! But good comes of ill sometimes, eh? By the grace of . . . well, you know. Life is good. Cheerio, Proto.”

  “Uh, cheerio,” concurred Proto, who’d only understood about a third of that.

  “Wear that morning suit again sometime, eh?” Wentsworth had called back to him. “Those were the days!”

  “I’m saving it for a special occasion,” Proto had replied, having no idea what a morning suit was.

  “Ahh, yes, can’t be showing your true colors yet, eh? Just a lad in sports kit, eh? Heh heh!” he’d chuckled. “Oh, by the way, that ginger lass you visited is doing well! Says to say hi.” And off he’d strutted in his jaunty way.

  Well, Wentsworth would be Wentsworth.

  Indeed, the very next day, Proto found the man being scolded by Dahlia for letting some of Anima’s fairies take vials of Mist from the Shadowcaster without asking Somnus first. Apparently, Anima used it to brew an elixir, or potion, or something—it was a bit unclear.

  “Come now, no use crying over spilt Mist! Our visitors will collect more from around the world, and no one will know anything was ever missing,” Wentsworth had argued in his defense. “It’s like the Victoria and Albert Museum when I was a boy!”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Later, Proto and his friends celebrated saving the world with that long-awaited cookoff between Lilac, Dahlia and Astrid. They’d temporarily converted the Shadowcaster room to a sort of cooking arena.

  Proto smiled. That had been fun. He started to recall it: That look on Astrid’s face as her pan fire leapt higher than the abyssal flames. Dahlia’s horror upon realizing she’d used salt instead of sugar on her sugar cookies.

  Better yet, there was that outfit Lilac had worn. “You think you’re the only one who gets hot in the kitchen, Dahlia?” she had coolly asked.

  But no. He couldn’t reminisce on all that right now. He’d save it for another day. Today, he had important business to focus on.

  He was, after all, the man of the hour. And he’d best act the part!

  Proto approached the lounge and scanned it smartly through the doorway. Crowded, isn’t it? And all for me!

  Everyone was in his or her usual place. Lilac stood behind the bar, wearing her yukata for the occasion, complete with the blue-and-yellow-primrose belt. Somnus sat across from her at the bar, together with several empty glasses with green and brown dregs. Jet and Jag were playing cards with Wentsworth and Uberta.

  Mayger was watching the game from an adjacent table, with his black leather jacket on and his hair in a pink Elvis do. Across from him sat Dahlia in her Victorian robe, reading some old book called The Cypria through a monocle.

  And then there was Astrid, suddenly standing right in front of him, directly beneath that painting of the two young lovers. She looked him up and down with wide violet eyes, her lips parting.

  Then, she threw back her head and laughed maniacally, pointing at his Somnus-robe.

  Half the room turned to face them, their conversations stopping.

  Proto nodded grimly. So, it’s gonna be one of those days, huh.

  The Lord of Dreams himself looked over from the bar. His mouth fell open with delight. “Hold up everyone! Hold the phone! Press pause!” he cried, extending an arm grandly toward the doorway. “Look how our Provisional Visitor is honoring me today!”

  The other half of the room obliged and looked over.

  “What are you doing, Proto?” cackled Astrid, pointing at his fabulous garb.

  Our poor Provisional Visitor scanned the lounge. So far, the rest of the room had managed to hold in its laughter, but looked like a volcano on the verge of erupting.

  “Just saving the world, one dream at a time!” declared Proto in his best booming Somnus-voice. “Get me my absinthe, Madame Bartendress!”

  That laughter erupted now—but it was laughter with him, not at him.

  Well, maybe a bit of both. But that was okay.

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” applauded Somnus. “Evaluation Day comes, and suddenly, he’s the Lord of Dreams! Well said.”

  There was a general hear hear. Then, all went back to their revelry and merriment.

  That could’ve gone worse, mused Proto, though his cheeks still felt red.

  They grew redder still when Astrid gave him a quick hug. “Just kidding! I remember when all the guys wore robes! They come back every few centuries. You wear it well.”

  “Every few centuries,” he repeated. “Well, maybe I’m behind the times, but I’m also ahead of them!”

  “That’s the spirit!” affirmed Astrid. “I started thinking that way a long time ago.”

  “Was that before or after the Industrial Revolution?” he joked.

  “It was before B.C. became A.D., Proto,” replied the silvery-blue-haired woman.

  Not for the first time, he pondered the strangeness of his new life. “I need a drink,” he concluded.

  The jumpsuited woman laughed and waved him toward the bar.

  From behind the ornate wooden bar, Lilac scanned his equally ornate robe up and down. “What will it be, Father Proto? Some wine and wafers?” Her black eyes glimmered.

  “Lilac, Lilac, get me my armagnac!” he directed. “If I’m going to be Somnus, let’s do this right.”

  “In that case,” she replied, “I’ll pour you three, plus an absinthe to wash it down.”

  “See to it, Madame Bartendress!” he commanded with his best Somnus-like airy nonchalance.

  As he waited for his four drinks, his other friends congregated over. This was, after all, his big day.

  Quite a crew at this point, mused Proto, scanning them all—Jet and Jag, Mayger and Dahlia, Lilac and Astrid, and, of course, Somnus.

  “I am flattered though,” declared Somnus, slapping the bar. “Here I was, thinking you just didn’t like my robe. But no! You’d been saving it—for months—for your Evaluation Day!”

  “Gotta dress for the occasion, right?” Proto managed.

  Jag tilted his head. “Wait. At the laundry yesterday, didn’t you say ‘this better get done by tomorrow’?”

  Proto eyed him sidelong. “Uh, is that what I said?”

  Jet tilted his head. “Right. You said, ‘I have nothing left. Well, nothing wearable.’”

  “ . . . I don’t recall saying that,” mumbled Proto.

  Mayger tilted his head. “Right. You said, ‘I’d rather wear Mayger’s spike-shouldered pink leather jacket than that.’”

  “I definitely don’t remember that!” Alarmed, Proto glanced at Somnus.

  “That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” observed Astrid. “You do have a history of both amnesia and sleepwalking, yes?”

  “Wait, Sparky, is that the robe you offered me last month?” asked Dahlia. “‘If you need another grossly outdated frock,’ I think you put it?”

  “For Heaven’s sake, people, do you want Somnus to fail me?” cried Proto.

  “Have no fear, Provisional Visitor!” the Lord of Dreams replied. “Your fate is sealed regardless of their words!”

  Proto sighed. Well, that was that.

  Astrid patted him on the back. “Nice knowing you, Snow Blow.”

  Jet patted him on the back. “Nice knowing you, Partner.”

  Dahlia patted him on the back. “Nice knowing you, Spunky.”

  “Heavens, am I the only one here who calls you by your name, Proto?” observed Somnus.

  “Thank you!” Proto threw his arms up in a hallelujah. “I’m glad this has been established before I’m banished back to the Mists. Or Sleepwalker Land, or whatever it’s called.”

  Lilac patted him on the back. “I’ve never called you anything but Proto.”

  “You never call anyone anything,” observed Jag. “You just give them good drinks.”

  “Jag makes a fair point,” acknowledged Jet.

  “Untrue,” replied the black-haired bartendress. “You’re Suave Dope and you’re Slob Dope.”

  “Lilac wins!” decreed Dahlia gleefully. “You’ve been christened. Those are now your names.”

  “Very gracious of you, Dahlia!” said Somnus. “But I’m afraid Proto will be picking our winner today. And it won’t be Suave Dope or Slob Dope. Not unless I’ve severely misjudged you, Proto.”

  Proto blinked and struggled to parse what he was getting at.

  “But first things first,” the Lord of Dreams went on, fixing him an amiable smile. “Your evaluation!” His voice now boomed across the room. All went quiet, eager to hear what would become of the Provisional Visitor.

  “As I told you when you arrived, Proto, this is a private establishment. A sort of employee lounge. Members only!” recalled Somnus. “You’ve been evaluated over several months. Today, we decide whether to make you a member.”

  “Now, it’s highly unusual to have a candidate evaluated by both our hardest and easiest evaluators. Lucky you!” declared the Lord of Dreams. “Under my own rules, I’m supposed to keep this process confidential. So I won’t tell you which of the two was Astrid the Horrid and which was Mayger the Pushover.”

  The two veteran visitors frowned at each other, then at their boss.

  “Not like our evaluations matter,” waved Astrid. “The Dorkling Screwball was always gonna make the call.”

  “First’s name, I should banish you, you grape-eyed tsundere!” retorted Somnus.

  Dahlia scoffed.

  “Something funny, Blonde Bombshell?” inquired Somnus.

  “No, Lord of Dreams,” she replied politely. “I’m just eager to hear you pronounce your most esteemed judgment about this important matter.”

  “Well, keep your shirt on, if you can, and we’ll get there.” Somnus paused, then turned to Lilac. “Anything from you before I go on? Some remark about the ‘Lord of Drunks,’ perhaps?”

  “My Lord, who am I to question your most wise choice of titles?” she piously replied.

  Somnus sighed. “As you can see, Proto, insubordination doesn’t factor heavily into evaluations. Or else this place would be a lot emptier!” He waved at the assembled crew.

  “Just me and you, Lord of Dreams,” affirmed Jag.

  “Yes, precisely,” sighed Somnus. “Which, alas, reminds me why leniency is best.”

  “ . . . hey,” said Jag.

  “I’m starting to get lost,” observed Proto.

  “Quite. To the point then!” declared Somnus. “Proto, you passed. Huzzah.”

  Proto blinked. “ . . . that’s it?” He looked around.

  Lilac politely tapped her glass to his. Clink. Some scattered two-fingered applause ensued.

  “Well. Huzzah,” mused Proto. “I guess.”

  “What do you want from me?” waved Somnus. “Proto, Proto, he’s our man. If he can’t do it, others can! But they’ll complain about understaffing, and Breath Tokens, and, ugh, it’s just not worth it.”

  Mayger patted Proto on the back. “Nice job, Snow Blow.”

  Astrid spun to Mayger. “Don’t you dare steal that, you flamingo-headed backup!”

  “The fact is, Proto,” Somnus went on, “it’s awkward complimenting a true friend. That’s why we’ve all had such a hard time of it.”

  Proto surveyed them—Astrid and Lilac, Dahlia and Mayger—all shrugging, their lips curved up.

  Lilac gave him two thumbs-up, then flicked her fingers forward. “Pew,” she fired.

  He clutched his chest recoilingly. Her black eyes sparkled.

  “But, yes, we each find our own way in the end,” smiled Somnus. “Speaking of which, it’s time for you to choose your way. Today’s real question isn’t what we think of you. It’s what you think of us.”

  “ . . . what?” said Proto.

  “And I’m dying to find out!” the Lord of Dreams went on. “I admit you’ve surprised me quite a bit, Proto, since you’ve arrived here. But I don’t think you’ll surprise me today. I’m good at judging these things. We’ll see.”

  “And even if Somnus were surprised, he wouldn’t admit it,” noted Astrid.

  “On the contrary!” retorted Somnus. “On the contrary! If you’ll recall, I made a very specific prediction about Proto—the perfect drink for him. I’m on the record, right here!” He tapped Lilac’s temple, and she frowned slightly.

  “But first,” the Lord of Dreams continued, his eyes gleaming with strange zeal, “there’s something important I have to tell you, Proto.”

  Meeting that gaze, Proto felt dwarfed by a sudden sublimity and power. He couldn’t avert his eyes. Meanwhile, the room had gone dead silent.

  “Later today,” Somnus said, “unless something very unusual happens, you’ll have to leave this place. You’ll return to the breathing world where you came from. Technically, you were never supposed to be here. You’re alive!”

  A strange uncertainty began rising in Proto’s breast—that hazy, nagging doubt he’d felt in his early days here. It had dwindled for a while, like the mists in the dreams he visited. But now it was back and swirling higher.

  “You got here through a loophole. You made your way here through the Mists while dreaming. Which, by the way, still amazes me,” said Somnus. “Fair enough. But we do have to send you back to the breathing world, first chance we get. And that’s later today.”

  “Today?” Proto stared. “Why?”

  “Because it’s your Saturn Return!” answered Somnus.