Proto stared at the Lord of Dreams, hovering in a mirk of whirling stars. His words echoed in Proto’s head: “I hope you meant it! There’s no undoing it now!”

  He felt sick. Doubts rose in him like bubbles from a rotting swamp. But he’d meant it. Every word of what he’d said to Somnus back in the lounge:

  “When I came here, I thought all this was a false dream. Now, I’m not sure if it’s a dream. But I was right. It’s false. I haven’t found true love. How could I in a false place?”

  False, and yet it’d felt so real. Even now, sinking into effervescing memory, his lips curved up as he recalled it:

  How Astrid had scowled and smiled at him with fiery violet eyes, and swatted at him, and adventured through farflung dreams. Beneath her hardness, she’d always seemed to be hiding something fragile and beautiful that, someday, might come to dazzling light. Like a geode.

  Or how Lilac’s black gaze had sparkled even as she hid her smiles. Who would have expected such playful whimsy and elliptical humor from the quiet bartendress? They’d gone on odysseys together. It’d always felt like they were leading somewhere. It’d felt like there would always be more.

  And how Dahlia, amid her banter, had given him those gleaming glances. She’d always overflowed with life—from the wit that laced her words, to the ardent play that warmed her smiles, right down to abundance of her figure. She’d seemed as undeniably true as life.

  False, false, false. Living life like a dream, together with them, he’d thought he’d found something realer than reality. It almost seemed absurd now. One of them? With me? Please.

  No, in reality, he’d just been a way out of here. A one-way ticket out of this place for three people to fight over.

  Or maybe he’d been right at the outset—this all was just a dream.

  Either way, it’d all been false. They’d all been false.

  Then again, was he any better? Had he picked one of them as “true love,” would the others not be feeling what he felt now? False, false, false.

  Shaking off the brooding, Proto glanced up at the Lord of Dreams.

  “As I said, I hope you’re listening,” repeated Somnus, smiling sympathetically. “As you saw earlier, you had an accident.”

  As he spoke, the red-laced mists surrounding them began to swirl into forgotten but familiar scenes.

  “You were running on Cherry Blossom Lane. You were hit by a car. Your body was broken. Your friend Yemos found you. He dialed 911. You went to the hospital,” recounted Somnus. “The device used to treat you was . . . experimental. A prototype.”

  “First, you were put into a medically induced coma. Your battered body just wasn’t up to keeping your brain alive.”

  “Next, the doctors repaired what they could. Which was a lot, but not everything. The brain damage was just too much.”

  “Well, too much to fix at that time. But medicine advances quickly—believe me, I’ve been watching from the start!—and they knew what was irreparable today might be a routine procedure tomorrow. Or in a few decades or centuries or what have you.”

  “So . . . they put you into cryogenic hibernation,” winced Somnus with a smile. “Kind of sci-fi, isn’t it? Then again, not long ago, smartphones felt like sci-fi. We’re living in the future! Even if it’s not flying skateboards and robot housemaids like we hoped for.”

  “The idea was, you and the others there would be retrieved when medicine was up to treating you,” said Somnus. “You’d be a sort of proof of concept. If it worked, they’d start deploying this technology more broadly.”

  “Then . . . Fyrir’s crew woke up my brethren. The Elements. They soared across the skies raining fiery ruin, leaving the world fragmented, leaving civilization in wreckage, and sending humanity spiraling back toward the Dark Ages. So much for cryogenics, eh?” shrugged Somnus. “Maybe next civilization.”

  As Somnus spoke, Proto watched all this playing out hazily in the red-laced mists. But now, those mists were dwindling down, and soon he found himself standing in the lounge again.

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  Everyone there was still frozen. Dahlia was still mid-sentence with her hand outstretched. Lilac was still staring in mute shock. And Astrid’s earnest violet gaze was still upon him.

  “Now, obviously, all this is a problem for you. No doctor from the future’s coming to heal you anymore!” said Somnus.

  “So . . . I took care of it. Not that I can do much up in the breathing world. But I called in a favor. I have friends in high places!” mused the Lord of Dreams. “In short, you’re good now. Fit as a fiddle! Right as rain! Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed! Minus the tail. This is cryogenics, not a cosplay convention.”

  “I’m . . . grateful,” Proto managed, his head whirling with everything that’d happened in the last few minutes.

  Somnus shrugged and waved dismissively. “I felt I owed you that much. You’ve done a lot for us! I’d hoped you’d get something out of it. And, if nothing else, you’ll get this.”

  “If nothing else,” he went on, “I think you’ve learnt about life here. It can be a dream, if you choose to live it that way. You’ll wake soon. But now you know the dream doesn’t have to end with waking.”

  Proto nodded slowly. All this might be false. But he still felt there was something true beneath it.

  “By the way, you’re absolutely right. You haven’t found true love here. Of that, I’m sure,” the Lord of Dreams assured him. “And, given that, you’ve absolutely made the right choice. It’s time for you to search elsewhere! I have faith you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

  “But it won’t be here.” He waved his wand lightly.

  The lounge began to evanesce like mist in sunlight: first, the elegant wooden bar and chairs and tables, then the happy crowds.

  Somnus smiled wistfully at that painting of the old man watching the two young lovers by the sea. “‘These our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air.’”

  Abruptly chuckling, he thumbed over his shoulder. “Now I sound like her!”

  Following his finger, Proto saw Dahlia, her pained face fixed on his, her mouth open, his name upon her lips.

  “But that’s silly, isn’t it?” Somnus said. “Saying I sound like a dream. Gets things backward, don’t you think?”

  And, with that, Dahlia, Lilac and Astrid all melted into misty nothing.

  That left Proto alone with the Lord of Dreams, who now was strolling toward the downward staircase, still present behind the vanished bar. He descended into mirky depths, even as the world melted all around him. And Proto followed.

  Down they went, passing the many floors and doors of Somnus’ Palace, which dwindled into nothing in their wake.

  Proto felt like he was wandering through a dream—so numb and absent that, upon reaching the ground floor, he kept descending toward the caves below. He was down half a flight before he realized he was alone.

  “Where are you headed?” called Somnus from the top of the stairs. “Off to have an odyssey? With whom, I wonder?” He turned and walked out the door to the grand foyer.

  Proto climbed back up the stairs and followed. And all behind him melted into nothing.

  The Lord of Dreams led Proto through the blue foyer, where silvery ceiling patterns swirled into a Milky Way, and pairs and trios in diverse costumes roved and chatted. All melted into nothing in their wake.

  On they went through the courtyard, wending past trees and bushes, past the twelve fountains with twelve different shapes—the Ram, the Bull, the Twins, and so forth.

  Idly, the Lord of Dreams picked some flowers as they passed, admiring them. He still held them even after the plant they’d come from had dissipated, even as the garden itself evaporated.

  “Lovely flowers! Such a hue! Almost as violet as . . . hm.” Somnus smiled. “Forget it.” He cast the flowers aside. And before they hit the ground, they’d melted into nothing.

  Out the two went through the grand gate of Somnus’ Palace.

  Moments later, they stood at the cliff, where Proto once had watched the slumbering shades rove. Lone in the sky, a gloamy star was shining.

  “Well, here we are! This is where, alas, we part ways.” Somnus faced the misty plain below. “I’ve never been much for long farewells, and I know you’ve places to be. I’ll just say it’s been a dream, Proto.”

  “It has.” Proto glanced behind him. Already, the last traces of Somnus’ Palace were wisping away. He felt like part of him was wisping away with it.

  “In fairness, I should mention. My prediction was wrong,” sighed Somnus. “Remember? I made a bet what drink was a match for you? I had a few second guesses too. But, in the end, none of them was right! Congratulations! You’ve won!” he praised. “Or, at least, I’ve lost.”

  Unsure what to say, Proto took a deep breath, then let it out. “Will I see any of you again?” he finally asked.

  “Well, certainly, you’ll still dream. And perhaps you’ll dream of us,” replied the Lord of Dreams. “As for what you choose to make of those dreams—what reality you choose to give them—that’s quite up to you.”

  Proto nodded. He watched the shadowy figures roving aimlessly below. “So . . . what now?”

  “Why, it’s obvious, yes?” said Somnus. “You may not be the Lord of Dreams. But we all know there’s one sure way to wake up from a dream.”

  Proto looked down the precipice, its depths obscured by swirling mists, then back up at Somnus. “ . . . really? That?”

  “What? So concerned? About a mere dream?” Somnus smiled lightly. “Go on!” He waved Proto forward. “You have a whole real life ahead of you!”

  From his clifftop prospect, Proto turned back toward where Somnus’ Palace had stood. Not anymore.

  Now, there was only Somnus—his robe and long hair billowing in an unfelt wind, zeal gleaming in his gaze.

  “Go on!” commanded the Lord of Dreams.

  Proto turned to face his plunge into the future. Mists hid what waited there.

  “You can do it, Proto. I know you can,” urged Somnus gently.

  He stepped forward—

  “Just take it one dream at a time, Proto!” called Somnus. “One dream at a time.”

  —and by the time the words were out, Proto was plummeting back toward where he’d come from.