Ramses sat cross-legged on the floor of the old university library, surrounded by open books and crumpled notes. He had read volumes on philosophy, spirituality, science, and even lucid dreaming, yet none of it had given him an answer to the one question that gnawed at his soul: Why is the world frozen? Or worse—Is it even real?
It had been what felt like years since the freeze, though he had long stopped counting. Days and nights were indistinct in a world where the sun neither moved nor warmed. His beard had grown fuller, his body lean and strong, his mind sharper than ever. But none of that dulled the ache of isolation.
Sleep had become his only escape, the only portal to something new.
He didn't always dream in the frozen world. But when he did, the dreams were vivid—so much more vivid than his old life. And tonight, one would shatter everything.
In the dream, Ramses stood in a wide desert. Sand swept across his bare feet, though the wind was absent. Above, the sky roiled with shades of crimson and violet, like a storm was locked in slow motion. He knew it was a dream, yet it felt more real than anything in the waking freeze.
In the distance, a figure emerged. Cloaked in white, face obscured by a hood, the person moved slowly toward him. Ramses tried to walk, but his feet remained rooted in the sand. All he could do was wait as the figure approached.
When they were just a few feet away, the figure stopped and raised a hand.
"You are not alone," the voice said, soft yet heavy with meaning.
Ramses blinked. "What?"
"You think this stillness is your prison. But it is your womb."
The words hung in the air like sacred scripture.
"What does that mean?" Ramses demanded. "Am I... dreaming this? Or is this real?"
The figure didn't answer directly. Instead, they pulled a small object from beneath their cloak—a mirror. No bigger than Ramses' palm, it shimmered even though there was no sunlight. The figure held it out.
"Look."
Hesitant, Ramses reached out and took it. The moment his fingers touched the cool glass, a surge of energy flooded his body. His vision blurred, and the desert began to melt away.
He woke with a gasp in his makeshift bed inside the abandoned bookstore.
Sweat coated his forehead. He clutched at his chest, heart pounding. The dream had been unlike any other—clear, prophetic, powerful. And in his hand, he still felt the phantom weight of the mirror.
Ramses scrambled to his feet and rushed to the bathroom mirror nearby. He stared at his reflection—his eyes, his face, the person he had become. It wasn't just a dream. He felt different. Like something had been revealed to him, a curtain drawn slightly open.
He repeated the words: "Not a prison. A womb."
It echoed in his mind like a mantra. Was the world frozen not to punish him, but to prepare him?
Then came the deeper realization: the dream was a message—maybe from his subconscious, maybe from a higher power, maybe even a fragment of a forgotten memory. But it had meaning.
What if he could wake up?
The figure in white had given him something symbolically important—a mirror. Something that reflects. Something that shows truth. Could that mean that self-awareness was the key?
Was the frozen world a test? A cocoon for growth?
Ramses spent the next several hours revisiting old journals and sketchpads. He pieced together moments of transformation: his physical evolution, his spiritual breakthroughs, his emotional healing. All these changes weren't just for survival—they were preparations.
As he flipped through the pages of a notebook he hadn't opened in months, he saw something he didn't remember writing:
"When you stop looking for the exit and start seeing the room for what it is, the door will appear."
His breath caught.
He didn't remember writing those words. But they were in his handwriting. Slanted, rushed, like he had scrawled them half-asleep. Was it automatic writing? A message from his subconscious?
Or had someone—or something—reached into his mind?
The idea was wild, even insane. But nothing about this world had followed logic. Ramses felt his heart pounding again, this time with hope. Maybe there was a way out.
But it wouldn't be physical.
He wouldn't break the freeze by pushing against the walls. He had to go deeper.
He remembered the look in the figure's eyes—though he had barely seen them. They weren't threatening. They were... familiar.
He closed his eyes and sat in meditation.
This time, he focused not on quieting his mind, but on listening. He asked questions inwardly:
"Who am I now? What am I meant to see?"
Moments passed.
Then came an image.
A hospital room.
He saw himself lying in a bed. Unmoving. Machines beeping steadily. Tubes and wires connected to his body.
He flinched, eyes opening in a jolt. But it had been too clear. Too real.
Was he in a coma?
The thought hit like lightning. All this time, he believed he was in a frozen world. But what if his world was frozen—and the real one was still moving on without him?
He stumbled backward, sitting hard on the floor.
It made sense. The stillness, the silence, the inability to connect with anyone. The surreal clarity of dreams.
A coma. That would explain everything.
And if that were true...
Then there was a way back.
But only if he was ready.
Only if he wanted to wake up.
The thought terrified him. He had grown used to this solitude. Mastered it. Thrived in it. Out there—in the real world—he'd have to face everything again. Pain. Loss. Expectations. The people he had let down. The self he had once been.
But he also remembered his promise. The vow he made to himself in the early days of the freeze:
"If I ever get out, I'll live like I never have before."
He looked out the window, where time still stood still. A bird suspended mid-flight. Leaves frozen mid-fall. People caught mid-motion, like wax figures in a moment they never chose.
Ramses placed his hand on the glass. His voice was barely a whisper.
"I'm coming back."
And somewhere, in that space between sleep and wakefulness, between frozen time and reality, something shifted.
A vibration. A hum in the air.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
An unexpected revelation, yes.
But one that changed everything.