The first thing Ethan noticed was the silence.
Not the kind he was used to—urban silence filled with the hum of streetlights, the distant buzz of a television, or Jared's occasional snore. This was the kind of silence that pressed against the skin, that watched. Like standing at the center of an abandoned cathedral and realizing something was still listening.
His eyes snapped open.
His room was... different.
The shadows were too deep. The edges of the furniture were softened, like oil paintings left out in the rain. His bookshelves leaned at impossible angles, and the window—where moonlight should've streamed in—showed nothing but an endless velvet black. No stars. No streetlights. No Jared. No world.
Ethan sat up quickly, breathing shallow. "What the hell—?"
His voice came out muted, as though the room swallowed the sound before it could reach the air.
He stumbled out of bed and landed on a surface that wasn't his rug. Cold. Wet. It felt like stone slicked with dew or—no, blood? He jerked his foot away, heart racing, but when he looked down...
His floor was gone.
His bedroom had melted into something else entirely.
He stood in the center of a long hallway, its walls made of faded nursery wallpaper: moons, bears, and stars—peeling and flickering as though caught between childhood and decay. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, lit by low-hanging, flickering bulbs. Occasionally, one sparked and hissed like it was breathing.
"Wake up," Ethan muttered. "Wake up, wake up—"
But he knew.
This was the dream.
No, worse than a dream.
Because his body was heavy. His heart hurt. The air smelled of dust and old memories. He didn't feel like he was dreaming.
Something scratched along the floor behind him.
He spun.
A child's tricycle stood where nothing had been a moment ago, its front wheel slowly turning. It squeaked as it rotated once... twice...
He backed away.
A whisper crawled through the hallway, faint and dry:
"Ethan…"
His legs moved before his brain caught up.
He ran, breath sharp in his lungs. The hallway pulsed around him—walls shifting, doors appearing and vanishing. One slammed open just ahead, revealing a stairwell bathed in red light. Without thinking, he ducked through it.
The stairs twisted downward. Not spiraled—twisted—as though drawn by a child who didn't understand geometry. With every step, the air grew colder, thinner, denser. Like he was walking into the Earth's lungs.
Then he reached the bottom.
It opened into a chamber of black water. The ceiling arched impossibly high, vanishing into darkness. Glowing shapes floated just beneath the water's surface—ribbons of light that looked like memories. He could see them: a bicycle crash, a birthday party, someone kissing a forehead in a hospital bed.
And standing at the center of it all was her.
Mia.
She was facing away, her hair trailing down her back, her little white shoes half-submerged in the still water.
Ethan took a step forward. "Mia...?"
She didn't move.
He took another step—and the water rippled violently around his foot.
Mia turned.
But it wasn't her.
The eyes were too wide. Too hollow. Her face was cracked like porcelain, and when she smiled, it split—the crack stretching up her cheek as if something inside wanted out.
"You left me," the thing said in Mia's voice.
Ethan staggered back, heart slamming against his ribs. "No. No, I didn't—Mia, please, I tried—I—"
"You closed your eyes and forgot me." Her smile grew, jaw opening far too wide. The water around her churned, dark tendrils rising like vines. "You slept, Ethan. While I screamed."
The water surged forward like a hand.
Ethan turned and ran.
Doors appeared on either side of the chamber. He grabbed the first one and threw it open—only to find a brick wall. He ran to another. A stairwell leading up this time. He took it, gasping, water sloshing behind him. Her footsteps followed—wet, sticky, dragging.
He climbed.
And climbed.
And climbed.
Until there was no air. No walls. No stairs.
Just falling.
---
Ethan hit the ground hard.
He gasped, clutching his chest, the floor beneath him solid—cold stone, worn smooth by countless footsteps. His pulse thundered in his ears, but the water and the thing-that-was-Mia were gone.
He sat up.
The world had changed again.
Now he stood in the middle of a vast ruin: cracked marble archways stretched into the gloom above, some held up by tree roots the size of train cars. Faint silver motes drifted through the air like fireflies, and from somewhere in the distance came a lullaby—soft, almost electronic, like an old music box struggling to play.
Ethan rose shakily.
"What is this place…?"
The voice answered not with words, but with sensation.
A presence.
Heavy. Watching. Benevolent—but ancient. Like something had stirred the moment he stepped foot here, and now it was aware of him.
Then—
> [VEIL ENTRY DETECTED]
You have entered: THE DREAMRIFT
Initializing connection...
Welcome, Dreamer.
LEVEL: 1
STATUS: Active
PRIMARY ATTRIBUTE: COGNITIVE FABRICATION (DORMANT)
Unique Class Assigned: DREAMWEAVER (Locked)
Warning: Reality bleed detected. Time distortion active. Risk of permanent entanglement. Proceed with caution.
The words weren't sound, but a presence in his mind. A pressure behind his eyes. He reeled, clutching his head, and collapsed to one knee.
"Dreamweaver...? What the hell is a Dreamweaver?"
> First resonance incomplete. Stability compromised. Predation-class Nightmare en route.
From the silence came a shriek.
A sound that tore the fabric of the dream—like metal bending, glass shattering, and screams overlapping. The ground trembled beneath his knees.
Ethan turned slowly.
It emerged from the fog between columns.
At first glance, it looked human—a tall, thin man with a long overcoat and a stitched smile.
But its face was inverted.
Its eyes blinked from inside its mouth, which grinned across its forehead, teeth twitching. Its arms were long and serpentine, ending in hands with fingers like violin strings.
Ethan couldn't move.
The Nightmare took a step forward—and the world around it died. The marble cracked. The silver motes burned black. The air screamed.
> WARNING: ENTITY LEVEL 4 – PREDATION CLASS.
Engagement not advised. Flee.
Ethan backed away, stumbling, heart about to break through his ribs.
The thing cocked its head, eyes blinking upside-down from its mouth. "Little dreamer," it whispered. "You smell... incomplete."
Then it charged.
Ethan turned to run.
There—an archway!
He bolted for it, his mind screaming with static. The creature hissed and slashed the ground behind him, sending cracks racing toward him like spiderwebs.
> [First Dreamweave Unlocked]
Emergency Activation – Basic Instinctual Projection
"What?!" Ethan shouted as something inside him broke open—not physically, but mentally.
He didn't understand it—but his panic surged forward, and in that instant, he imagined a wall of light. Something—anything—to block the monster.
A blinding flash erupted before him.
A shimmering barrier of light bloomed from thin air—wavering, trembling, a child's sketch of a wall made real.
The Nightmare crashed into it.
And howled.
The sound shattered Ethan's ears. Blood trickled down his neck. But the thing couldn't pass. It clawed and hissed, teeth splitting into new rows of jagged bone.
Ethan turned and sprinted.
Through the arch.
Into darkness.
---
He hit the ground again.
This time... it felt like his real bed.
The blankets. The smell of laundry detergent. The quiet buzz of the ceiling fan.
He sat up, drenched in sweat. His chest heaved.
The room was normal.
He looked at his hands—trembling, but real.
Had it been a dream?
He stood shakily, heart pounding, and looked toward the mirror across the room.
His reflection stared back—
—but behind it, for the briefest moment, something watched.
And in his mind, a quiet whisper:
> "Welcome, Dreamweaver. We've been waiting."