Describe a dream? A reflection of our hidden desires, anxieties, hopes or maybe... a door. A portal to a realm beyond what the conscious world ever ventured to reach.
Dreaming provided Steven with a means of escape from reality. He had spent years confined to bed. All of his possessions were taken away by a rare, fatal sickness, leaving him a mere shell.
The doctors were long since discouraged. Friends stopped coming to visit. His father also seemed to have lost the ability to speak, as if words had abandoned him.
Steven closed his eyes... An imaginary sky was reflected by still waters as clear as gleaming glass. He and his reflection alone in this enormous space. As he stumbled forward, the water roiled around his bare feet.
He saw his reflection, a young man with almond-shaped eyes. Silky bronze skin and sharp cheekbones. Black with copper undertones, his hair curled slightly at the tips.
In a whisper, he said. "This cannot be real. Am I dead?"
A dark sphere was dangling in the sky.
Steven shuddered. He continued to move forward, first walking, then jogging, and finally running.
Running like he was attempting to find a piece he had long since lost. He chuckled through the tears as the wind from his sprint touched his face.
He was no longer imprisoned and nor paralyzed. He arrived at the sphere. At close range, it was throbbing and vibrating like a heartbeat rather than merely floating. He paused, looking into the surface. The surroundings were not mirrored in it.
A single stride ahead, he walked.
With trembling hands, he reached out to touch it.
The instant his fingertips touched the sphere, it reacted angrily.
Then it broke.
The sphere exploded like a puff of smoke, splintering into luminous pieces that dispersed throughout the atmosphere.
Steven was standing in a white space.
There were no edges or walls—just unending light.
At that moment, a beautiful stranger showed up.
This woman was an otherworldly beauty. Her hair fell like liquid glass, and she was dressed in flowing silver and light robes. Her eyes were like galaxies—deep, limitless, and overflowing with knowledge. She exuded beauty, serenity, and an unworldly force.
"My name is Camara," she continued, her voice a tone that resonated without being loud. "You are experiencing a DREAM."
Steven blinked. "What...?"
She smiled a little and snapped her fingers.
A table appeared before him, polished marble with subtle gold veins.
Two dainty seats slipped into position.
"Come," she murmured, sitting down already. "I bet you have questions."
Incredulous, he obeyed. He was held in the chair, which was strangely cozy.
"What is this place?" he inquired at last. "Am I... dead?"
Camara gave a slight smile after tilting her head. "No, Steven. In every way possible, you are living."
She continued. "This is DREAM, a quantum-simulated dynamic reality emulation and mindscape plane that your father created."
Steven felt his pulse skipped a few beats. "My... father?"
Nodding, Camara said. "He was not able to save your body, so he created something else that might help your mind escape."
This device was a present from him.
Steven forcefully gulped. "Why did he not inform me?"
"He did," Camara tapped her head. "This is it. He desired for you to experience it rather than only be aware of it."
Silence, for a moment.
Subsequently, as she lifted her hand, bright cards appeared, five in number each slowly rotating in position.
They were adorned with dancing symbols, some resembling swords, others masks, animals, and stars.
Steven gazed, fascinated. "What are they?"
She answered. "They are options, tales awaiting your spirit. Every life is different and distinct, a single option. Each existence has its own challenges."
Steven looked at the deck of cards.
The image of a sword sitting on a battlefield beneath blood-red skies flashed on one card.
How about that one?" He inquired.
Camara had a smile. "A perilous kingdom, the life of a prince."
Smith felt a rumble in his chest.
An ignition.
An appetite.
"I am going to accept it," he muttered.
---
Steven opened his eyes abruptly.
The ceiling was lofty, dome-shaped, and decorated with burgundy and yellow swirls.
He blinked once.
Twice.
He could smell the aroma of aged wood, burning incense, and... wine.
He gradually sat up.
The enormous bed underneath him was made of dark wood and had velvet curtains that were secured with golden ropes.
Rich red covers covered him, and a silver wolf, snarling and majestic, was stitched with the blanket at the heel of the bed.
Steven struggled to stand up, his legs swaying.
The alcohol smell hung on him.
He walked with unsteady steps.
His footsteps were muted by the thick carpet.
Eventually, he arrived at the mirror. The image that stared back was not precisely his own. It had a sharper, more regal face.
He had green eyes with a trace of vanity engraved, pale skin, and golden-brown hair that dropped off his neck in a tousle. High cheekbones, lips slightly twisted in a grin, and a powerful jaw.
A nobleman born to captivate and ruin in equal measure.
Steven the Prince.
His garment was a deep navy color and featured silver thread embroidery. The sleeves had a flair and ruby studs at the wrists. He wore an exquisite fur-lined cloak draped over his shoulders, now rumpled with the faint spots of alcohol spilled.
Steven felt anguish pierce his temples as he stared. He felt a surge of lightheadedness, and memories came flooding in.
Dinner.
Women.
Wine-soaked halls reverberated with laughter.
False expressions conceal nobles loathing his name.
And then poison.
A goblet was too soon empty.
Giggles.
Dizziness.
Darkness.
Last night, the prince had passed away.
Steven had recently replaced him.
Breathing heavily, he held on to the edge. "So this is it," he whispered. "I chose this life."
The amount of time he spent grounding himself was unknown to him.
He would not fail the first time.
Tightening the cloak, he made his way to the door, his boots making a gentle reverberation against the stone as he entered the hallway.