The days blurred again, though Alexander no longer fooled himself into believing they were real. Every sunrise felt too clean, the meals were warm, the laughter genuine, but the false reality stood out now that he had realized the truth.
He worked the fields beside his father, sweat dripping into the soil, but the routine no longer carried the same peace. Every swing of the hoe felt rehearsed, as though he were an actor on a stage repeating lines already written. His father's words of encouragement were the same as yesterday, and the day before that.
"You'll take this land after me, Alex," his father said again that evening, leaning back with his pipe. "Better than I ever did."
The warmth that had once steadied him now cut into his chest. He forced himself to nod, but inside, he trembled.
Because he remembered. The clones of himself. The fight. The lava serpent. The trials.
And yet, the weight of his father's voice made him hesitate. What if he was wrong? What if this really was his life, and the other memories were the dream?
The thought made him contemplate everything.
He tried to push through it by spending more time with Wendy. If anyone could shake him out of this confusion, it would be her. But Wendy was no different.
They walked the narrow dirt paths between wheat fields, the setting sun throwing gold over her auburn hair. She laughed at something he said, her eyes bright.
"Don't tell me you're still thinking about leaving," she teased, repeating words she had said before.
It struck him then. The same phrasing, the same tone, almost word for word.
His breath caught. "You already said that."
She blinked. "Said what?"
"That exact thing. About leaving. You said it days ago."
Her expression softened, and for a moment he thought she would admit it. Instead, she laid a hand on his arm.
"Alex… you think too much. Maybe you dreamed it. Don't let your head get in the way of your heart. We're happy here. Isn't that enough?"
Her touch was warm, her presence steady. For a brief moment, he wanted to believe her. He wanted to sink into that warmth and let the doubt fade.
But deep inside, a stubborn voice whispered that it wasn't real.
That night, the dream returned.
He was back in the darkness of the labyrinth, stone walls pressing against him, fire blasting down the tunnels. The serpent of molten rock bared its fangs, filling his vision with heat and hunger.
Alexander shouted, calling on the strength within his chest but when he looked down, there was no core, no mana. Only emptiness.
The serpent struck, and...
He woke in his bed, gasping, soaked in sweat. Moonlight stretched across the wooden floorboards. The farmhouse walls stood steady. His father's snores rumbled faintly through the house.
For a long time, Alexander sat upright, clutching the blanket in his fists.
If this was only a dream, why did it feel more real than the days in the village?
The next morning, he confronted his father.
"You said the same words again," Alexander said, his voice unsteady as they walked the fields. "Every day you say the same thing about the land. Doesn't that bother you? Doesn't it feel… wrong?"
His father's face remained calm. He planted the hoe in the dirt and leaned on it.
"What's wrong with a life that repeats? A steady life is better than one filled with chaos. We have the farm. We have each other. That's enough."
The words dug into Alexander's chest like a blade.
"Is it enough?" he whispered. "Or is it just easy?"
His father looked at him with a sadness that was heavier than anger. "You'll understand one day. The world beyond this farm will chew you up. Better to stay here, safe."
Alexander's knees weakened. He wanted to shout, to argue, but the weight of his father's words nearly crushed him. For a heartbeat, he wanted to surrender.
But then he thought of the trials. Of the path he had chosen. Of his ambition.
And he forced himself to straighten.
The days grew stranger after that.
Sometimes he woke to find Wendy waiting at the door, repeating the same cheerful greeting. Sometimes the fields shifted, wheat growing or vanishing between blinks. Sometimes the sun froze above the horizon, unmoving, as if the world itself held its breath.
The more he resisted, the more the illusion bent to keep him inside.
One evening, Wendy found him outside the house, staring at the sky.
"You don't have to leave," she said softly, stepping close. "I know you're restless. I know you think there's more out there. But what if there isn't? What if this is all you get, Alex? Wouldn't it be better to hold on to what's in front of you?"
Her voice trembled slightly. The words weren't just a script. They were a plea.
And that was what made it hurt the most.
He wanted to hold her hand. He wanted to promise her he'd stay.
But even as he looked into her eyes, he felt the emptiness pressing around him.
This wasn't real.
He clenched his fists. "I can't. Not here. Not like this."
Wendy's expression broke. For a moment, she looked like she might cry.
And then the world around him shifted again. The farmhouse windows melted into blackness. The fields stretched and warped. Wendy's face blurred at the edges, her features rippling like water.
Alexander's stomach turned, but he held his ground.
"I know what this is," he whispered. "And I won't let it chain me."
The dream trembled but did not break. Not yet.
The farm still stood, the air still warm, the illusion still clinging to him like a net.
But the cracks had spread.
And Alexander knew that soon, he would have to tear it apart completely. No matter how much it hurt.