At this moment, he was the supreme, the most splendid man in the world, a king and a knight. There was no one above him, nor was anyone his peer. Yes, that was the dream Solaris III was having when suddenly it all changed.
One instant he was on the throne when the world dissolved into fractured light, then coalesced into the familiar shadows of his own bedchamber. He was lying in his own bed. But he was a statue, a ghost trapped in flesh and bone.
His eyes were closed, yet he could see everything around him with clarity. His chest fell up and down without his control; the same could be said for his limbs, which at this moment refused to obey his order.
Was this sleep paralysis? What was going on?
Before he could ponder over the question, the door to his bed chamber was opened, and someone walked in.
