The day slipped quietly into night, and the Waxing crescent moon shone softly above Bhairava's home. At the dining table, Bhairava and Shivani sat together, finishing their dinner. Bell lay sprawled on the floor, eyes fixed on the television where an anime played, its bright colors flickering across the room.
Their parents had not yet returned. Their father was still tied up with the serial murder case, and their mother was busy working late on a client's matter. The house felt quieter than usual, filled only with the hum of the TV and the clinking of plates.
After eating, Bhairava and Shivani moved through their routine washing the dishes, tidying the dining hall, and sharing a few moments together before parting for their rooms. Shivani slipped into hers, pulled out her diary, and wrote a few lines. Since it was Sunday, there wasn't much to record. She closed the book, turned off the light, and drifted into sleep.
In his room, Bhairava sat on the bed, staring at his own diary. His thoughts wandered back to the dream he had the previous night. He remembered the books he had read and the videos he had watched about lucid dreaming, but none of them explained the strange things he had witnessed. The dream felt different, too vivid, too unusual.
Confusion weighed on him. He had no answers, only questions. With doubtful thoughts swirling in his mind, he finally lay down, closed his eyes, and surrendered to sleep
Once again, his subconscious stirred and pulled his conscious mind awake inside the dream. Bhairava opened his eyes and found himself sitting on the branch of a tall tree. He blinked, confused. "It happened again?" he whispered, after realizing he was dreaming.
He jumped down from the branch and began walking slowly. The dream was calm—birds sang in the distance, the air was gentle, and his steps felt steady. As he moved, a thought returned to him. Last night he had tried to fly, but failed. Tonight, he wanted to try again.
He stopped, stood still, and focused. Closing his eyes, he imagined the feeling of floating, of rising above the ground. He concentrated deeply, and slowly, his body began to lift. His feet parted from the earth, rising inch by inch.
When he opened his eyes, he was hovering in the air. The sudden realization almost broke his balance, but by flailing his arms and legs he steadied himself. Looking down at the ground, he felt a rush of excitement. He willed himself higher, and his body responded, lifting upward on its own.
The moment overwhelmed him. A wide smile spread across his face, and he shouted with pure joy, his voice echoing through the dream world.
Slowly, Bhairava imagined what it would feel like to fly. He focused on his body, guiding it with his thoughts, and soon he was soaring. At first, he moved carefully, testing his balance, but soon he learned to control his direction. His speed increased, and with pure excitement he shouted, his voice echoing through the dream sky.
He shot upward, stopping mid-air where flocks of birds glided nearby. They circled him, wings brushing the wind, and he smiled at the sight. Looking down, the world seemed tiny beneath him—patches of farmland, mountains rising like giants, lakes shimmering, rivers winding like silver threads, and endless stretches of green grassland.
He flew further, reaching the sea. Lowering himself close to the waves, he stretched out his hand and touched the water. The cool sensation thrilled him. Laughing, he rose again, climbing higher until smoky clouds surrounded him. He reached out, brushing the mist with his fingers, amazed at how real it felt.
He flew everywhere—over land, sea, and sky—his heart filled with joy. Yet, beneath the excitement, something unsettled him. This was his fifth lucid dream, and each time he had gained more control. He could do anything, shape anything, bend the dream to his will. But the more powerful he became, the more confused he felt. Why was this happening again and again?
He hadn't practiced any lucid dream techniques for the past two nights, yet the dreams kept happening. Every source he had studied—books, videos, even expert dreamers—insisted that continuous lucid dreaming was impossible. The subconscious would never allow the conscious mind to wake inside the dream every time. But in Bhairava's case, it was happening again and again, and within such a short span he had already mastered so much. Something felt wrong.
As he soared through the sky, his eyes caught sight of something familiar—the red gate. He had seen it two nights before, and now it appeared again, glowing faintly in the distance. Determined, he flew toward it.
His feet touched down on shallow water that stretched endlessly across the ground. The gate stood alone in the middle of this strange place, surrounded by nothing but the bright blue sky above and the shimmering water below.
It was massive. Bhairava tilted his head back, trying to see the top, but it rose far beyond his sight. The structure glowed faintly, its surface pulsing with a strange energy.
Bhairava's thoughts rushed through him as he stared at the towering red gate. "Wow… so big?"
But as he stepped closer, a strange sensation crept into him. It wasn't pain, nor confusion—it was fear. His eyes widened. "What is this… feeling?"
The sight of the gate stirred something deep within him. Memories of the previous night's dream rushed back—the white raven, he remembered the raven presence near this very gate two night before. Was the bird guiding him? Or was this gate somehow tied to his last dreams?
The gate loomed before him, glowing faintly, and then like an echo inside his mind, a voice spoke. "You are not ready yet."
The words struck him with sudden clarity. He remembered the raven had said this before. The last dream. The warning.
He turned quickly, scanning the endless blue sky and shallow waters around him, searching for the raven. But it was nowhere to be found. The silence pressed in, broken only by the faint hum of the glowing gate.
His gaze returned to the gate. He stood frozen, torn in half. One part of him longed to step forward, to see what lay beyond. The other part recoiled, gripped by dread. He was fighting himself, caught between curiosity and terror.
"Am I afraid now?" he whispered, staring at his trembling hand. "No… this is just a dream. I shouldn't be afraid."
Yet the feeling lingered. His heart raced, his hand shook, and still—his lips curled into a smile. His eyes gleamed with excitement.
"But this is fear… I am scared now… yet why does it excite me?"
His gaze returned to the gate. His heart pounded, torn between dread and desire. Half of him wanted to flee, but the other half burned with curiosity. He clenched his fists. "I want to face it. I want to know what is behind this."
Bhairava stood before the red gate, the unknown fear and excitement tangled together, pulling him closer.
Bhairava thought, "If something scares you and excites you at the same time, maybe that's your soul telling you to go for it."
Perhaps it was his soul that had led him here, to this gate. Perhaps it was destiny.
With determination rising inside him, Bhairava stepped forward, deciding to enter and uncover the truth all by himself.