I didn't sleep well after that.
Not because of nightmares—there were none—but because every time I drifted close to sleep, my mind snagged on something unfinished. Like a sentence that refused to end, looping back on itself just before the final word.
By morning, the longing hadn't faded.
It had sharpened.
I sat at the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor while the city outside began its usual hum. Cars passed. Someone laughed down the street. Life continued with infuriating normalcy.
Too normal.
"That's the problem, isn't it?" I murmured.
I stood and went through my routine again, but this time I paid attention—not to the comfort of it, but to its seams. To the places where things felt rehearsed rather than lived.
The clock on my wall still ticked, steady and precise. Too precise. The time advanced exactly as it should, never drifting, never stuttering. My phone had notifications—emails, news updates, messages—but none of them mattered. I could read them without retaining a single detail, like my mind slid off them on purpose.
Selective engagement.
That thought stuck.
I paced the apartment slowly, eyes tracking the familiar layout with new scrutiny. My couch was exactly where it had always been. The faint scuff on the wall by the door hadn't changed. The plant by the window was still half-dead, eternally suspended between recovery and neglect.
Nothing progressed unless I touched it.
"…Right," I whispered. "That's convenient."
I stopped in front of the mirror in the hallway and studied my reflection. I looked healthy. Rested. Unburdened.
But my eyes didn't match.
They kept drifting. Searching corners. Expecting something just out of frame.
In the tunnel—no, in the dream—I'd been hyper-aware of my surroundings. Every sound, every shift in the air had meant something. Here, everything was static unless I moved it.
As if the world only existed to accommodate me.
A chill crawled up my spine.
"That's not how reality works," I said quietly.
I thought of Silva then—how she always insisted on details. On double-checking assumptions. On treating comfort as suspicious when it came too easily.
I thought of Mira, bristling at anything that tried to cage her, even gently.
Theo, pretending he wasn't tired until he finally, catastrophically was.
And Aetherion—
The thought of him made my chest ache.
Not the sharp pain of loss. Something worse. Something softer.
Absence.
He should've said something by now. About my pacing. About my expression. About how dramatically I was spiraling.
He didn't.
That absence wasn't neutral. It was loud.
I grabbed my jacket and stepped outside, letting the door click shut behind me. The air was cool, fresh, carrying the faint smell of rain from earlier that morning. I walked without a destination, letting my feet carry me through streets I knew by heart.
Or thought I did.
The city unfolded predictably. Too predictably. Every streetlight green when I reached it. Every crosswalk empty. Every passerby a background figure, their faces indistinct when I tried to remember them.
I stopped abruptly.
A man brushed past me, shoulder bumping mine.
"Sorry," he muttered automatically, already moving on.
I turned to look at him—and realized I couldn't recall his face at all.
Not a single feature.
My pulse quickened.
"That's… not normal."
I retraced my steps slowly, deliberately, watching for inconsistencies. And once I started looking, they were everywhere. Conversations that reset if I wasn't paying attention. Store windows displaying the same items no matter how much time passed. The sky holding the same pale hue, clouds barely shifting.
A stage.
Carefully dressed. Comfortably lit.
A place designed not to challenge me.
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the way people seemed to curve around me without complaint.
"They wanted me content," I said under my breath.
The realization settled heavily in my chest.
Not trapped.
Pacified.
That was what the illusion offered. A life without edges. Without risk. Without loss.
Without them.
My hands curled into fists.
In the tunnel, the carvings had tried to guide us by twisting our desires. Here, it wasn't fear or confusion being used against me—it was relief.
Rest.
A chance to pretend nothing else mattered.
I swallowed hard.
"And I almost took it."
No—part of me still was.
That was the frightening part.
I leaned against a lamppost and closed my eyes, reaching inward instead of outward.
"If you're still there," I thought—not aloud this time, but with intent, "then you're quiet on purpose."
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then—
A pressure. Faint. Familiar.
Not a voice. Not words.
But the sense of being observed by something ancient and terribly patient.
My breath hitched.
"…You're waiting," I whispered.
Waiting for me to choose comfort.
Or choose truth.
I opened my eyes, gaze steady now.
"Alright," I said softly. "Then let's stop pretending."
The city carried on around me, unbothered.
But for the first time since waking up here, I wasn't just missing the dream anymore.
I was looking for the cracks.
I didn't go home after that.
The apartment suddenly felt like a coffin lined with soft sheets, comfortable, quiet, and waiting for me to lie down and forget why I'd ever wanted more. So instead, I walked. Past the familiar streets, past the careful normalcy, until my legs burned and the city thinned into quieter neighborhoods where even the illusion seemed less confident.
'This Illusion can't be endless right? Thats why the same day kept repeating itself. Because this Core alone has limited resources to keep me trapped.'
That was where it hit me.
Not a voice.
A pull.
I staggered, hand slapping against a brick wall to steady myself. My vision swam — not blurring, but doubling, like two realities trying to occupy the same space.
"…Okay," I breathed. "Okay. That's new."
The streetlights flickered.
For the briefest moment, the pavement beneath my feet wasn't asphalt but cold stone etched with warped, religious carvings. I smelled damp earth. Old incense. Heard a distant, rhythmic thrum, slow and deliberate.
A heartbeat.
My heart started racing to match it.
"There you are," a familiar voice said, sharp and breathless.
I spun around.
Mira stood a few steps away, hands on her knees like she'd just finished sprinting. She looked wrong — no, right. Dirt-smudged. Tense. Eyes blazing with irritation and relief in equal measure.
For half a second, my mind rejected her outright.
"That's not possible," I said automatically. "You're—"
"In a tunnel under the city center?" she cut in. "Yeah. You too. You just decided to take a vacation instead."
The world lurched.
The buildings behind her wavered, their edges bleeding like wet ink. The streetlight above us bent inward, stretching impossibly tall before snapping back into place.
I clutched my head.
"No— I woke up. I was home. This was all just—"
"What, you think this was all just A dream?" Mira stepped closer. "Funny. I bet That's exactly what it wants you to think."
"It?" I snapped, panic flaring. "Mira, listen to yourself—"
She grabbed my jacket and shook me hard.
"Yuwon!" she said fiercely, voice cracking just a little. "Theo fell for it too. He gave in. He's happy. Don't do the same mistake."
That word hit like a punch.
"No," I whispered.
"He's probably repeating the same things over and over again," she continued. "Just like you—" Her grip tightened. "—sitting here, drinking tea in your apartment pretending you don't miss us."
My mouth opened.
Closed.
Because that was the thing, wasn't it?
I did miss them.
Silva's impossible standards. Theo's stupid jokes. Mira's sharp presence anchoring every room she walked into.
Sera's deep black eyes, looking at me in a way that left me feeling beautifully absorbed.
And—
Him.
The pressure returned, heavier now, coiling around my thoughts like a familiar weight settling back into place.
[You know, you're pretty slow when comfort is involved.] Aetherion said dryly.
My breath hitched.
"…You're real," I whispered.
[Define real,] he replied. [But yes. I would very much appreciate it if you stopped indulging the Cores hospitality.]
The city screamed.
Cracks tore through the pavement, golden light bleeding upward as the illusion finally lost patience. Buildings peeled away like stage props, revealing stone walls etched with prayers that twisted when I looked at them too long.
The heartbeat grew louder.
The warmth returned — stronger than before. Inviting. Insistent.
Stay.
My knees buckled.
For a moment, I wanted to.
God, I wanted to.
No more fear. No more responsibility. No voices in my head unless I invited them. No looming anomalies or impossible choices.
Just rest.
Just quiet.
Just—
"Yuwon."
Mira's voice cut through the haze, softer now. Not commanding. Not angry.
Honest.
"You don't actually want a world without pain, do you?" she said.
'I do. There's nothing more I want than to return to the World I came from.' I thought, not daring to say it out loud
'I hate Anomalies. I hate the BAA. I hate the work I do, and I hate my circumstances.'
Tears burned behind my eyes.
"I'm tired," I admitted. "I don't know how much more I can carry."
[I do,] Aetherion said, and for once, there was no humor in his tone. [You were never meant to carry all this alone, my friend.]
The warmth tightened, trying to drown that thought.
I clenched my fists.
"No," I said hoarsely. "You don't get to decide what I deserve."
The ground split open.
Stone replaced asphalt entirely now, the illusion collapsing inward. The city fell away, replaced by the familiar, oppressive tunnel—carvings writhing along the walls, the air thick with pressure and incense.
The heartbeat thundered.
The Pale Shore's Center Core was close.
I screamed, not in fear, but defiance — and pushed.
Not outward.
Inward.
I grabbed onto every uncomfortable truth this illusion had tried to erase. The fear. The exhaustion. The constant, gnawing doubt.
The weight of Aetherion's presence.
The responsibility of choice.
The pain of caring.
The world tore like paper.
I fell hard onto cold stone, gasping, lungs burning as reality slammed back into place. My hands scraped against carved rock. My head rang.
I was back.
The tunnel stretched ahead, pulsing faintly with red light.
Mira collapsed beside me, breathing just as hard.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then—
[Well,] Aetherion said, settling comfortably into my thoughts once more, [that was dreadfully sentimental.]
A weak laugh tore out of me.
"…Missed you too."
"...I didn't even say anything?" Mira exhaled beside me
'Uh...'