Remember, you can be your own best friend or your own worst enemy. Choose wisely.
I found myself standing in a domed room, a breathtaking sight that overwhelmed my senses. Every surface—the walls, the ceiling, and even the floor—was made of glass. Light streamed in through the dome, bouncing and reflecting from every surface. At first, it was so bright I could hardly open my eyes, but gradually, my vision adjusted to the dazzling, blinding light. Colors exploded around me in chaotic bursts, like sparks from an endless firework display—fragile, beautiful, and surreal, like something out of a dream.
"Hello."
The voice snapped me from my thoughts, and I turned toward its source.
The same child from my previous dream stood before me, looking as real as ever. Was this still a dream? But... shouldn't I wake up once I realize I'm dreaming? No, pinching my arm wouldn't help—this felt too real.
"Where am I?" I asked, my voice sounding foreign in the strange, ethereal space.
"At the entrance to my world," the kid replied, his tone casual, as if such an answer should have been obvious.
He couldn't have been more than twelve, though something about him—something behind his eyes—made me hesitate to believe that was all he was. Our eyes are the easiest things to deceive, after all. We see what we want to see.
"Such wise thoughts," he said, twirling a glass rose in his hand with a flick of his fingers.
I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "What do you mean?"
"You're not as naïve as you look," he said, his voice light but layered with a knowing edge.
Tell me he's not a mind-reader. Please, tell me he's not...
"No," he answered before I could voice the thought, his smile growing. "I'm not a mind reader."
Thank God! Wait, if he's not a mind reader...
"Only those who enter this room share their thoughts and feelings," he added nonchalantly.
So, it's only in this room. Great. Shall we go to another room to chat?
He smirked, the curve of his lips mocking. "Are you afraid I'll find out something you'd rather keep secret?"
My thoughts are very much private. So, let's go to another room. Now.
He looked at me for a long moment, his dark reddish eyes scanning me as though he could see everything. "Try looking into my mind," he said, gesturing to the rose as though sniffing it. "It's not that difficult."
Glass roses don't smell. You're lame.
He gave me a look—one that clearly said I was missing the point. "Let's pretend I didn't hear that," he said, his voice a little sharper now.
I shrugged with a scornful smile. "I can't help it, can I?"
He met my gaze, his eyes locking with mine. "Just look at me, and try to see into my mind. It's easy if you know how."
Well, there's no harm in trying.
I focused on him, staring into his eyes, searching for a crack in his perfect facade. For a full minute, I did nothing but stare at the kid, who simply grinned back at me.
I broke the silence. "Nothing happened," I said, my voice tinged with disappointment.
"Of course not," he replied in a tone that suggested he had expected this all along. "How long do you think I've been learning to hide my thoughts?"
I fought the urge to slap him, instead opting for the obvious question. "Then why make me try?"
"To make you realize something important," he said, his expression growing more serious. "In this place, you don't know anyone. You know nothing. You're at my mercy."
"Is that supposed to be a threat?" I raised an eyebrow, suddenly skeptical.
"Come now," he chuckled darkly, "If I meant to threaten you, I'd say something like 'If you don't obey my rules, I'll kill you.' It sounds more different, no?"
Well, not much.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, bracing myself for whatever cryptic answer was coming.
"If you guess my name," he said with a mysterious smile, "I'll tell you."
How on earth am I supposed to guess your name?
"You'll figure it out in time," he answered cryptically. "And by then, you won't have any doubts about what I expect from you."
"Great," I said dryly.
The sound of cracking glass suddenly filled the air, drawing my attention to the wall. My doppelganger—the distorted version of myself—was attacking it, growling and grunting with violent fury.
"Who the hell is that?" I pointed toward the impostor, my heart racing.
"That's you," the child said simply.
I laughed. "My question was serious."
"So was my answer," he said without missing a beat.
"But that can't be me," I argued, my mind trying to make sense of the impossible. "Einstein said that a man can't be in two places at once—and I believe him."
"That rule applies to your world," he said, his tone almost dismissive. "But not to mine. In my world, a mirror is held up to you, showing you what you fear most: yourself."
The child walked up to the glass wall, facing my doppelganger, who was still trying to break through. He placed his hand gently against the glass, his expression unreadable.
I stepped up beside him, staring at myself on the other side, struggling violently against the barrier.
The child turned to look at me. "Do you remember your first dream? The one you had before we met?"
I nodded, my mind flashing back to the vivid images of that strange, haunting dream.
"Before granting you entry here, you had to face your fears," he explained, his voice low. "Your fears are both remarkable and complex. You're terrified of your own weakness—fearful that you'll lose everything because of it. Yet, you're equally afraid of your power, and what it might destroy—the very things you hold dear. Which one haunts you more?"
Behind the glass wall, the beast intensified its frenzied movements.
He chuckled softly, almost as if he'd expected this. "It's our innermost darkness that most of us fear the most."
"How can I destroy it?" I asked, my voice edged with frustration.
"Destroy it?" The boy raised an eyebrow, surprised. "I wouldn't even attempt that. It's impossible."
"Then what should I do?" I asked, the hint of desperation barely concealed in my voice.
"You could try to tame it," he suggested, his tone casual. "After all, what's the simplest way to deal with an enemy?"
"Turn them into an ally," I answered.
"Exactly."
"And how do I do that?" I asked, already anticipating his usual cryptic response. "Don't say something like 'figure it out yourself' because I swear, I'll lose it."
"I wasn't planning on saying anything like that," he replied, looking somewhat amused.
At that moment, I felt the stark contrast between us. He was speaking my language, but there was something about his words, his manner, his tone—it was off. As if his speech had been altered by some kind of magic, or he had learned my language in a way that made it sound almost... foreign.
"You're a bit clever, huh," he said, almost teasing. "I've learned every language in the world. I needed something to stave off the endless boredom. Time moves differently in my world."
He returned to my question, his tone now more focused. Grabbing my wrist, he pressed my fingers against the glass wall, exactly where my doppelganger's hand had just been.
"All you need to do," he said, "is accept yourself."
"You were not born human," he declared. "You can't change that. You look like them, act like them, even dress like them, but deep down, you know you're not one of them. You're different. And that's not a curse, it's simply the way things are. Stop punishing yourself for it. You envy humans because they seem ordinary, but that's illogical. It's always the unique ones who are the most interesting. They're the ones who bring change—whether they intend to or not."
"What if I don't want to be different? What if I just want to live a normal life?" I asked, the weight of it pressing down on me.
"Sometimes, we must accept that we don't always have a choice," he answered softly.
"Life sucks," I muttered.
The boy's gaze sharpened slightly. "Remember, Shaytan, there's one thing you always choose."
I glanced down at him, intrigued.
"You choose whether to stand and fight or run away," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Everyone faces obstacles. When life throws up a wall in your path, what will you do?"
"Destroy it?"
"It doesn't matter whether you break it down, go around it, or climb over it," he explained, his voice steady. "What matters is overcoming the obstacle in front of you. People tend to crumble when faced with a wall too high to climb. Right now, you stand before it, wondering how to get past it. The choice is yours—whether to break or keep moving forward."
His gaze shifted to the doppelganger still rampaging outside the glass wall.
"This time, the obstacle is your reflection: yourself."
Ouch, that's brutal. Here I am, stuck in some sort of dream-induced split consciousness, and a child is giving me life lessons. Could things get any worse? If I wake up from this, I'm booking an appointment with the best therapist I can find.
"In any case, I think I get it now," I muttered, grasping the cross hanging around my neck with my free hand. "I'm not human, and I never will be, no matter how hard I try. I suppose it's about time I accepted that."
"That's the spirit!" he said, grinning under his mask.
"You know..." I trailed off, thinking aloud, "Being a mixed-blood doesn't actually suck that much."
He nodded vigorously, as if approving my revelation. The doppelganger outside had stopped its frantic thrashing and now stood still, almost like a mirror image of me.
"I'm still not entirely sold on the blackened eye-whites though," I added, with a hint of humor, and the kid laughed.
I nodded, half-amused by the absurdity of it all. The doppelganger slowly disappeared, and I was left staring at my own reflection in the glass, faintly distorted. I took my hand off the cool surface, the sensation lingering pleasantly.
"It's time for you to go," the kid said, his tone light and satisfied. "Your cocoa's probably getting cold."
I grinned. This wouldn't be the last time I saw this annoying kid. Something told me we'd meet again.
When I woke up, the cocoa was sitting untouched on my bedside table. I sat up and took a sip, the warm liquid a small comfort. I didn't understand these dreams that felt so real—so vivid. I wasn't even sure I was dreaming. When I woke up, it was like those incredible experiences were memories, not just fleeting images from my imagination.
I had no idea why I kept seeing these dreams, or whether I could trust them. But there was one thing I knew for certain: when I woke up, I felt a little bit better.
"Morning," I mumbled to Rolo, who was pulling up the blinds.
For a moment, I didn't even realize that the bright light should hurt my eyes. It was pitch black outside.
No response. Then again, I wasn't surprised. Rolo wasn't much for talking unless he was insulting someone. With a groan, I dragged myself out of bed. It felt impossible to leave the warmth and softness of the covers, but I braced myself and did it anyway. Only then did I glance at the clock.
"What the hell, Rolo? Why did you wake me up so early?" I grumbled. "It's half past three in the morning!"
"Just wanted to let you know the wolf left a few hours ago," the kid said, his voice casual. "You were so out of it, you didn't even notice."
"What?" I froze. "How do you know that?"
"I didn't sleep much last night, so I went to the kitchen for some water," he explained, his tone almost too nonchalant. "I heard the front door slam. Went to check his room, but like I figured, he wasn't there. This was about two hours ago."
"Why didn't you wake me up right away?" I asked, surprised at the sharpness of my question. I never thought I'd be one to ask something like that.
It was then that I understood. The boy wasn't being snippy—he was worried.
"Everyone deserves a bit of privacy," he shrugged, looking away. "I figured he might've gone for a walk or something—didn't sleep well, you know? But now... I'm not so sure."
I raised an eyebrow skeptically. Privacy? Seriously, kid?
He couldn't meet my eyes when he spoke again. This time, the truth came out.
"You... you scream or cry in your sleep," he said, his words making my muscles tighten, "I didn't want to wake you over something small, especially when you were finally getting some real rest."
"Hm."
"What are you going to do?" he asked, uncertainty lacing his voice.
"Isn't it obvious?" I shot back, "I'm going after him."
He hesitated, his words coming slowly. "You know... maybe he'll be mad at you for going after him. Everyone's got their secrets. Maybe we shouldn't be poking around in all of them..."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "If you think that, then why wake me up?"
"Because I'm worried," he admitted, voice soft but edged with tension. "I don't have a wolf's nose, but I can smell nervousness a mile away."
I took a deep breath. "Look, I'm just going to check if he's alright. If he is, I'll come back. I'm not stalking him."
Rolo nodded, albeit reluctantly.
"But how are you going to find him?" he asked, still doubtful.
"I'm going to Ruben," I replied, already on my way toward the door. "He'll know what's going on. You stay here in case he comes back."
Another small nod. Without wasting another second, I rushed down the stairs, grabbed my shoes, and slammed the door behind me. The impact rattled the frame—I'm pretty sure the sound carried to the next block. Poor neighbors. Waking up to that at dawn couldn't have been pleasant.