Morgan blinked, trying to get his bearings. He was in a strange, claustrophobic room with blank gray walls that stretched on forever. There were no windows or doors, and the dim light cast eerie shadows along the floor. The air felt still, stagnant, like a place outside of time.
And then, there was the music—horrible, offbeat elevator music. It was the kind that wormed its way into your brain, making it impossible to ignore. It sounded distant, muffled, but somehow too close. The more Morgan tried to block it out, the louder it seemed to hum in his ears, teasing him with its irritating, repetitive melody.
In the corner of the room, two old wooden chairs sat beside a small, worn-out desk, their presence somehow more unsettling than comforting. The room felt wrong, like it wasn't a real space but a twisted version of something he should recognize.
Morgan ran his fingers along the cold wall, hoping to find a way out. But it was smooth, featureless, giving no clue as to where he was or how he'd arrived. He turned in slow circles, heart pounding, searching for anything—an exit, a sign, or even a crack that hinted at an escape. There was nothing.
"Where am I?" he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. The words echoed faintly before being swallowed by the oppressive silence.
A low chuckle interrupted his thoughts. It came from nowhere and everywhere at once, like the walls themselves were laughing at him. Morgan tensed, eyes scanning the empty room. He hadn't noticed anyone else in the room before.
"You really don't remember, do you?"
The voice was smooth, casual, with an almost amused tone to it. Morgan's skin crawled at the sound. He spun around, and that's when he saw him—a man sitting in one of the chairs by the desk, though he hadn't been there a moment ago.
The man looked ordinary enough at first glance, dressed in a crisp, dark suit with his hands resting calmly in his lap. But something about him felt off—his eyes, sharp and knowing, bore into Morgan like they could see every thought he'd ever had. And his smile… it wasn't friendly. It was the kind of smile that promised more than it said, hiding layers of intent beneath the surface.
"Who are you?" Morgan asked, his voice unsteady. "How did you get here?"
The man leaned back in the chair, folding his hands as if Morgan's question amused him. "I've always been here, Morgan. I'm just part of the walls, part of this space." He gestured to the room around them. "I've been waiting for you."
Morgan swallowed hard. "Waiting for me? Why?"
The man's smile widened. "To talk, of course. To see what makes you tick." His eyes narrowed, glinting with a strange intensity. "You've been through quite a lot, haven't you? A small-time coffee shop worker with big dreams of being a writer… it's almost poetic."
Morgan felt a jolt in his chest. How did this stranger know about him? The man's words cut deeper than Morgan expected, as if they were pulling at something buried within him.
The man stood up, moving with an unnatural fluidity as he walked toward Morgan. "The dreamer stuck in the nightmare," he mused, circling him slowly. "A boy who wanted to create worlds, now trapped in one just as twisted as his own." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, as though he enjoyed watching Morgan squirm under his scrutiny.
Morgan's mind raced, his heart pounding in his chest. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice tense.
The man stopped in front of him, his face inches from Morgan's, his eyes locking onto his. "What I want is simple," he said softly. "I want you to remember. I want you to understand who you really are."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Morgan replied, shaking his head. "I just want to get out of here."
The man chuckled again, a low, dark sound that reverberated through the room. "Out of here? You think you can just walk away from this place?" He stepped back, spreading his arms wide. "This is part of you, Morgan. This room, these walls… they're your mind. Your past, your fears, your regrets—they're all here."
Morgan felt his breath catch in his throat. "No, that's not possible…"
"Isn't it?" the man said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You've spent so much time running away from the truth, hiding from your own reality. But here, there's nowhere to run."
Morgan's eyes darted around the room, panic rising in his chest. "What do you want me to remember?"
The man leaned in close, his voice barely more than a breath. "Everything. Every choice you made. Every time you gave up. Every moment you thought about leaving it all behind."
Morgan's blood ran cold. The man wasn't talking about the Astralith. He was talking about Morgan's life before—all the dreams he'd let slip away, the decisions he regretted, the times he'd wondered if it was worth continuing.
"I…" Morgan began, but his throat tightened. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to confront those memories, not here, not now.
"You were always a dreamer," the man continued, his voice wrapping around Morgan like a serpent. "But you never had the courage to make those dreams real, did you? You spent your life waiting for something to change, hoping the world would hand you the answers. And now… now you're here."
Morgan's mind swirled with confusion, fear, and anger. "I'm trying," he said, his voice trembling. "I'm trying to survive, to figure this out."
The man's eyes darkened, his smile fading. "Trying isn't enough, Morgan. It never was." He stepped closer, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're still running, still hiding from what you could be."
"I'm not hiding," Morgan shot back, his voice rising. "I'm just… I'm just trying to survive in a place that doesn't make any sense!"
The man in the wall tilted his head, a strange, almost pitying look in his eyes. "The world doesn't have to make sense for you to find your place in it. You just have to decide if you're ready to stop being afraid."
Morgan's heart thundered in his chest. The man's words hit too close, striking at the core of the insecurities he'd buried deep inside. He wanted to argue, to shout back, but something about the man's gaze held him captive.
"Remember this, Morgan," the man said, his voice soft yet commanding. "You can't run from your past forever. Sooner or later, it'll catch up with you."
Before Morgan could respond, the walls seemed to ripple, the gray dissolving into a swirl of dark colors. The room itself started to fade, and the man's figure blurred, his face disappearing into the shadows.
The last thing Morgan heard before waking was the man's voice, low and echoing in the distance:
"Find your truth, Morgan. Or this place will devour you."
Morgan jolted awake, sweat dripping down his face, heart racing as the familiar sounds of the forest replaced the eerie silence of his dream. But the words of the man in the wall lingered, hanging in the air like a haunting whisper he couldn't shake.