I opened my eyes to complete and utter darkness—the kind where you can't even see your own hand in front of your face. It was thick, suffocating, an all-consuming blackness with no source of light anywhere.
My head felt a little fuzzy, as it always did when I found myself in these situations, but beyond that, I felt… fine. My body wasn't heavy, my mind wasn't sluggish, and most importantly, I wasn't drowning in exhaustion like I usually was.
But it was dark. Too dark.
I strained my eyes, searching for any familiar shapes, any hint of where I was. From what I remembered, I had been in my room, studying at my desk. Maybe this was a blackout? That would make sense, except…
I shifted slightly, and the floor beneath me—no, the bed—felt completely unfamiliar.
A bed? I hadn't been in bed before I blacked out.
The mattress was oddly spongy, sinking slightly beneath my weight, yet in some places, it felt rough—like something sharp was poking out of it. The air around me carried a faint musty scent, mixed with something metallic, something… stale.
My brows furrowed as I ran my hands over the mattress, tracing the source of the discomfort. My fingers brushed against something thin and coiled—springs, jutting out from the fabric.
This wasn't my bed.
My bed was old and cheap, but it had never felt this soft. And it definitely didn't have any exposed springs.
A strange feeling crept up my spine, settling into the pit of my stomach. Something was off.
As my eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, faint outlines began to emerge. The first thing that caught my attention was the sheer size of the bed I was on—it was far larger than my own, and from the way the fabric draped around me, I realized it had curtains, like something from a wealthy noble's room.
Except… it was old.
The fabric of the curtains was rotting, frayed at the edges, and coated in dust. The mattress was stained and sunken in places, as if it hadn't been used in years.
I exhaled slowly.
I didn't know where I was.
But waking up in an unfamiliar place? That part wasn't new.
The wooden frame of the bed creaked as I carefully swung my legs over the side, my feet brushing against a cold, hard floor.
I instinctively reached into my pockets, searching for my phone, or anything that might be useful. But just like every other time, there was nothing.
Not again.
I had been studying. It was sometime past midnight.
And now, I was here.
Another dream.
I sighed, pressing my fingers against my temples. This had been happening for months now, ever since the accident that had left me with a head injury.
The doctors had called it vivid dreaming, a byproduct of trauma, but I wasn't sure I believed them. If anything, it felt like they just didn't have any real answers.
Every night, without fail, my body would shut down—whether I was tired or not—and I would wake up in a place like this. And every morning, without fail, I would wake up feeling as though I hadn't slept at all, with a splitting headache and aching limbs.
I already knew there was no point in panicking. This was my reality now, and I'd long since stopped trying to fight it.
I needed to get out of this room first.
Slowly, I stood up, my hands outstretched to feel for anything in front of me.
Almost immediately, my fingers brushed against something cold and metallic—a doorknob.
Good. At least I wouldn't be stuck in here.
I turned the knob, and the door creaked open with a drawn-out groan, the sound echoing into the space beyond.
The room outside was brighter, dimly illuminated by a pale, silvery glow. I stepped forward, taking in my surroundings.
The place was in ruins.
Dust blanketed every surface, cobwebs hung thick in the corners, and the air smelled of decay. The walls were cracked, their paint peeling in long, curling strips.
It was an enormous space, yet there was almost nothing inside—just an old, rotting sofa and an overwhelming number of paintings covering the walls.
All except for one side, where a large window let in the only source of light.
I had no particular interest in art, but the sheer number of them, pinned so deliberately on every surface, made me uneasy.
Still, I ignored them at first and moved toward the window. If I could see outside, maybe I'd get an idea of where I was.
But before I could reach it, my gaze snagged on one particular painting.
I halted, drawn to it despite myself.
It was a portrait of a man, smiling.
But despite the smile, his eyes were filled with something indescribable.
A single tear slid down his cheek, and around his neck, a scythe hovered—almost like it was waiting.
It was unsettling.
It felt too familiar.
I exhaled through my nose and tore my gaze away, making my way toward the window instead.
The rusted frame groaned as I pushed it open, and a cold gust of wind rushed in, chilling my skin.
What I saw outside made me freeze.
The landscape before me was in ruins.
The skeletal remains of buildings stretched toward the sky, their broken beams clawing upward like desperate hands. The streets below were a tangled mess of shattered concrete and twisted metal. Abandoned vehicles sat in chaotic piles, some half-crushed beneath debris, as though frozen mid-flight.
And the wind—whispering through the wreckage—sent fragments of paper and dust spiraling into the air.
War.
Had this place been destroyed in a war?
The sheer devastation was overwhelming.
I swallowed hard, gripping the window frame as I leaned slightly outward, peering down to gauge how high up I was.
From here, it looked like I was at least several stories above ground. Below, the streets were almost unrecognizable beneath the wreckage.
Despite the eerie silence, there was life here—if one could call it that.
Dark figures roamed the ruins.
Human-shaped shadows, featureless and silent, moving aimlessly through the wreckage.
I let out a quiet breath.
Them again.
At first, they had terrified me.
Now, they were just another part of the routine.
I turned away from the window and made my way toward the door leading out of the room.
If I was going to be here for a while, I might as well explore.
Stepping into the open hallway, I found myself in an even larger space—open to the air, lined with only a parapet along the edge.
Moonlight spilled across the crumbling floor, highlighting the dust that drifted lazily in the air.
I turned my gaze toward the end of the hallway, where a staircase wound downward.
That would be my way out.
As always, these figures roamed aimlessly, completely unaware of my presence.
Returning the favor, I paid them no mind and continued walking.
This was a dream.
A vivid, detailed dream that I had been thrown into again and again.
But even now, after all this time…
It still felt too real.