The morning air was cold and damp. Sunlight hadn't fully slipped through the worn-out curtains hanging by Dave's bedroom window.
His eyes fluttered open, his breath still heavy, like someone who'd just run a long way through a dream. He sat up slowly, scanning the room that hadn't changed in years—cracked walls, a worn-out study desk, and a bookshelf with half its contents gathering dust.
Almost instinctively, his fingers reached for the necklace resting against his chest—the one he'd worn since he was a child.
It felt warm, as if it still held traces of the dream he had.
Dave drew in a deep breath. Flashes of a cloaked figure, strange whispers, and a red light forming a key… they were all still vivid. It didn't feel like just another weird dream—it was something deeper, more real.
His stomach let out a quiet growl. He got out of bed and opened his bedroom door, which led straight into the main room.
Their house was small. There were no fancy hallways or private corners. Just one open space that served as a kitchen, dining area, and where his mother often slept on the couch.
The dining table held nothing but an empty coffee cup and a plate of untouched, dried-out toast. She had already left for work, as usual. No note, no "good morning."
Dave sat on the creaky wooden chair. His fingers curled around the cup, though it held nothing. His gaze drifted out the window, watching the narrow street outside as it came to life—factory workers in uniform, sanitation crews, and schoolchildren walking in groups.
The world moved on, business as usual. But something inside him had shifted since last night.
The necklace still pulsed faintly with warmth, as if it was whispering to him—calling.
And somehow, the morning felt quieter than it used to.
Dave remained in the chair, his fingertips now tracing the edge of the empty cup, as if searching for an answer in the silence. His eyes stared blankly out the window. Something had settled inside him since the dream—something weightless yet heavy, invisible yet pressing.
Slowly, he stood up. He reached for the necklace and studied it closely.
It was simple—a half-circle with a blossom symbol etched in the center, adorned with a small red stone that glowed faintly when touched by light.
The necklace was the only thing his father had left behind before vanishing, back when Dave was just two years old.
For most of his life, he had thought of it simply as a keepsake. But ever since the dream—ever since that figure in a dark cloak and the red light that formed a key—something had shifted in the way he saw it.
His hand clenched slowly. He walked back into his room, grabbed his worn-out jacket, and tucked the necklace beneath his shirt.
He didn't know where he was going. But his body moved on its own, led by a quiet urgency that pulsed from somewhere deep inside.
The cold morning air hit his skin as soon as he stepped outside. The streets were dusty, filled with the clatter of aging vehicles and the sharp voices of vendors setting up their stalls.
In a city like this, dreams and reality rarely walked side by side.
But today, Dave felt—for the first time—that maybe, somehow, the two were beginning to collide.
***
Dave walked along the cracked sidewalk, past rows of old shops still sealed behind their metal shutters.
The chill in the air hadn't yet managed to drown out the mingled scent of exhaust fumes and fresh bread from roadside stalls. He moved through streets he'd known his entire life, yet everything felt strangely unfamiliar this morning.
A middle-aged man in a patched-up jacket sat in front of a rusted hardware store, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands.
Across from him, a child cried after being refused a toy hanging behind a cloudy plastic window.
The world went on. Loud. Indifferent.
Dave slipped his hand into his pocket, clutching something invisible—a loneliness that had quietly grown into an unspoken weight.
He kept walking, passing the narrow alley where he used to play hide and seek with kids who were now long gone. Then he stopped in front of an old repair shop.
The air was filled with the sound of metal being hammered, engines groaning, and a loud laugh that felt too familiar.
"Yo! Why are you zoning out like some lost soul?"
A stocky figure with grease-stained hands popped out from behind the hood of a car. His messy hair, round face, and easy grin were like the first sunshine after a long winter.
Dave chuckled softly. "Just walking around."
"Walking around looking for a cheap lunch, more like." Alex smirked, wiping sweat from his brow.
"I don't have much to do right now. Got an intern to cover for me. So… where we headed?"
Dave hesitated. Truthfully, he didn't know. But somehow, seeing Alex that morning felt like the first sign the universe was throwing his way.
"Let's just get out for a bit," Dave finally said.
"I need some air."
Alex nodded. "We'll take my bike. You're paying for lunch."
"I'm broke."
"Then pay me with a story. Feels like you've got a lot to tell today."
Dave gave a small smile. Maybe he was right—this wasn't going to be just another story.
***
Alex's beat-up motorbike rolled to a stop near a small park on the edge of town—a quiet place rarely visited, except by old couples or teenagers looking for a bit of peace.
The midday air was damp, and the sky hung heavy and gray, like it was holding back rain it didn't want to let fall.
Dave sat on a weathered wooden bench while Alex went to grab two instant noodle cups from a small stall near the park gate. He returned minutes later, carrying a white plastic bag and two bottles of water.
"Why this quiet spot?" Alex asked as he took a seat next to Dave.
"Usually you're hunting for a place with outlets and free Wi-Fi."
Dave shrugged. "I just wanted some silence."
Alex didn't answer right away. He opened his noodles, blew on the rising steam, and said quietly, "You seem different today, man."
Dave stayed silent. His gaze drifted across the damp grass in front of them.
"You ever feel like… your dream was more real than your life?"
Alex chuckled. "Dreamt about a girl?"
Dave shook his head. "No. It was weird. I saw this cloaked figure, red light, strange voices—and they all pointed to this."
He pulled the necklace from beneath his shirt, revealing a half-circle pendant with a blossom symbol and a small red stone that glowed faintly in the light.
Alex squinted. "That's the necklace you've always worn, right?"
"Yeah," Dave said quietly.
"But last night, in the dream… it lit up. And something inside me said it wasn't just a dream."
Alex chewed slowly, eyes still on the necklace. "Maybe you're just exhausted. Too much on your mind. How's your mom?"
Dave let out a deep breath. "Same as always. Comes home drunk, talks to herself, crashes on the couch… Sometimes I wonder if I'm just gonna be stuck in this forever."
Alex put down his noodles. "Our lives are a mess, bro. But… you've got something I don't."
Dave looked over. "What?"
"The guts to ask questions," Alex said.
"To see that something's not right. Me? I just change oil all day."
Silence settled between them. Only the sound of wind in the trees and distant laughter of kids filled the air.
Then Dave spoke, barely above a whisper. "I want to go to my grandma's place."
Alex glanced at him. "The one in the countryside?"
Dave nodded. "I need to ask her about this necklace. Maybe she knows something."
He paused, then added, "And I just want to get away for a bit. Take a break… I'm tired of fighting with my mom every day."
Alex snorted, but not unkindly. "Want me to come with you?"
Dave looked at his friend and for the first time that morning, he smiled faintly. "What about your job?"
Alex smiled back. "I'll handle it. I can take time off."
He laughed softly. "Besides, sometimes I wanna disappear for a while too. My boss nags like it's a full-time hobby."
Dave nodded, and without needing more words, the plan was set.
***
The morning sky was a pale gray, like an old sheet of paper no one had written on yet. Dave and Alex stood in front of a small, quiet terminal.
The air smelled of diesel and old exhaust pipes. A faded light blue bus, its paint peeling off, was ready to leave, just waiting on the last few passengers.
Dave wore a worn-out jacket and carried a small backpack. The pendant around his neck was hidden beneath his shirt, but he could still feel its warmth since last night.
It felt different now—stronger. Like a tiny heart, beating outside his chest.
"You sure this is the right route?" Alex asked, stuffing snacks into his bag.
"Yeah," Dave replied shortly. "I double-checked last night."
They boarded the bus and chose seats by the window. The trip to Dave's grandmother's house would take over two hours, through rice fields, quiet villages, and patches of forest.
Alex settled in, pulling out his headphones. "You think your grandma still remembers the necklace?"
"I don't know," Dave muttered, eyes on the window.
"But I'm sure... she's keeping something she's never told anyone."
The bus began to move. The ride was bumpy, but Dave remained silent. Faces of other passengers blurred in the reflection on the glass—an old couple, a mother with a child, and a man who'd been asleep since the start.
Somewhere along the way, Dave dozed off. In his dream, he saw the hooded figure again. But this time... it was closer. And the voice was clearer:
"You carry the key. But it's not time to open the door."
Dave jolted awake, breath heavy. His hand instinctively reached for the pendant pulsing warmly beneath his shirt.
Alex glanced at him. "Another dream?"
Dave gave a small nod. The trip felt longer than usual.
***
By the time the bus stopped on a dusty, empty road, the sky had turned amber.
There was no station, no sign. Just a narrow path flanked by old trees, as if welcoming two young wanderers carrying too many questions.
Dave and Alex stepped off the bus. Dust rose briefly, then settled on the dry ground.
"This the place?" Alex asked, scanning their surroundings.
Dave nodded. "We have to walk about fifteen minutes from here."
They followed the narrow trail through thick trees. The evening air was damp, the earth smelled of wet leaves. Not many sounds, just the occasional birdcall and the crunch of twigs under their feet.
At the end of the path stood Dave's grandmother's house—quiet, almost like it had been plucked from an old fairy tale. The roof was low, the wooden walls aged, and the small windows were left open.
Wildflowers grew in the yard, unruly but oddly comforting.
Dave knocked gently.
Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing an elderly woman with neatly tied white hair. Her gaze was sharp, but warm. The moment she saw Dave, she said nothing, just pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Grandma…" Dave whispered.
Alex stood awkwardly behind, unsure whether to step forward or give them space.
After a few seconds, the woman spoke. "Come in. It's been a long time since you last visited."
Dave and Alex exchanged a quick glance before following her inside.
Mrs. Bianca—Dave's grandmother—had lived alone since her husband passed away a few years back.
Inside, the scent of old wood and jasmine tea greeted them. The house was simple: two bedrooms and a small attic space used as storage. Dusty bookshelves, old paintings, and faded family photographs filled the walls.
Dave sat on a rattan chair while his grandmother poured him a cup of hot tea.
"How's your mother?" she asked, handing over the cup.
"Still the same," Dave replied.
"Still angry all the time… and coming home drunk from work."
His grandmother only nodded softly.
"Have you two eaten?" she asked again.
Dave and Alex shook their heads in sync.
"Then eat first," Mrs. Bianca said as she stood and started walking toward her room.
But before disappearing completely, she paused in the hallway and glanced back.
"If there's something you want to ask… ask me later. Eat now, rest first."
Dave and Alex exchanged a quiet glance.
***
That night, her house felt still—as if it had stopped breathing.
A single lamp lit the living room in a soft yellow glow, wrapping everything in a warm hush. On a small table, the jasmine tea kettle released a gentle steam, its scent barely there but calming. The tick of the wall clock echoed faintly across the room.
Dave sat on an old couch, its cushions sunken with age. Alex was beside him, idly poking a piece of cake he hadn't touched. In the corner, their grandmother sat in her rocking chair, her knitting needles moving slowly between wrinkled fingers.
No one spoke for a while. But the silence didn't feel awkward. It felt natural, like part of the house, a quiet ritual in a place filled with untold stories.
Dave glanced down at the necklace around his neck. It felt cold to the touch, as if it held something that hadn't quite woken up.
That night, for some reason, he couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer.
"Grandma… this necklace—did Dad give it to me?"
Her knitting stopped. But she didn't answer right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the yarn, as if the words needed time to form.
"Yes," she said at last. "When you were just a baby."
Dave waited. But she didn't say more.
"He… where is he now? I mean—Dad," he asked quietly.
His grandmother finally looked at him—for the first time that night. Her gaze was deep, like it carried something she couldn't bring herself to say aloud.
"He went somewhere far," she answered.
"Not somewhere we can reach. But someday, you'll understand."
For a moment, only the sound of the rocking chair creaking filled the room. Dave didn't ask again. He knew, for tonight, that was as far as he could go.
***
Morning crept in slowly. Sunlight slipped through thin curtains, dancing over the dining table already set and waiting. Toast, strawberry jam, two cups of warm tea. The scent of cinnamon drifted through the fresh morning air.
Grandma sat down first. She waited in silence, eyes fixed on the window like she was counting the passing seconds.
As they started eating, the phone rang—its classic tone echoing from a device nearly extinct.
She rose, her steps steady but slow. Lifting the receiver, a short pause hung in the air—tense, though no one meant it to be.
"Yes, he's here," she said flatly.
Dave looked down, pretending to focus on spreading the jam. He knew exactly who was on the other end.
"No, he hasn't said anything. But he's fine. Let him rest here for a while."
Her voice remained calm, but her fingers gripped the receiver just a little tighter before placing it back down.
"Your mother's just worried about you," she said as she returned to the table.
Dave didn't reply. There was something strange about being someone's burden—especially to a woman already worn out by a lifetime of struggle.
After breakfast, Dave and Alex offered to help tidy up the house.
Grandma nodded, then told them to head up to the storage room in the attic.
The old wooden stairs creaked under their feet. The smell of aged timber and dust greeted them as the narrow door at the end of the hallway creaked open.
The attic felt more like a time capsule—full of dusty boxes, old suitcases, and objects the world seemed to have forgotten. In the corner, a large painting stood propped against the wall, covered in a white sheet.
"Hey, you see that?" Alex muttered, curiosity piqued.
Dave stepped closer and carefully pulled the cloth away.
They fell silent.
Behind it stretched a landscape that felt too real—a vast kingdom bursting with colorful flower fields, a towering castle nestled in a valley, and winding cobblestone roads leading into faraway mountains.
But what made the painting strange wasn't just the detail. The sky above that land was churning black, like charcoal clouds frozen in an eternal storm. Flashes of distant lightning glimmered behind them, like something was sleeping... and dreaming.
The flowers in the garden seemed to sway in a wind that wasn't there. A faint mist hovered over the ground, and in the quiet, Dave felt... something staring back at him from within the canvas.
"This...," Dave whispered. "It feels alive."
Alex nodded slowly, eyes locked on a flicker of light behind the clouds.
"Man... this is too real. Beautiful, but creepy."
The sheet they had pulled off shifted slightly, moving on its own. A soft draft swept in from a crack in the roof, and for a moment, Dave felt like the painting... breathed.
They stood frozen, unable to explain what they were seeing or what they were feeling.
But one thing was certain: from that moment on, Grandma's house held far more questions than answers.