When Morgan awoke, the first thing he noticed was the silence.
Not the kind he was used to—city silence, filled with the hum of distant cars and the buzz of electric lights. This was different. Deep. Absolute. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
He sat up slowly, heart already racing. The ground beneath him was soft and cool, like moss, but glowing faintly. He blinked. The sky above was a swirling violet, shot through with threads of gold like cracks in stained glass. No sun. No clouds. Just color and movement.
He wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t even in his apartment.
“What the hell…” he whispered.
The words didn’t echo. They just vanished into the stillness.
He stood, brushing off the strange dust that clung to his jeans—though he didn’t remember wearing jeans to bed. Had he fallen asleep in clothes? No, he remembered sweatpants, his old band tee, scrolling through social media until the screen blurred. Then… nothing.
Now, this.
The landscape stretched before him like a dream unfinished. Pale trees with translucent leaves hummed with energy, their trunks tall and curved like question marks. The grass shimmered when he moved, reacting to his steps with soft light.
He tried his phone. Dead. No signal. No icons. Just black glass.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Stay calm. This is either a dream… or some kind of psychotic break.”
A sound behind him. Soft, like wind brushing fabric.
He turned sharply—and froze.
A figure stood a few feet away. Not human. Not quite. It was tall and androgynous, skin a soft, opalescent gray, eyes like liquid mercury. No mouth. No nose. Just eyes, wide and calm. It wore a robe that shimmered like oil on water.
Morgan took a step back.
“I don’t want any trouble,” he said, as if that might matter.
The figure tilted its head. Then, without speaking, a voice filled Morgan’s mind. Clear. Gentle.
“You are not supposed to be here.”
Morgan swallowed. “Yeah. That makes two of us.”
“You are from the waking world.”
“Last I checked.” He glanced around. “This... isn’t Earth, is it?”
“No.” The being walked closer—though its feet never quite touched the ground. “You crossed between when the Veil thinned. This happens… rarely.”
“Crossed? How?”
“Sometimes, your world’s dreaming minds breach ours. Usually, they return. You have not.”
Morgan’s mind reeled. He stared at his hands. They looked real. Felt real. Everything did. “So… this is a dream?”
The being paused. “Your definition of ‘dream’ is insufficient. This realm is not less real—it is simply elsewhere. Adjacent. Layered.”
Morgan felt his stomach twist. “I didn’t choose to come here.”
“Few do.”
He folded his arms, trying to hold himself together. “Then how do I get back?”
The being’s eyes shimmered. “That depends. Returning requires will. Memory. Anchor. You must remember who you were—and wish, deeply, to be there again.”
“I do want to go back,” he said quickly. “I have a job, an apartment—friends, sort of.”
“Wanting is not the same as knowing. Many arrive here unsure of what they’ve left behind. That uncertainty is... a tether unknotted.”
Morgan opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. What had he left behind?
A cluttered apartment. Dishes in the sink. The glow of a screen he scrolled through without really seeing. A boss who never learned his name. Parents who called once a month and spoke only of weather and bills. Friends he saw online more than in person.
And no one—no one—who would notice he was missing until maybe the weekend. Maybe.
He sat down suddenly, the glowing moss lighting up in ripples beneath him. “Maybe I don’t want to go back,” he whispered.
The being didn’t reply. It merely watched him, its head tilted slightly, as if this was the answer it had been waiting for.
Morgan ran a hand through his hair. “What is this place, really?”
“We call it Lirael. It is a resting place for minds that slip through. Some stay briefly. Some remain. They are changed.”
“Changed how?”
“They remember what matters. Or they forget entirely, and begin again.”
The idea frightened him. But also… tempted him. To start over? Not just escape life, but redefine it?
“Are there others like me?”
The being nodded slowly. “Yes. You may find them. Or not. The land bends to your mind. It shows what you need.”
“And what do you want from me?”
“Nothing. We are caretakers. Observers. You are the storm, and we are the shore.”
Cryptic. But not threatening. Morgan stood again, slowly. The wind here smelled of something he couldn’t name—like nostalgia, or a memory he hadn’t made yet.
“So what now?”
“Now, you walk. Learn what this world shows you. And when you are ready—whether to return or remain—you will know.”
The being raised a hand, and the space behind it shimmered. A path unfolded through the forest, golden leaves falling in slow motion.
Morgan hesitated.
Then he stepped forward.
Each footfall felt lighter. The air sang softly, a melody half-remembered. And with every step, the weight of his other life—the meetings, the loneliness, the echoing quiet of his apartment—drifted further away.
He didn’t know if he’d go back. Or even if he should. But for now, he would walk. And listen. And let the world shape him.
Wherever this was, it felt like the first place that was listening back.
React
