It’s empty. Meaningless. Full of darkness. Yeah, my dream turned out to be… nothing. But I feel peace. Strange, isn’t it? While I’m slowly being devoured by endless, painless darkness.

  I found it. The pce I was looking for. I silently plead, “Devour me whole. Don't let me wake up in that painful world again.” It hurts. My heart aches as if it bleeds, and I sense a hollowness spreading ay body. I wonder, am I still human? Alive? The pain gradually fades into a dull numbness.

  Then a strange sensation arrives. A gentle breeze brushes over my skin, soft and light, slipping through my pores. I feel my hair lift slightly, as if caught in a subtle current, and a mild warmth follows. f. Like sunlight on a summer day. For the first time in this dream, every sensation feels unmistakably real.

  I open my eyes slowly a: a big tree t above me. Its brahick with leaves that rustle faintly in the wind. Grass tickles my palms as I press them into the grouh me. Not long after, I hear them—voices. Birds chirping. Is buzzing. Rodents scurrying through the underbrush. The sounds are vivid. Alive.

  Wait a minute… Am I still dreaming? It all feels too real. I feel the dirt and grass through my hands, coarse ahy. The fresh air fills my nose, crisp and , carrying the faint st of pine needles and damp soil. This doesn’t feel like a dream. What’s going on here?

  Is this some kind of lucid dream? Because I feel like I’m in the middle of a forest. Trees stretch out everywhere. Their trunks rough and gnarled, covered in patches of moss. Bushes dot the ground, heavy with berries or tangled vines. Birds fly overhead, their wings cutting through the sky with sharp whistles slig the air. I want to Stand up. But too zy to do it. It’s too fortable. Even more fortable than my cheap bed. It feels like… I’m in another world.

  Time passes as I lie there, fortable and peaceful—a feeling I haven’t experienced in months, not sihe st few days dragged me iiness. Perhaps this is the best dream I could ever hope for.

  Then I notice a small bird perched on a nearby branch. Its feathers are jet bck, ated by a bright blue crest. What kind of bird is that? But before I think more about it, the bird looks at me. Stares. Then it sticks out its to’s long. Too long. Like a songue.

  “What a bizarre bird.” I mutter after seeing that.

  Not long after, I hear a snort. Loud and sharp, startling me. I try to sit up slowly, but my body feels stiff. Like rusted gears grinding against each other from lying down for too long. When I finally mao wake myself fully, I see it. An animal standing nearby.

  White fur gleams brightly even ied forest light. Horns like deer, but bigger. Like an elk. Its fur is thicker, fluffier, hanging down around its head in a way that makes it look almal. Is this a white elk? An albino elk? Is that even a thing? Then I notice it—the feathers. They’re tucked ly along its back, sleek and glossy, unlike anything I’ve ever seen on an elk. Its expression… fused, almost human.

  It stares at me with big bck eyes, as if I’m a criminal caught red-handed. Somehow... even in my dream, animals treat me like garbage.

  Then it moves slowly, approag me step by step, grunting softly as it walks. I’m not afraid. Why would I be? This is just a dream, right? Yeah… a lucid dream. There couldn’t be any other expnation. Anything else would be absurd.

  The creature es closer, sniffing the air like a dog searg for something. I let it. Don’t stop it. But then I realize. It’s not me the elk is looking for.

  Not far from where I lie, half-hidden in the grass beside me, is something familiar. A card. The same card the strange person gave me earlier. Its edges catch the light faintly, gold carvings shimmerie the dimness of the forest floor.

  Why is it here? More precisely, why did the card appear in my dream? What does it mean?

  Then the “elk” approaches the card. Sniffs it. Suddenly stops. And looks at me. Like it’s trying to tell me something. Something like, “Take this card.” Curious, I pick it up. Exami closely. But nothing seems different. It’s still the same card as before. The ohat said “Dream.”

  This makes me realize—this is a dream card. So, does that mean the reason I'm having this lucid dream is because of this card.

  While I'm still lost in thought, trying to make sense of it all, the 'elk' tugs at my shirt as if tellio go. It's my long-sleeved shirt. The one I usually wear when sleeping. And now it's covered in its saliva. The wet cloth sticks to my skin. And I almost taste the salty tang of it. Gross. But sihis is a dream, why should I care?

  Yeah… why overthink it? This is a dream. Might as well enjoy it, right?

  I just go with the flow because the 'elk' wants to take me somewhere. I follow it. As I move forward, my bare feet feel the cool, slightly damp forest floor.

  When I stand up, I’m amazed. The forest feels so real. The sun’s gre tries to push through the dense foliage above. But it barely makes it, casting faint streaks of golden light that dapple the ground. Big trees tower all arouheir bark rough and gnarled under my fingers.

  Bushes and grass spread out around me, soft bdes brushing against my legs as I move. Little birds flit between branches, chirping sharply. Things that look like bees. Or maybe other small is. Crawl over the grass and bushes, their tiny movements rustling the leaves.

  Then I notice pieces of wood scattered on the ground, covered in green moss. But what really catches my eye is… mushrooms. Or something like them. They were stuck to the wood, glowing faintly. Yeah, glowing. Sounds strange, right? I’ve heard of biolumi mushrooms before, but they’re usually seen at night. They emit a gentle, eerie light that stands out against the dim filtered sunlight.

  I've heard of biolumi mushrooms before, but these glhtly even in daylight, thanks to the dense opy above. It's the first time I see anything like it. Fasating.

  Then I see it: a narrow path among the trees, leading somewhere, calling me forward. Curiosity overes me, so I leave the 'elk' behind and walk through the dense forest until I reach a wide-open expanse.

  It feels like stepping into a living aper. A field of flowers stretg out before me. White and red petals cover the ground, and with every step, the sweet, earthy st grows stronger, carried by a gentle breeze. Beyond the blossoms, I see hills and mountains in the distaheir silhouettes hint at just how vast this forest is much bigger than I ever imagined.

  I move closer, drawn to the se. I want to feel what freedom is. The flowers feel soft and delicate under my fiips. Somethiirely o me. I spread my arms wide, letting the mild wind hit my fad the petals brush against my skin, immersing myself in every sensation around me.

  “Is this what it feels like to be free? Free from all the burdens. The pain. Everything,” I say aloud. My voice barely above a whisper as the gentle breeze of nature surrounds me.

  Tears start to fall, warm and salty as they drip down my face. I don’t cry, not usually. I always hold it in. But now, something feels different. I feel lighter. I feel freer.

  Somethier… Something healing…

  Free from suffering. The ties that bihe hands c my eyes and ears. Gone. I feel the warmth now. And also, happiness? It’s been so long since I felt it. So, I’ve fotten what it feels like. To be happy. Blissful. And grateful.

  It’s like going ba time. But without the wounds. Without the scars. To a pce where I feel human. Feel alive.

  This reminds me of Aristotle. Something he said once: “Happiness is the meaning and purpose of life.” The whole aim. The end of humaence. Maybe he’s right. He’s the expert, after all. That’s why people remember him. Sadly, they remember the man, not the words. The meaning behind them.

  Heh... thinking about people ruins the mood. There’s a reason modern society feels absurd. Because there aren’t many wise people. Too many fools. And wisdom? It’s treated like some dusty antique. Left iic to rot. A relic of the past.

  I never regretted reading the a Greek philosophers. Never. I remember the musty pages and the crisp smell of old texts. The old me behind gold. Eternal gold.

  Gold that doesn’t rust. Doesn’t fade. Timeless.

  My feelings start to improve. Then I realize that the 'elk' is actually waiting. Standing in the distance. Watg me. Its head tilted slightly, like it’s staring at a crazy person. N, though. If insanity could put me in a different category than most people… I’d be happy to take it.

  But the elk seems to be callis head moves again. Again. Signaling. Trying to tell me something. Unfortunately, I don’t speak animal. Never learhat skill. Besides, from the start, I erson without much talent. Or skill.

  Still, I go toward it. Why not? It’s been my “guide” so far in this dream. Might as well follow the script for now. Curious where the story will go .

  I am thinking about the on plots of such dreams. Let's see. Maybe I'll meet a witch, a talking tree, or even a forest guardian. Ah... perhaps an elf! Maybe there are elves in this dream, and if so, I’ll remember it always. My life would feel a little better if I could keep holding onto this dream.

  So, I follow the 'elk' deeper into the forest. I walk a siderable distahrough rows of trees and thick bushes. There are no roads here, just uneven ground and tangled underbrush that makes moving a bit challenging. Occasionally, I see odd creatures—small animals that look like horned hamsters or rats. And patches of fllowing faintly for no apparent reason. Weird. Unusual.

  Each step, eaexpected sight, makes the dream feel even more vivid and real. It's a stream of sensations and images. I want to follow it. Curious about where it will lead me .

  Eventually, I e across ruins. Big rocks carved into shapes, now covered in moss. It looks like a pce that’s been looted or destroyed long ago. As I move further, the ruins beore frequent. It feels like stepping into a historical dotary, surrounded by remnants of something a. The air smells faintly of damp earth and deg leaves. Mingling with the unpleasant smell of stone worn smooth by time.

  Then, out of nowhere, a voice whispers, soft but clear.

  “Wele. I’ve been waiting for you for quite some time.”

  The voice sounds distinctly feminine, yet I see no one else around. I spin around, cheg every shadow, but find oiness: just me, the ruins, and the white elk standing silently nearby.

  I wonder, is there a ghost in this dream? No, that doesn't make any sense.

  The voies again, calm and patient this time.

  “You look fused. e to the temple. I’ll meet you there.”

  Temple? In the middle of this forest? The idea expins the ruins somewhat, but not why the voice is here. Still, the elk seems to kly where we’re going. It moves with quiet fideoward a rge, half-destroyed building at the ter of everything—a temple, or what remains of it.

  The temple is shaped like a circle located right on a hill, reminding me of a Roman reek temple buildings. In front of it is a pza, its ground covered with cracked stone sbs. What catches my eye isn’t just the green moss eating away at the ruins but also the wildflowers scattered around. Some glow faintly, like the ones I’d seen earlier. The whole se feels… beautiful. Natural. Something a yet alive.

  Then I notice the white elk doesn’t waste a moment. It walks straight toward the temple and starts climbing the worn stoairs. From where I stand, I make out a figure at the top. A woman watg me. Her silhouette is framed by the dim light filtering through broken n

  Curious, I move closer. As I approach, details bee clearer. She wears a thin white cloth that… holy, it’s too thin. I see the curves of her body even from a distance. Her long blonde hair frames her face, and near her ear, she has a white flower pinned delicately. She’s not an elf. But her beauty. Or maybe more accurately, her charm is undeniable.

  “e here, you don't o be afraid,” a whisper echoes, smooth and inviting, almost hypnoti its ce, drawioward the temple entrance.

  I don’t hesitate to follow. It’s not like I have much choi the matter anyway. This whole thing feels painfully scripted. This white 'elk' definitely has something to do with this pd that woman.

  The eup feels trived. Straight out of a sed-rate novel. Holy, at this point. I only hope this isn’t setting up yet another brainrot plotline. Overused trash plots with zerinality. Heck, I’d be disappointed if I ended up stu one of those garbage tropes even in my own dreams.

  But if I think about this logically for a moment. Maybe she’s just the guardian spirit of the forest. That would actually make sense given that we’re standing in front of a temple. Guardiao hang around temples, after all.

  Still, knowing my luck, she’s more likely some ethereal forest goddess who’s going to ask for my help. And if I agree? Surprise! She’ll grant me some absurdly overpowered ability. Because apparently, solving a magical problems requires turning random passersby into demigods ht.

  Yeah, these kinds of plots are predictable enough to make me roll my eyes before they even happen. Brainrot inate. But hey, who needs inality when you’ve got it for free in your dream, right?

  I follow the script. Climbing the stairs of the old temple oep at a time. From here, I clearly see the area of ruins is quite rge. When I reach the entrahe interior es into view: half-destroyed, with broken walls and shattered pilrs framing what must have once been an altar. And there she stands, right in the middle of it all.

  Around her were white flowers, scattered like fallen stars along the wall. Matg the ones woven through her hair. She wears a thin white cloth. It is ed around her figure. Almost transparent against her smooth, pale skin. Every curve of her body was unmistakable, impossible to ignore. As a straight ma’s just say my attention was... fully engaged.

  Her faly adds to the picture: fwless, with a pointed nose and delicate features that might just make you pause your thoughts. Her posture is poised. Slim yet strong. As if she stepped straight out of a supermodel catalog.

  Maybe I’m not too disappointed about not seeing an elf after all. Sure, the whole thing feels cliché, but if this woman is part of the package, then maybe the trade-off isn’t so bad. At least something here seems worth the journey.

  “May I know your he woman says. But here’s the thing—her mouth doesn’t move at all, not even a twitch.

  Is this a glitch? A bug? dreams even have bugs? I mean, isn’t this supposed to be my subscious doing its thing?

  Still fused, I just go with it.

  “I’m Ryan,” I say, in a ft tone, of course.

  My head starts to go into overdrive. Something feels… off. Like really off. Is she a ghost? That would expin the whole “talking without moving her mouth” thing. But e on, what kind of ghost looks like that? Beautiful enough to make you fet you’re probably in danger? Or maybe that’s the point all along?

  “You seem fused. What is fusing you?” she asks again. And yes, her mouth is still closed. Perfectly still.

  Okay, now this is starting to scare me a little. If I answer her, will she attack me? Like in horror movies where the protagonist says ooo many things and… dead. But wait, wasn’t this supposed to be some plot about mystical creatures in mysterious forests trope? Why does it feel like a horror story now? Did someone mess up the genre halfway through?

  Then again, this is my dream. My own personal braire. So teically, I shouldn’t be afraid, right? Worst-case sario, I could wake up tomorrow and just fet all this crap.

  With that thought, I decide to bite the bullet and ask: “How do you talk? How you talk without your mouth moving at all?” I point my index fi her for emphasis, because why not add some dramatic fir? It’s all just a dream after all. Might as well go all out and py my role in this dream.

  “How do you talk? How you talk without your mouth moving at all?” I pointed my index fi her for emphasis, because why not add some dramatic fir? It's all just a dream after all. Might go all out py my role in this dream.

  She lowers her head slightly, almost like she’s apologizing. “Sorry, I haven’t used my physical form for too long. This might fuse you.”

  Fair enough. At least she aowledges the strangeness. But then she tinues, revealing the plot twist:“Humans now call me Poma. Goddess of the forest and nature. Though now I am nothing more than the guardian of this Rossa Forest. Fotten by time.”

  Oh great. She calls herself a goddess but now she’s just a guardian of this forest? Quite a plicated background. And Rossa Forest? Really? What kind of name is that? It sounds like something someone came up with five minutes before the deadline. Uive, sure, but at least it’s inal… sort of.

  “Okay... Then why did you call me here? That white ‘elk’ must have been your doing, right? He was the one who invited and brought me here,” I reply, gesturing toward the white elk standing silently beside Poma. Its coat glistens with dew in the dim light, and its steady gaze never leaves the se.

  “Elk? Ahh, you mean Enyeka? Yes, you’re n about that. I was the one who sent Eo approach you and bring you here. She didn’t cause any trouble, did she?” Poma asks with a soft, amused lilt in her voice as a gentle breeze stirs the wildflowers around us.

  Well, if we t my clothes getting bitten by her, it isly smooth sailing. The fabriow feels damp and sticky where her teeth have marked it. Maybe I should rewind for a momehink how things unfolded.

  In this dream, I’m wandering through a dense forest with the smell of wet earth and pine needles all around me when Enyeka appears and leads me to this temple. Along the way, I pass a field of beautiful flowers. Their petals soft underfoot and their st light yet sweet. And now I’m standing in this crumbling temple with a woman who cims to be a goddess.

  Sure, I already guess where this plot is heading—it’s painfully predictable. And holy, it’s kind of ironi the past, I worked so hard to write a story with inality, something fresh and meaningful. But now, my own dream is following the most clichéd, brainrot plot imaginable. Even my subscious ’t resist a trashy trope. This just goes to show how bad I am as a writer.

  “Why do you still look fused?” the woman asks, breaking the silence. Her voice is calm, and I notice a slight echo in the hollow space around us.

  I was fused… about this dream. About her, about everything. So many things felt strange, almost too deliberate. Maybe it was time to ask her directly, right? I start with a simple question.

  “Tell me where we are now? you expin it?”

  As I speak, something clicks in my mind. This dream isn’t as random as I’d first thought. There’s a clear plot to it. Even if it leans heavily on the kind of brainrot tropes I’ve seen a huimes before. But shouldn’t dreams be chaotipredictable? It’s only after refleg on all the events that I realize how oddly ahis one feels.

  “The Ardennse ti, or what used to be called Arrendes,” she begins, her tone calm and measured. “Human nguage has developed quite rapidly here. This Rossa Forest lies in the southern part of the ti. If nothing has ged, there should be a city called Madena not far from here.”

  Again, this level of detail is uling. Could dreams really be this structured? Or is my mind just… different?

  “Do you know chocote? Or strawberry cake? Have you ever eaten them?” she suddenly asks, jolti of my thoughts.

  The question feels bizarrely out of pce, but I answer anyway. “Of course, I know that. Though I rarely buy strawberry cake. But I KNOW what strawberry cake and chocote is.” I emphasize the st part, partly because the randomness of her question throws me off bance.

  She smiles then, her expression softening with what looks like relief. It’s subtle. A slight upward curve of her lips. But it ges the atmosphere entirely. The tension in the air seems to dissolve, repced by a strange calm. Her smile—it isn’t smug or maniputive. It’s genuine, almost f. For the first time, I wonder if she truly is who she cims to be: a goddess.

  “So, you must have a card that you carry with you,” she tinues, her voice steady. “A card that might feel ordinary.”

  This time, her question intrigues me. How did she know? Was this one of her abilities? It wouldn’t be surprising, given her supposed deity status. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pull the card from my pocket.

  “You mean this card?” I say, holding it up for her to see. The gold carvings shimmer faintly uhe dim light filtering through the broken ceiling above us.

  Her rea is ued. Instead of a smile or a nod, she simply replies, “Wele to the Ardennes ti. You stay here temporarily.”

  Her words hang in the air, leaving me more puzzled than ever. What does she mean by “wele”? And why offer me a temporary stay in this temple? If I wake up, wouldn’t all of this vanish? Does she think this dream world is perma, or is there something more to it—something I’m not seei?

  “What do you mean, ‘stay’? If I wake up from this dream, everything will just disappear,” I reply without hesitation. My voice was sceptical and curious at the same time.

  I ’t help but think about her. A produy imagination. A figment born from the chaos of my subscious. What would happen if I fronted her with that reality? Would she spiral into aential crisis or just ugh it off?

  Instead of crumbling under my logic, she smiles—a subtle, knowing smile, as if holding back ughter.

  “Of course, I fot. You must think this is all just a dream. But unfortunately, you’re wrong. This is a different ptirely from your previous world,” She says, her voice calm as she starts walking toward me.

  Her words hit me hard—how a figure in my dream say something like that? The situation grows stranger by the sed. Ahere is something else: a st, faint but familiar, like the flowers I smelled earlier. It’s too vivid for a mere dream.

  As she draws closer, my brairays me. The thin white cloth she wears gs to her frame almost teasingly, leaving little to the imagination. My mind immediately jures an image of her naked, as if it’s been waiting for the opportunity. It practically Photoshops the image in HD, no filter needed.

  Desperate tain some sembnce of trol, I slowly turn my face away. Maybe if I avoid looking directly at her, the sensory overload will fade. Or so I hope.

  She walks past me, her presence lingering lohan necessary. “Then why are you avoiding me? If this is a dream, ’t you trol it?” Her tone carries a pyful edge, like she knows exactly what she’s doing and is enjoying every sed of it.

  Her words strike a nerve. Wait. Wasn’t this supposed to be a lucid dream? Shouldn’t I have full trol over this mess? Yet nothing about these feels scripted by me. Everything has unfolded naturally, almost unnervingly so. With all its trashy plot beats perfectly in pce.

  And then it hits me. The possible outes are: Isekai (Portal Fantasy).

  No. No way. There’s no way someone like me—a mere background character in real life—would get dragged into one of those stories. That’s not how these things work! If anything, shouldn’t I have been hit by a truck first? Isn’t that the standard procedure opening for this kind of nonse least I'm spared the cliché. The painful part could’ve been skipped entirely.

  But still…

  If this really is an Isekai sario, then what? Did some lunatic writer decide today was the day to shove me into their poorly thought-out fantasy plot? And what about that card in my pocket? Could it actually be tied to all of this? A ticket? A travel visa?

  The more I think about it, the more absurd it bees.

  And worst of all—what happens when I wake up?

  Or worse… what if I don’t?

  Damn it! Which crazy person wrote this?