The lecture hall glowed with shifting blue light. Rows of transparent holo-screens hovered above each desk, their surfaces filled with scrolling code and diagrams. Lines of quantum algorithms danced across the air as the lecturer's voice boomed from invisible speakers.
"Remember, class, efficiency in neural networks is not just about speed. It's about stability, predictability. Code that shifts or mutates without cause is corrupted. And corruption spreads."
Dave sat stiffly, his eyes locked on his own holo-screen. His classmates typed steadily, their fingers brushing against projected keys, each motion registered by the learning system. Shen was beside him, leaning casually into his chair, already a dozen lines ahead of the exercise.
But Dave wasn't keeping up.
At first, the screen showed neat blocks of Python - clean, logical, expected. Then, without warning, the words rippled like water disturbed by an unseen hand. Letters elongated, bent, and re-formed into jagged characters he didn't recognize. Not ASCII. Not Unicode. Something older, something alive.
Erim Afoo.
The phrase repeated itself across the screen, replicated into columns, until the neat code exercise was gone. Every line glared at him with impossible symbols.
Dave's pulse quickened. His fingers hovered over the controls, but he didn't dare touch them. His skin prickled as if someone were breathing down his neck. He swallowed, hearing the words whisper in his mind, louder and louder—
Erim Afoo.
A sharp nudge broke the spell.
"Bro. What's that?" Shen's voice was laced with concern. He leaned closer, frowning at Dave's screen.
Dave blinked. In an instant, the strange words vanished. The code had reset, neat as ever, like nothing had happened. The cursor blinked innocently.
"What's what?" Dave forced a weak laugh, trying to sound normal.
Shen squinted. "You zoned out. And your screen glitched. Looked like… I don't even know, some alien alphabet. You didn't see that?"
"No." Dave shook his head too quickly. His throat was dry. "Must've been your display lagging. Happens sometimes."
Shen eyed him for a second longer, then shrugged. "If you say so."
But the suspicion didn't leave his face.
Dave exhaled slowly, his hand brushing against the necklace under his shirt. Orla burned faintly against his chest, warm like a living ember.
The professor's voice echoed through the hall again, reminding students to upload their work. Screens shifted, and the glow dimmed. The class was dismissed.
Shen stretched, yawning loudly. "Man, I need caffeine. You coming?"
Dave nodded, grateful for the excuse to move.
---
The university café was alive with chatter. Students lounged in pods and booths, some with augmented visors strapped over their eyes, others speaking to hovering AI assistants. Outside, maglev pods zoomed along their rails, neon trails slicing the midday sky.
Shen ordered two cups of steaming cafbrews and slid one across the table to Dave.
"Alright, spill," Shen said, folding his arms. His tone wasn't playful now. "You've been weird for weeks. Half the time you look like you're sleepwalking. And now you're pulling nightmare code in class? What's going on with you?"
Dave stared at his cup. Steam curled upward, twisting like shadowy fingers. He hesitated.
Could he really explain Igwe-ka-Ala? The construct? The sprites and dragons? The way the line between dream and reality was dissolving?
No. Shen would laugh. Or worse, he'd think Dave had lost it.
"I'm just tired," Dave muttered. "Bad dreams. They… follow me into the day sometimes. That's all."
Shen sipped his drink, unimpressed. "Nightmares don't write themselves into your code."
Dave froze. The words stabbed deeper than Shen realized.
Shen leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "Whatever it is, bro, you gotta face it. Running won't fix it."
Dave forced a smile, trying to mask the dread twisting inside him. "Yeah. I know."
But he didn't know. Not anymore.
---
Later that evening, Dave and Shen settled into the Virtual Reality Library—a vast dome where students could access simulations of entire networks, run algorithms on floating data clusters, and collaborate in immersive coding environments.
They logged in at side-by-side stations. Dave adjusted his visor, and instantly the real world dissolved. He stood in a white grid space, endless lines stretching into infinity. Code hovered in glowing blocks around him, awaiting command.
"Alright," Shen's voice came through the comms, "let's finish this compiler assignment. Shouldn't take long."
Dave nodded, fingers flicking through holographic panels. Lines of code spun into place around him. For a while, the rhythm of work steadied him. Syntax, logic, structure. Something he could control.
Until the whispers returned.
Soft at first, curling through the virtual grid like smoke.
Erim Afoo.
Dave's panels trembled. The lines of code warped again, breaking into spirals of symbols, characters rearranging themselves into impossible patterns.
Shen's voice cut in. "Hey, what the hell? Your code's… alive?"
Dave staggered back as the letters slithered across the panels, rearranging into a single phrase:
NIGHTMARES DO NOT STAY ASLEEP.
The words pulsed with a sickly light.
Shen cursed. "That's not funny, Dave. How are you even doing that?"
"I'm not!" Dave shouted. His hands passed through the panels, unable to stop the transformation. His ears rang with whispers, overlapping voices all chanting, all demanding.
Erim Afoo. Erim Afoo.
The white grid space darkened. Shadows oozed from the edges, spilling across the infinite floor.
A chill ran down Dave's spine. His heart thundered. He tore the visor off his face—
—but the whispers followed him into the real library.
He staggered, gasping, clutching the table. Shen was staring at him wide-eyed.
"You're pale as death," Shen said. "What the hell just happened? You looked… gone, like you weren't even here."
Dave wiped sweat from his brow. "I… I don't know."
But deep down, he did.
There was no longer a wall between the dream and reality. Igwe-ka-Ala had said it: nightmares leave scars. And now, they weren't staying in the dark.
---
Night fell quickly over the city. Dave and Shen left the library, the neon glow of towers reflecting in rain-slick streets. Drones hummed overhead.
As they walked, Dave caught his reflection in a glass wall. He slowed.
Something was wrong.
His reflection wasn't moving with him. It lingered, staring back, lips curling into a smile that wasn't his.
Dave's breath caught.
The reflection leaned forward, its eyes glowing faintly. Its lips moved—
"You're already in both worlds."
The glass rippled like water, swallowing the image.
Dave stumbled back. Shen grabbed his arm. "What is it now?"
Dave shook his head, unable to speak. Orla throbbed hot against his chest, almost burning.
He didn't need anyone to tell him.
The nightmare wasn't waiting for him to fall asleep anymore.
It had already arrived.