Inside the dream of Asylum, the single, golden crack of light on the giant gray crystal began to spread. It branched out like a lightning bolt, creating a web of bright, warm lines across the crystal's smooth surface.
The memory of the child's laugh was echoing through the collective mind, a sound no one in this dream had heard for a very, very long time.
It was a foreign concept, a piece of a puzzle that didn't fit. The dreamers, lost in their peaceful, gray sleep, began to stir. Their minds, which had been blank and quiet, latched onto this strange new feeling. Laughter? What is laughter?
Ryan felt the change. The dream-world was resisting. But now that he had made the first crack, he knew how to continue. He didn't stop with laughter. He began to push more memories into the crystal, more "imperfect" feelings, one after another, like a painter adding colors to a gray canvas.
