The boy lay on the bed for only a few minutes, his mind spinning with the strangeness of it all, before his curiosity got the better of him. He sat up, the mattress sinking softly beneath him, and swung his legs over the side.
The floor was cool under his bare feet, polished stone that gleamed in the soft light filtering through the window. He stood, testing his new body, its strength unfamiliar but exhilarating.
For now, he pushed aside the questions—how he'd gotten here, what Ancient Bane had done—and decided to treat it like a dream, a vivid illusion conjured by his imagination. If this was a dream, he'd explore it, lose himself in it, before the real world dragged him back.
The chamber was vast, far grander than anything he'd ever seen. The walls were draped in rich tapestries, their threads woven with scenes of battles and mythical creatures, their colors deep and vibrant.
A massive four-poster bed dominated one side, its canopy embroidered with gold, while a fireplace, cold now, took up another wall, its mantel carved with intricate runes.
He ran his fingers over a wooden table, its surface smooth and heavy, not like the cheap, chipped furniture of his apartment. It felt real, too real, but he clung to the idea of a dream, because the alternative—that this was somehow his reality—was too much to process.
He moved slowly, taking in every detail, his steps silent on the thick rug that stretched across the floor. A chandelier hung above, its crystals catching the light, casting rainbows on the walls.
He couldn't help but marvel at the opulence, so far removed from the cracked walls and flickering bulbs of his real life. If this was his mind's creation, it was a masterpiece, a place where he could be someone else, someone who belonged in such grandeur.
He smiled, a small, hesitant thing, and let himself sink into the illusion, exploring the room like a child in a storybook.
The air was cool, scented with something floral, and he followed a faint breeze to a corner of the room where a tall wardrobe stood, its doors carved with swirling patterns.
Beside it was a full-length mirror, its frame gilded, the glass clear and unblemished. He hesitated, then stepped in front of it, bracing himself for what he might see.
The reflection that stared back wasn't the scrawny, bruised boy he knew—it was someone else entirely, someone who looked like he'd stepped out of a fantasy novel. His heart skipped, his breath catching as he took in the stranger in the mirror.
The young man in the reflection was strikingly handsome, almost unreal. His face was sharp and symmetrical, with high cheekbones and a jawline that could've been sculpted.
His eyes were a vivid, flaming red, glowing faintly like embers, and his hair was a cascade of silver-white, catching the light like spun moonlight. He was in his teens, maybe sixteen or seventeen, but there was a timeless quality to him, like a character crafted for legend.
He touched his face, the reflection mimicking the movement, and a laugh escaped him, disbelieving. This wasn't just a dream—it was a fantasy, the kind he'd only found in games.
He leaned closer, studying the details. His skin was flawless, rosy and smooth, not a trace of the bruises or scars he'd carried for years. His frame was lean but strong, the kind of build that spoke of health and care, not hunger and neglect.
He turned his head, watching the silver hair shift, the red eyes catching the light. It was ridiculous, this beauty, this perfection, but it felt right, like he'd been meant to be this person all along. He stepped back, still staring, and a grin spread across his face. If he was dreaming, he didn't want to wake up.
The boy in the mirror was dressed in a simple sleeping tunic, loose and soft, made of a fabric he couldn't name but felt luxurious against his skin.
He glanced at the window, where morning light streamed in, painting the room in hues of gold and pink. It was early, the sky just beginning to brighten, and the thought of exploring this dream-world pulled at him.
If this was his imagination, he could go anywhere, be anything. He opened the wardrobe, half-expecting to find armor or a wizard's robe, but it held only more fine clothes—silks and linens, all tailored to fit this new body. He chose a simple shirt and trousers, slipping them on, marveling at how they fit perfectly.
He moved through the room, his steps more confident now, the dream's logic giving him courage. The chamber was bigger than he'd realized, with alcoves and corners he hadn't noticed at first. A desk sat against one wall, covered in parchment and quills, an inkwell shaped like a dragon's head.
Bookshelves lined another, their spines embossed with titles in a script he couldn't read but felt oddly familiar. He ran his fingers along them, imagining the stories they held, each one a piece of this world his mind had built. The room felt alive, like it was waiting for him to claim it.
Then he saw the terrace, a wide archway leading to an open platform beyond the room. He stepped toward it, the breeze stronger now, carrying the scent of dew and distant flowers.
The terrace was made of the same polished stone, its edges lined with a low balustrade carved with vines. He leaned against it, looking out, and his breath caught.
Below him stretched a vast castle, its towers rising into the morning mist, their spires tipped with gold. The walls were massive, built of pale stone that gleamed in the sunlight, and banners fluttered from every turret, their colors vivid against the gray sky.
The castle sprawled across a hill, surrounded by lush gardens and a moat that sparkled like glass. Beyond it, a city spread out, its rooftops a patchwork of red and blue, smoke rising from chimneys as the world woke.
In the distance, mountains loomed, their peaks dusted with snow, and a forest stretched toward the horizon, dark and endless.
The boy's mouth hung open, his heart pounding with awe. This wasn't just a dream—it was a world, vast and alive, more real than anything he'd known. He gripped the balustrade, his knuckles white, trying to take it all in.
He stepped back, his mind racing. The castle was a palace, a place of kings and heroes, not the kind of place he belonged. Yet here he was, standing on a terrace, looking out over a kingdom that felt like it was his.
He thought of Ancient Bane, of the words on the screen, the question that had brought him here. "Will you be a part of this world and save it?"
He'd said yes, not knowing what it meant, and now he was here, in a body that wasn't his, in a place that shouldn't exist. But it felt right, like he'd been called here for a reason.
He walked along the terrace, his eyes drinking in every detail—the way the sunlight caught the castle's walls, the distant sound of a bell tolling, the faint murmur of voices from below.
He leaned over the edge, watching figures move in the courtyard, their armor glinting, their movements purposeful. This was a dream, he told himself again, but it was the most beautiful one he'd ever had. He could explore, could live in this world for as long as it lasted, and the thought filled him with a joy he hadn't felt in years.
He lingered on the terrace, the morning air cool against his skin, his new body strong and sure. The castle stretched out below, a maze of towers and walls, and he imagined what lay within—halls filled with knights, libraries stuffed with ancient tomes, maybe even magic, if this world was anything like the games he loved.
He laughed, the sound bright and free, and for a moment, he forgot the bruises, the hunger, the fear. This was his dream, his escape, and he'd make it last as long as he could.
The happiness stayed with him, a warmth in his chest as he turned back to the chamber. Whatever this was—dream, game, or something else—he was here now, and he'd explore every inch of it. He stepped inside, his eyes catching the mirror again, the handsome stranger staring back.
He was ready to see what this world held, to be the hero he'd always wanted to be, even if it was only for a little while.