Even as Orien went about his quiet days—filling notebooks with riddles from the unseen, hiding behind weary smiles—the dreams persisted. They slipped through the cracks of his calm like wind beneath a sealed door. Graduation didn't end them. Neither did unemployment, nor prayer, nor time. If anything, the visions grew bolder, as though waiting for him to stop running and start listening.
Beneath the stillness of his waking life, a storm brewed—one he could no longer ignore.
It began with memories that weren't his, and questions that refused to fade with dawn.
At first, the old saying from his hometown gave him comfort: "Whenever you sleep with something on your mind, you dream of that very thing." In those early days, the explanation was enough. He'd tell himself he was only reliving a film, or replaying a story from a book.
But the dreams soon changed. They no longer mirrored his life. They no longer needed a reason.
He dreamt of ancient steles etched with the records of forgotten greats, of hidden passageways buried beneath ruins, of realms that felt nothing like Earth.
Sometimes, he would die in a dream—only to awaken somewhere new, stripped of memories, living a different life. That was, until someone from his past life recognized him, trembling in fear and awe.
"Akudaya!" they cried. The living dead.
In his culture, an Akudaya was one who had died with an unfulfilled destiny. Their souls wandered elsewhere, living in secret, avoiding recognition. But if someone they once knew spotted them and named them aloud, the spirit would vanish instantly—dragged back to the afterlife, their purpose forever unfinished.
Orien never imagined he would dream himself into such a figure.
Over time, the frequency of the dreams overwhelmed him. He began to forget them, not from disinterest but because they came too often, blending together. He woke restless, uneasy, haunted by the sense that death lingered near. In some dreams, he even felt his soul leave his body—with no promise of return.
He told no one. Instead, he kept a diary, recording fragments: symbols, omens, whispers, and visions.
In time, fear gave way to a strange respect. The dreams felt like rare knowledge—secrets not everyone was allowed to see. He didn't understand them, and he knew no one around him could interpret them. So, why torment himself searching for answers that might not exist?
He let the questions rest, and turned his focus to the waking world.
Orien graduated from university with good results, completed his national service, and applied for jobs wherever his qualifications fit. But reality was cruel to dreamers.
It said only: "Try again later."
And he did. Again and again, to no avail.
Though his family never pressured him, Orien carried the burden himself. As the firstborn, he felt he had to help. After his father retired, his parents relied on small-scale farming. His younger brother picked up part-time work. His sister remained in school. With every passing day, the weight on Orien's shoulders grew.
Eventually, he stopped applying for official jobs and took whatever part-time work he could find. At least it was something.
But the dreams never left him.
Among them, four types stood out—each recurring, each unsettling, each leaving a mark on his soul.
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The First
Whenever Orien liked a girl and thought of pursuing her, he would dream of her—only for her to transform into something horrific. Grotesque. Unnatural. The image jolted him awake, heart pounding.
It happened more than once. More than twice. Enough times to kill his romantic life before it ever began. Brief encounters came and went, but the dreams—and his family worries—shattered them quickly.
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The Second
Snakes. Sometimes one. Sometimes a nest. Always chasing him through unknown lands, their venomous fangs snapping at his heels, their tongues hissing in the dark.
No dream terrified him more.
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The Third
At times, Orien found himself saving maidens in mystical realms—guiding them through darkness, shielding them from destruction. Once, he even witnessed the birth of a maiden surrounded by powerful beings. Some sought to protect her, others to destroy her.
Sometimes, these dreams turned tender—almost romantic. Orien longed to meet these mysterious women in the waking world.
But he never did.
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The Fourth
Black cats.
Orien had loved cats since childhood. Once, as a boy, he even wandered off for hours chasing a stray. He begged his parents for one, but they refused. In their culture, cats—especially black ones—were seen as vessels for witches and spirits, mediums of dark schemes.
Still, the dreams persisted. He saw himself surrounded by cats, every one of them black.
And then there was the cat.
A majestic black feline, as large as a wolf. Its fur gleamed like midnight silk, its golden eyes sharp and knowing. It lounged beside him in his dreams, purring under his calm, rhythmic pats.
This one felt different. Sacred.
Sometimes, he even sent the great cat on mysterious journeys. It always returned, triumphant, earning his gentle praise.
For the first time, he shared the dream with his parents.
They didn't know what to make of it. Instead, they took him to a cleric.
"This is an ominous nightmare," the cleric warned. "Dreaming of cats is bad enough. But a black one? Worse."
He gave Orien passages to recite before bed. For a while, it worked.
But the dreams came back, fiercer than before.
Now Orien was truly afraid. Whether awake or asleep, a shadow of dread clung to him. A whisper in his heart told him his life would not last long.
But he was only in his late twenties.
So, he prepared.
He quietly transferred his savings into his parents' account. When they asked, he smiled and said:
"Just some part-time savings. I didn't want to waste them."
It wasn't much by the world's measure, but to his family, it meant everything.
Then, Orien made his quiet farewells. He visited his siblings, urged them to take care of themselves and their parents. He laughed with them, hugged them, told them he was proud.
They loved each other deeply.
And after all was said, he waited for whatever fate
Author's note: chapter two revised for clarity