The first dream came quietly.
David found himself standing on a floating continent bathed in starlight. Towers of crystal pierced the sky, and runes flowed through the air like fireflies. He knew this place. Not because he'd seen it before—but because he'd built it.
He looked down and saw robes of blue and gold. Magic circles orbited his hands like planets. With a thought, storms formed, stars bent, reality itself bowed.
Eight-Circle Archmage David Solomon, the crowd whispered. The Strongest Under Heaven.
Then fire, blood, and ruin. His world burning. His name cursed and praised in equal measure.
He awoke gasping.
Morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, slicing across his cluttered apartment. The cheap clock read 7:42 a.m.—five minutes before his alarm.
He sat up, rubbing his temples.
| "Right. Weird dream. Happens when you skip dinner and sleep on an empty wallet."
Still… the memory of those circles lingered—not like a dream, more like a skill he used yesterday. He could see the structure, the formation of energy, the flow of mana through the heart.
Curiosity gnawed at him. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and imagined the glowing circuits from his dream.
For a moment—nothing. Then his heartbeat slowed. The air felt heavier. A soft vibration filled his chest.
A single green ring appeared in his mind's eye—spinning, alive.
| "...No way."
He opened his eyes. The room felt sharper, colors deeper. He could hear the hum of electricity in the walls.
It wasn't much—just a faint circle—but it was there.
He spent the rest of the day pretending everything was normal. Pretending he hadn't just proven magic real. Pretending the world still made sense.
By nightfall, he had convinced himself it was harmless. Just a hallucination. A trick of exhaustion.
He slept again.
This time, he dreamed of mountains, rivers, and ancient temples. Men in robes striking stone with bare fists. Internal energy swirling like galaxies.
He learned pain, hunger, discipline. He learned to fight, to fall, to rise. He became a master of seven stars—the peak of the martial path.
And when he opened his eyes the next morning, the memory of breathing techniques remained—so clear it almost scared him.
He laughed weakly.
| "Yeah. Definitely losing it."
Then, curiosity again. He sat cross-legged, inhaled, and followed the rhythm of that dream.
White light stirred within him—a faint star flickering near his navel.
He almost fell backward.
| "...Nope. Not normal."
And still, he went to work.
Because rent was due Friday.