Sleep came easily.
Too easily, maybe — but I didn't question it. I went through the motions without thinking much about them. Lights off. Window cracked just enough to let in the night air. The rain had stopped sometime in the evening, leaving the city hushed and reflective, streets glistening under distant lamps.
I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling.
That hairline crack was still there.
I followed it with my eyes, tracing its familiar curve, and felt a strange sense of reassurance settle in my chest. Same room. Same bed. Same life.
Safe.
Eventually, I drifted off.
---
I woke to morning light again.
Not an alarm—just the pale gray glow slipping through the curtains, soft and patient. My body stirred slowly, pleasantly heavy. For a few seconds, I forgot where I was.
Then it clicked into place.
Home.
I exhaled and rolled onto my side, listening to the muted sounds of the city waking up. Somewhere outside, a car passed. Someone laughed. Normal things.
Still, as I lay there, something tugged at me.
A name surfaced first.
Silva.
I frowned slightly. "Huh."
In the dream, she'd always stood so straight. Imposing without trying. The kind of presence that made you square your shoulders just by entering the room. I remembered her voice—calm, firm, never wasting words.
The sun rises early, and so do we.
A faint smile tugged at my lips.
"She'd hate how late I sleep now," I murmured.
The thought lingered longer than I expected. It felt… fond. Not the way you remember a random dream character, but the way you remember someone who once relied on you—and whom you'd relied on in return.
I pushed myself out of bed.
The routine repeated itself. Bathroom. Water on my face. Coffee brewing in the kitchen. Steam rising, filling the space with warmth and that familiar bitter smell.
As I leaned against the counter, mug in hand, more faces crept in uninvited.
Theo, first. Always Theo.
His laugh echoed in my head, a little too loud, a little too carefree for the situations he'd found himself in. I remembered the way he complained about everything and still showed up anyway. How he never hesitated to stand between danger and someone else, even while insisting he was "definitely not cut out for this hero stuff."
"He'd complain about this coffee," I said quietly. "Too weak."
I chuckled, but it faded faster than yesterday.
Then Mira.
That one hit harder.
I remembered her eyes—sharp, assessing, always three steps ahead. The way she carried tension like armor, how she never let herself rest unless everything else was handled first. In the dream, she'd smiled once. Just once.
The memory made my chest tighten.
"…Hope you're getting some rest," I muttered, unsure who I was talking to.
I shook my head and took another sip.
It was just a dream.
That should have been enough.
But as the morning went on, the sense of absence grew more noticeable. Like reaching for something you'd carried for years, only to realize your pocket was empty.
Sera came next.
Her presence in my memories was quieter, but heavier. The way she watched people. Listened more than she spoke. How she always seemed to know when something was wrong, even when no one said it out loud.
I set my mug down slowly.
"She'd say I'm overthinking this," I said with a small, humorless smile. "And she'd be right."
And then—
Aetherion.
The thought stopped me cold.
I stood there in the middle of the kitchen, staring at nothing.
In the dream, he'd never shut up. Constant commentary. Sarcasm layered over something sharper, older. He'd irritated me, guided me, challenged me—sometimes all at once.
Now?
Nothing.
No voice chiming in. No amused observations. No presence pressing against the back of my thoughts.
The silence felt… wrong.
Not painful. Not alarming.
Just hollow.
"…Weird," I whispered.
I went through the rest of the day as I had before—cleaning, stretching, stepping outside for fresh air—but the motions felt thinner now. Like a replay with less weight behind it.
Every so often, I caught myself thinking I heard someone call my name.
Every time, it was nothing.
By evening, I was tired again—not physically, but in that deep, lingering way that comes from missing something you can't quite name.
As I lay down that night, staring at the ceiling crack once more, a thought surfaced unbidden.
If it really was just a dream…
Why did waking up feel like losing something?
I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket closer.
The room stayed quiet.
And somewhere beneath that quiet, something listened.
I woke up before the light this time.
Not because of an alarm, not because of noise—just because my eyes opened, and sleep didn't feel like it wanted me anymore. The room was still dim, the city outside holding its breath in that strange hour before morning properly began.
For a while, I stayed where I was.
The ceiling crack greeted me again, familiar as ever. I traced it absentmindedly with my eyes, waiting for the comfort it used to bring to settle in.
It didn't.
Instead, there was a hollow pressure behind my ribs, like I'd forgotten something important and my body knew it before my mind did.
"…What was I dreaming about?" I murmured.
I knew the answer. Sort of.
I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, letting fragments drift through my head. A tunnel carved with warped symbols. Warm light bleeding through cracks in stone. A voice that never quite belonged to the air around it.
Aetherion.
The name surfaced without resistance now. It didn't scare me. It didn't feel absurd. It felt… missed.
I exhaled slowly.
"In my head," I said aloud, testing the words. "You were in my head."
The room didn't react. Of course it didn't.
No dry comment followed. No amused correction. No my friend whispered with infuriating fondness.
Silence answered me again.
I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed, rubbing at my face. The apartment was unchanged—still too quiet, still too clean in the way places get when only one person lives there and doesn't really live in them.
I went through the morning motions automatically. Water on my face. Teeth brushed. Coffee brewed.
As the kettle heated, my thoughts wandered again, as they had all day yesterday—but this time, they didn't drift lazily. They circled.
Theo's laugh came back to me unprompted. Mira's sharp glare. Silva's steady presence, always at my back even when she wasn't physically there.
Sera, watching everything with that quiet intensity, like she could see through lies just by standing near them.
They felt closer today.
Not sharper—warmer. Like memories you revisit too often because they hurt in a way you don't quite want to stop feeling.
I wrapped my hands around the mug once it was full and leaned against the counter, staring at the steam.
"I keep thinking about you," I admitted to the empty room. "All of you."
The steam curled and vanished.
Part of me—the sensible part, the grounded part—tried to step in.
They're not real. They were part of a dream. Stress. Escapism. Your mind processing things.
That explanation felt thinner today. Like paper soaked through with water.
Dreams didn't linger like this. They didn't grow clearer with time. They didn't leave behind a sense of direction, like I'd been pulled away from something unfinished.
I took a slow sip of coffee and winced.
"Too hot," I muttered automatically.
And for half a heartbeat, I waited.
For commentary. For mockery. For Aetherion to tell me that of course it was hot, I'd just poured it, hadn't I ever learned patience?
Nothing came.
The disappointment surprised me with its intensity.
I set the mug down harder than necessary.
The day unfolded slowly, deliberately. I cleaned again, even though the apartment didn't need it. I folded laundry with unnecessary care, smoothing out wrinkles that wouldn't matter once the clothes were worn. I went for a jog, letting my legs burn, letting my breath turn sharp and real.
Even then, my thoughts refused to stay in the present.
As I ran, the city blurred into the background, replaced by images that didn't belong here. Stone walls. Flickering lantern light. A sense of weight pressing down on my thoughts, testing them.
The tunnel, I realized suddenly.
I slowed to a walk, chest heaving.
"That's not normal," I whispered.
Dreams didn't come back like this. Not with continuity. Not with details filling themselves in the longer you thought about them.
I remembered the carvings. The way they watched. The feeling of being guided without being touched.
And beneath all of it—want.
Not hunger. Not fear.
Longing.
The same longing that sat in my chest now.
Back home, I took a shower and let the hot water run too long, fogging up the mirror until my reflection blurred into something unrecognizable. I rested my forehead against the tile and closed my eyes.
"If you're real," I said quietly, unsure who I was addressing anymore, "you picked a hell of a way to leave."
For the briefest moment—so brief I almost dismissed it—I felt something brush the edge of my awareness.
Not a voice.
Not words.
Just a presence, distant and patient, like someone standing on the other side of a thick wall.
My breath caught.
I straightened slowly, heart pounding.
"…Aetherion?"
Nothing answered.
But the silence felt different now. Taut. Expectant.
I turned the water off and stepped out, skin prickling—not from cold, but from the creeping realization that had finally taken shape.
If this was a dream—
Then why did it feel like something was waiting for me to wake up properly?
I wrapped a towel around myself and stared at my fogged reflection, wiping away a circle with my hand.
My own eyes stared back.
Tired.
Thoughtful.
Searching.
"I think," I said slowly, carefully, "I don't want to forget you."
The words settled into the quiet.
And far beneath the comfort of routine, beneath the illusion of safety, something stirred—pleased, perhaps, or wary.
The longing in my chest deepened.
And for the first time since waking up here, I didn't push it away.