"You won't believe what I dreamed about last night."
I lean expectantly across the small café table where I'm meeting my best friend. Lissy, as usual glued to her phone, doesn't even look up and mutters, "You can't normally remember your dreams."
"Exactly," I say, dropping down into the chair opposite her with a thump. It creaks softly, and I pull a face. Squeaking noises are my arch-nemesis. One of many. I rummage through the bag I'm carrying instead of a handbag, searching for my noise-reducing earplugs. When my fingers finally find the small round case, I sigh inwardly. Peace at last. Without those things, I can't concentrate.
"What?"
Lissy must have said something, but I missed it.
Now she does look up from her screen and slides the chai latte she's already ordered for me across the table. Cinnamon and other spices rise to my nose, and for a moment I have to take a deep breath—because even I can't quite believe what I dreamed last night.
"I said: Okay, tell me." She doesn't sound particularly hooked yet, more annoyed. Probably because I was distracted again.
For a second, I consider not telling her at all. The memory sits heavy in my chest, too sharp, too vivid.
But I'm still vibrating inside, and her lack of enthusiasm doesn't stop me.
"Alright. Listen."
"It felt more like a lucid dream."
Lissy frowns. "So you're telling me you didn't just dream last night—you dreamed lucidly?"
"Hmm… yeah," I mumble. "What I mean is, it felt so real, like I was actually there."
She shrugs, her chin-length bob bouncing slightly.
"Isn't that kind of the point of dreams—that while you're dreaming, you think they're real?"
"Yes, but I knew it had to be a dream."
She snorts. "Mirel, the dream expert… Alright, go on. What happened?"
A musty smell hits my nose. Damp and stone. Confused, I squint my eyes shut, then force them wide open again. But I can't really see much. It's cold. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around myself, but my thin pajamas do nothing to stop the damp chill from creeping straight onto my skin.
I take another deep breath.
Where was I?
I can remember perfectly well lying down in bed—and now I'm suddenly standing in this dim half-light. Was this a cave? I squint again and instinctively try to push my glasses up my nose with my finger.
There are no glasses on my nose.
Of course. I don't sleep with my glasses on. I leave them on my nightstand.
Except—I'm not in my bed.
A shiver runs down my spine.
For a moment, panic flickers through me—quick and sharp, like static under my skin. Then my brain works again.
Part of me immediately knows that I must be dreaming.
Cool. I hardly ever dream.
The thought should be comforting. It isn't.
Whatever had triggered this once-in-a-lifetime event, I could at least use it to find out what was supposedly so great about dreaming. I grin. I definitely have to tell Lissy about this tomorrow.
Carefully, I take a step forward. Cold claws at my feet like the grabbing fingers of a zombie. The thought makes me shudder.
"Okay, Mirel. Don't think about anything creepy."
Wasn't it supposed to be possible to influence your dreams?
I had absolutely no desire to end up in a zombie apocalypse.
"Stop thinking about it!"
I hurry forward another step. Small stones dig into the soles of my feet.
I swallow. Something about this feels seriously off. Was this really a dream? I never dreamed. Well—okay, Lissy said I probably just couldn't remember them—but this felt different.
It felt… real.
I squint again and look around, but without my glasses I can't make out much. Unfortunately, I inherited my father's terrible eyesight and am practically blind without them. With almost seven diopters, I can't even see sharply as far as my arm can reach.
So I'll have to rely on my other senses.
Tense, I listen into the silence.
Is that the sound of dripping water? A faint draft of air?
Another shiver runs through my body. It's freezing in here. I really don't want this.
"Ouch." Startled, I rub my aching arm. Aren't you supposed to wake up when you pinch yourself? A sick feeling spreads through my stomach.
I consider trying again, but my skin is still throbbing angrily, and I can't quite bring myself to do it.
Since, for some reason, I'm not waking up, I decide to just start walking. In the distance, I can make out an area that seems slightly brighter than everything around it. I stretch my arms out in front of me and begin to feel my way forward with the tips of my feet, taking cautious steps toward the place where it's lighter.
Progress is slow and clumsy, but when I don't trip over anything in the first few seconds, I grow a little braver and quicken my pace.
The light hits me like a wall. My eyes burn, my breath stutters, and for a split second I just stand there, blinded.
Everything becomes brighter all at once, and I assume I've entered a larger cave.
In my head, it is a cave. It smells like one, it's cold, and the ground feels like stone. I haven't touched the walls yet—somehow I'm afraid of grabbing something disgusting.
Overactive imagination.
But yes, something like that must be it. So now I'm standing in a slightly brighter space, in a cave or something, and I have to blink a few times.
Once my eyes adjust to the new surroundings—sorry, but it really sucks needing glasses, because you can't see anything. When it's dark, you see even less, and when it suddenly gets bright, you still see nothing—I realize that there must be torches attached to the walls.
Probably walls, anyway. At least there's light flickering there. Reddish-yellow. In my head: torches. The air smells different here too. Like wood. Like something burned.
It's fascinating what the imagination does with the things you see—or don't see.
That's when I wonder why I have poor eyesight in my dream. Aren't you supposed to see clearly in dreams?
Something about that feels wrong. Dreams aren't supposed to be this… inconvenient.
Before I can follow that thought any further, I hear a sound. Not a draft of air. Not dripping water. Something like footsteps.
They aren't the normal kind you hear from people on the street. Not unusual ones either, like high heels or someone limping.
They're padded steps.
Too soft. Too close.
My stomach tightens.
I don't know if you've ever experienced this, but the creepiest thing in the world is noticing something without having an image to go with it.
Carefully, I turn toward the sound, my arms still stretched out in front of me. And sure enough, something greenish is moving there.
Something greenish that is coming toward me disturbingly fast.
Oh God. Please don't let it be a zombie.
In the same moment, I curse my love of horror movies.
As the thing moves closer, I feel like I can slowly make out a shape. It's small. It's green. On the sides of its head are two pointed horns—or ears. It has a compact torso, relatively long arms, and rather short legs. And in one of those arms, it's holding a stick with a metal tip that glints faintly.
Recognition hits like a slap.
A shrill screech pierces the air. It sounds like fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. I wish I had my earplugs. Instinctively, I clamp my hands over my ears. The sound goes straight through me. I flinch, and everything inside me wants to run.
The thing standing in front of me is a goblin.
A fucking goblin.
Something in my head shorts out. That can't be possible. Goblins only exist in the Labyrinth. In the Labyrinth where only Hunters go. I'm not a Hunter.
I hear a hiss in front of me and watch as the creature swings its spear, the tip pointing straight at me. And when a gust of wind hits my face, it suddenly sinks in that this is serious.
The only thing that occurs to me is to throw my hands forward with force and shout, as loudly as I can, "Stop!"
It's the stupidest idea I could have—and the only one I have.
And to my surprise, the thing freezes.
What the hell am I doing here?