5

The room was gone.

Not faded.

Not darkened.

Gone.

Her breath caught sharply as the world beneath her shifted, the cold floor disappearing before she could feel it anymore. For one terrifying second, it felt like falling—not through air, but through silence itself.

Then—

warmth.

A soft breeze brushed against her skin.

The smell of grass.

Her eyes opened slowly.

And the first thing she saw was the sky.

Endless.

Blue stretching far beyond what her eyes could hold, painted with pale clouds drifting lazily above her. Sunlight spilled across tall grass that moved gently with the wind, glowing gold at the edges.

She froze.

Her body lay half-hidden among the grasslands, fingers sinking into soft earth instead of the floor of her bedroom.

No walls.

No ceiling.

No clock.

Just open sky.

She sat up too quickly, panic rushing through her chest.

“What…?”

Her voice sounded small here.

The wind carried it away instantly.

She looked around wildly.

Fields stretched endlessly in every direction, waves of green and gold moving beneath the sunlight. Wildflowers swayed softly nearby, their colors too vivid to feel real.

This wasn’t possible.

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

Wake up.

Nothing happened.

When she opened them again, the grass still danced beneath the wind.

Her heartbeat quickened.

“This isn’t real.”

But even as she said it, the warmth of the sunlight touched her skin.

The breeze tangled softly through her hair.

It felt real.

Too real.

She stood slowly, legs unsteady beneath her.

The silence here was different from the silence of her room.

Not empty.

Alive.

Somewhere far away, birds called softly through the endless fields. The air carried a strange calmness she had never felt before—not happiness exactly, but something lighter.

Her chest loosened slightly.

For the first time in weeks—

she could breathe without feeling pressure crushing against her ribs.

The realization startled her.

A soft sound behind her made her turn sharply.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Unhurried.

The grass shifted as someone approached from the distance.

A figure.

At first blurry beneath the sunlight, then clearer with every step.

A boy.

Around her age, maybe slightly older. Dark hair moved gently with the wind, his expression unreadable as he stopped several feet away from her.

He didn’t seem surprised to see her.

As if he had been expecting her.

Neither of them spoke at first.

The silence stretched comfortably between them.

Not awkward.

Not heavy.

Just quiet.

“You’re new here,” he said finally.

His voice was calm.

Soft enough to blend into the wind.

She stared at him.

“What is this place?”

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering the question.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On you.”

That answer made no sense.

Her brows pulled together. “I don’t understand.”

A faint smile touched his face—not mocking, not cruel.

“Most people don’t at first.”

Most people?

Her chest tightened again.

“There are others?”

Instead of answering directly, he glanced toward the endless fields.

“You shouldn’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” she lied immediately.

He looked back at her quietly.

“You were shaking when you woke up.”

She looked down instinctively.

Her hands were trembling slightly.

She quickly curled them into fists.

The wind moved around them again, softer now.

For some reason, she didn’t feel the need to run.

She should have.

Nothing about this place was normal.

And yet—

the panic she expected never fully came.

Instead, exhaustion lingered beneath everything else.

A deep tiredness she couldn’t explain.

The boy seemed to notice.

“You’re tired,” he said.

The words hit harder than they should have.

Not because of what he said—

but because of how gently he said it.

No disappointment.

No judgment.

Just observation.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

“I’m fine.”

Another lie.

But this time, the words felt weaker.

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t tell her she looked awful.

Didn’t ask questions she couldn’t answer.

He simply looked at her as if silence itself was enough.

“What’s your name?” she asked quietly.

The boy glanced toward the sky for a moment before answering.

“You can call me Eli.”

“Can call you?”

Another small smile.

“Names work differently here.”

Before she could ask what that meant, he turned slightly and began walking through the grass.

“Wait—”

“You’ll get lost if you stand still too long.”

“That doesn’t explain anything!”

“It’s not supposed to.”

The irritation in his tone was so faint she almost missed it.

She hesitated only a second before following him.

Because strangely—

being alone here felt worse.

As they walked, the fields seemed endless.

The sunlight remained warm but never harsh, the breeze cool against her skin. She noticed small things slowly:

The grass glowed faintly where the light touched it.

Flowers bloomed in impossible colors.

The sky felt too large.

Like the world itself had no edges.

And despite how unfamiliar everything was—

it felt peaceful.

Dangerously peaceful.

“You don’t talk much,” Eli said after a while.

“I could say the same thing about you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“You’re trying not to think.”

She stopped walking.

His words landed too accurately.

Eli turned slightly, watching her quietly.

“I can hear the clock on you,” he added softly.

A chill ran through her instantly.

“The… clock?”

Tick.

The sound echoed faintly in the distance.

Her breath caught.

She looked around sharply.

There it was again.

Very far away.

Tick.

Barely audible beneath the wind.

“How is it here too…?”

Eli’s expression changed slightly.

Not fear.

Something closer to concern.

“It followed you.”

The ticking came once more.

Tick.

Closer this time.

The peaceful breeze suddenly felt colder.

And for the first time since arriving—

the dream no longer felt entirely safe

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