Light flared behind his eyelids—

  like a spotlight snapped to life.

  When he opened his eyes, Crys was standing in the elevator hall.

  On reflex, he lifted his arm and checked his clothes.

  He’d been lying in bed—

  and yet he was still in the hoodie he’d had on all day.

  Like yesterday had just picked up where it left off.

  He’d been so sleepy.

  Now there wasn’t even a trace of it.

  And still, he remembered thinking,

  I might see that dream tonight.

  Not as a vague thought—

  but as something he’d thought just moments ago.

  Before he could even wonder, he stepped into the elevator.

  It jolted, rattling as it started.

  He watched the arrow crawl downward,

  his mind painfully clear.

  Tonight, there hadn’t even been that strange floating sensation—the usual opening.

  It felt like the boundary between dream and waking

  had thinned again,

  like when he’d seen Tsitsi in the library.

  The mechanical hum of the elevator.

  The vibration under his feet.

  The cold wind slipping in.

  The faint smell of rust—

  everything felt real.

  So real he still couldn’t call it a dream.

  But this time,

  he knew he’d fallen asleep in bed.

  He would check each thing, one by one,

  and ask Tsitsi.

  If it was something he already understood,

  she’d probably confirm it.

  The elevator chimed—clear and bright.

  Crys stepped into the room Tsitsi had called

  the Room of the Heart.

  —and Tsitsi wasn’t there.

  He’d always assumed she would be.

  He stopped without meaning to.

  A room with no one in it but him

  was so quiet it almost hurt to listen.

  Uneasy, he looked around again.

  The glass case in the center.

  Doors to the left, to the right, and straight ahead.

  If there were doors,

  they had to lead somewhere.

  But he was done with “somewhere.”

  Some part of him still wished Tsitsi would show up,

  but even after wandering the room for a while,

  the restlessness only grew.

  In the end, Crys steadied his breathing

  and reached for the door on the right.

  It wasn’t locked.

  It opened easily—

  with only a light push.

  It was almost the same as the room Crys had been in before.

  Elevator on the right.

  Glass case in the center.

  A door straight ahead.

  But—

  one thing was missing.

  There was no door on the left.

  Here, the left side was just… gone.

  Crys froze there, thrown off.

  Some part of him had been bracing for it—

  that beyond the door, some ridiculous dream-world would spread out.

  “…Yeah. Of course not.”

  He let out a breath, like he was mocking himself.

  He started to close it—

  then stopped.

  Something felt wrong.

  No left door. That meant this room wasn’t exactly the same.

  Then… what about the glass case?

  Maybe it held a hint.

  Maybe something.

  With that in mind, he stepped closer and leaned toward the case—carefully.

  What was displayed inside

  was nothing like what he’d seen next door.

  A dinosaur plush.

  A white stone.

  A small pickaxe.

  A shovel.

  “This is the room of the heart.

  And that glass case symbolizes that person’s life.”

  Tsitsi’s words came back to him, too late.

  —He’d never cared about dinosaurs. Not once.

  Then this room—whose was it?

  Cold crawled down his back.

  It hit him all at once:

  he’d stepped somewhere he wasn’t supposed to.

  His breathing turned shallow.

  Crys spun on his heel

  and ran back to the first room.

  Even after he returned, his heartbeat wouldn’t settle.

  Like he’d broken into someone else’s house.

  He stared at the doors.

  The right door, and the one straight ahead—

  back in the first room, those had been straight ahead and left.

  Were those rooms the same kind of place too?

  If so,

  he didn’t want to open them.

  But standing here did nothing.

  He had to move.

  His brows still drawn tight,

  his gaze flicked between the glass case and the two doors.

  And then—

  a thought slipped in.

  Maybe this was inside a building.

  Room after room,

  connected—

  a maze.

  If that was true,

  then the missing doors

  would finally make sense.

  He didn’t like it.

  But if he opened doors at random,

  one after another,

  maybe he’d reach an “exit” eventually.

  Crys steadied his breathing

  and put his hand on the left door.

  The moment he opened the door, Crys knew.

  —I don’t like this place.

  He swung it wide to let light spill into the dark and stepped in.

  The room—like a small study—

  was smaller than the first.

  Dim enough that he could barely make out the shapes of the furniture.

  Glossy burgundy drapes were tied back against one wall.

  A single armchair upholstered in the same color.

  In front of it stood an absurdly large grandfather clock, like it didn’t belong here at all.

  The hands were wrong—spinning out of order,

  and only the pendulum—

  strangely slow—

  moved through a single, heavy swing.

  As he watched the pendulum, something crawled up Crys’s spine.

  He thought he saw something move

  behind the glass.

  He wanted to run.

  But if he turned his back—

  even for an instant—

  something would come.

  Crys held his breath,

  crouched,

  and peered into the glass.

  Beyond the pendulum, something—something living—

  writhed, warm and wet.

  From the back, the darkness itself seemed to seep out—swarming.

  Then—something slammed into the glass.

  BANG.

  Again.

  BANG. BANG.

  The pounding came faster, swallowing the room whole.

  It’s going to break.

  It’s coming out—

  “No—!”

  A jolt of pure disgust tore through him.

  Gooseflesh rippled across his skin.

  Crys screamed, bolted out, and slammed the door shut.

  —but it still didn’t feel like enough.

  What if it broke through?

  What if it followed him?

  Crys ran—anything to get farther from the left room—

  straight for the door ahead—the one he hadn’t opened yet—and grabbed the knob.

  Crys started to throw open the front door—

  then froze halfway.

  A faint murmur drifted from inside.

  He eased it open just a crack and looked through.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the soft light inside,

  but the space beyond felt larger than anything he’d seen so far.

  A grown-up lounge—

  that was his first thought.

  Tables and deep, easy chairs to the right.

  A bar counter to the left.

  Behind the counter stood a young man with long hair.

  Farther back, two figures sat close together, talking shoulder to shoulder.

  Blond hair.

  A white dress.

  Even from here, he knew one of them.

  —Tsitsi.

  But the other one

  he didn’t know.

  His hand stayed tight on the doorknob,

  while his thoughts ran in circles.

  Had the story progressed?

  Was this really a dream?

  The unease from the other rooms—

  the fear—

  none of it had felt fake.

  If this wasn’t a dream,

  then what was it?

  He’d told himself again and again.

  —Tonight, he had been in bed.

  Right before sleep, he’d even thought,

  I might see that dream again.

  As he stood there thinking,

  his fingers tightened without meaning to.

  The door gave a small creak.

  —Damn it.

  He moved to shut it—

  but in that instant,

  Tsitsi looked straight at him

  and smiled.

  The man behind the counter noticed her gaze,

  turned,

  and spoke—softly.

  “Come in.”

  Not loud.

  Not forceful.

  And yet,

  it carried an authority—something he couldn’t help obeying.

  Crys forgot the option of running.

  He couldn’t resist.

  He stepped inside,

  went down five marble steps,

  then crossed the polished mahogany floor

  as quietly as he could.

  “Alright. I’m heading out.”

  The moment Crys turned toward the voice,

  he froze.

  A boy stood up—

  a boy who looked too much like him.

  Face.

  Build.

  Everything.

  More than in a mirror.

  As he passed,

  the boy paused

  and flicked him a glance—cold, almost mocking.

  Then, as if nothing had happened,

  he walked out through the same door Crys had entered.

  Crys stayed pinned there,

  staring at the reddish-brown door.

  —What was that?

  “He’s your guide.

  Now—please.”

  The young man behind the counter said it,

  as if he’d read Crys’s thoughts.

  Crys sat where the boy had been.

  Tsitsi smiled again.

  “I’ve been waiting.”

  “What is this place?”

  After opening the doors on either side of the Room of the Heart,

  Crys had been left with a restlessness he couldn’t shake.

  So seeing Tsitsi here

  made relief wash through him.

  He had a thousand things he wanted to ask, but what came out first was this.

  Tsitsi answered

  as if she’d been waiting for it.

  “This is your Olam.

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  A place that connects to ours.”

  “Olam?”

  The word was unfamiliar.

  Crys tilted his head.

  “In your language,” Tsitsi said,

  “it would be… a world.

  Everyone has a Room of the Heart, but very few carry an entire world inside them.”

  “For now, I’ve tweaked it a little—just to make it easier for me to work with,” the young man added lightly.

  “My world…?”

  Crys blinked, confused.

  “I’m not following.”

  Tsitsi looked like she’d explained enough—

  which only made Crys more honest.

  The young man cut in again.

  “Exactly what it sounds like.”

  “Chutsu—” he began, then corrected himself,

  “an Olam… a world… ruled by laws different from yours,

  is a place where thoughts take shape quickly.

  This is your world.”

  Words he’d never heard before passed between them as if they were obvious.

  Crys’s head started to swim.

  The Room of the Heart—

  and now this.

  A world inside him.

  Thoughts turning into form.

  Nobody talked like that.

  If he stayed here any longer,

  they’d fill his head with nothing but this kind of nonsense.

  Crys hated it.

  He started to rise—

  to go back the way he’d come—

  but the thing he’d seen behind the left door

  flashed across his mind.

  So he sat back down.

  What if that blackness

  had already spilled into the central room?

  And more than anything—

  what was it?

  Crys turned to Tsitsi,

  who was still smiling,

  and asked.

  “Earlier, you said something about the doors. Like—where each one leads.”

  “The right door leads to the self beside you.

  The door ahead leads to your world.

  The left door leads to the self beside you.”

  “Yeah. That.”

  Crys thought for a moment,

  then said,

  “That room is my Room of the Heart, right?

  Are all of them like that?”

  “The wallpaper, the ornaments, the size—those differ,” Tsitsi said.

  “Some have stairs instead of an elevator.

  But the glass case is the same.

  And what it holds—what symbolizes them—doesn’t change.”

  “And the doors?”

  Tsitsi’s smile deepened,

  bright with something pleased—

  like he’d finally noticed

  what she’d wanted him to.

  “Those doors are visible from the start only to those who carry an Olam.

  In truth, anyone can access their other selves…

  but few ever do so consciously.”

  Tsitsi probably thought she was being careful with her explanation.

  But the more information she added,

  the more Crys’s thoughts tangled.

  So he pushed forward only what he wanted to know—

  straight, blunt.

  “Tsitsi. Do you know what’s behind those doors?”

  “I do.”

  “I get that the front door leads to my world. …You mean this place, right?”

  Tsitsi narrowed her eyes and nodded, slow and certain.

  “Then what about the doors on the right and the left?”

  Crys sped up without meaning to, pulled along by the memory.

  “The right one—where does it connect? It was someone’s Room of the Heart, right? So it should’ve looked different depending on the person. Why did it look almost exactly like mine—except for the glass case?

  And the left room—what was that thing inside the clock?

  When I looked, it started slamming the glass—like, bang bang—”

  —It was terrifying.

  The words nearly slipped out.

  Crys shut his mouth hard.

  He didn’t want a girl who looked younger than him

  to realize he was scared.

  Tsitsi answered without seeming bothered,

  her golden hair swaying.

  “The right door leads to the you beside you.

  The left door leads to the you beside you.

  Even if you forget it, you’ll remember when you need to.”

  “So you’re not telling me now?”

  When I need to.

  Like there’d be a next time.

  Like he’d be opening those doors again someday.

  A chill ran through him.

  Magic was better than horror—no. That wasn’t true.

  Not when it wasn’t on a screen.

  Not when it happened to your body.

  He’d almost been attacked,

  and still didn’t know what it was.

  And next time he came back to the Room of the Heart,

  Tsitsi might not be here.

  Crys pushed on.

  “Then at least tell me about the thing behind the left door.”

  “It’s like a game. There’s an order to what gets revealed.

  The doors are still too early for you.”

  Tsitsi smiled—

  mischievous, like she knew him too well.

  “Olam is the same.

  I didn’t tell you right away because I thought I should wait—

  until you felt this as reality,

  until you chose to come here again.

  As long as you think it’s a dream, you can’t use Koah well.”

  “I don’t know what Koah is, but…

  you’re saying I think this isn’t a dream?”

  “That is why you’re here.”

  Looking at her, Nash’s words came back to him.

  —A dream is a dream.

  That day, Crys had refused to let go.

  It was real.

  Even now,

  this felt like reality.

  But if it wasn’t a dream

  and not some virtual world—

  then what was it?

  Crys asked.

  “If it’s not a dream, then what is this?”

  “I said it already. This is your Olam, and at the same time your world—”

  Tsitsi stopped mid-sentence,

  and glanced to the young man behind the counter,

  just a little troubled.

  “Baalh… how should I say it?”

  The man—Baalh—nodded politely,

  then turned a gentle face toward Crys.

  “If I explain Olam in terms closer to how you think—

  it’s a space between the conscious mind and the unconscious.

  A place where thoughts can reflect into the real world more easily.

  You access it through sleep, so it resembles a dream…

  but Olam and dreams point to different realms.

  Strictly speaking, they aren’t the same thing.”

  He said it calmly.

  “This place exists inside your mind—and in reality, too.”

  It was too much.

  Crys’s head swam.

  He forced what he’d heard into his own words,

  turned it over again and again.

  “So…

  it’s inside my head, but it’s real.

  And you two… really exist.

  Then who are you?”

  This time,

  Baalh answered in Tsitsi’s place.

  “I’m a Nahal. In your language—Guide.

  We come from the first world, where humans and Nahal coexist,

  where all realities take shape from the beginning—

  the True One World:

  Emet Echad Olam.”

  “A world where humans and Guides coexist…?”

  Baalh had called that boy earlier a Guide too.

  Crys had assumed it meant a role.

  A program.

  But no.

  Baalh spoke of Guides

  as something separate from humans.

  Crys’s mind dredged up an old memory on its own.

  A book he’d read long ago.

  A kind of guardian spirit—

  attached to a person, watching over them.

  A world where that kind of thing exists.

  A world connected to his own mind.

  Crys’s face shifted into something that said,

  I don’t want to be involved.

  “So… why are you here?”

  “I told you. I’m a Guide.”

  Baalh said it with a straight face—

  and the way he said it made it clear he meant it literally.

  “For what?”

  “So you can learn to use Koah.”

  “Koah is the power of thought.”

  Tsitsi said it like it was obvious.

  As Crys stared at that meaningless word,

  Baalh added, flat and simple.

  “The power of thought.”

  “That doesn’t exist.

  Nothing I wished for ever came true.”

  “You’ve only forgotten,” Tsitsi said.

  “When you saw the world’s true shape,

  you understood that power.”

  “I didn’t understand anything.”

  Crys cut over her,

  his voice rising.

  “The only reason it felt like my wishes came true

  was because Mom and Dad made it happen.

  After Mom died, and Dad stopped doing anything—

  not a single wish ever came true.”

  “No, Crys.

  Everything went exactly as you wanted.”

  Tsitsi said it quietly.

  “The strangers you passed being in a bad mood.

  Getting caught in a downpour.

  No ice cream in the freezer.

  All of it—

  because you thought it should be so.”

  “So what, then?

  You’re saying all my bad luck is my fault?”

  “Of course not everything was caused by your thoughts alone.

  But there were many times you used your power wrongly.

  That’s why you need to learn.”

  She didn’t deny it.

  For the first time in a long while,

  nausea rose hard enough to flip his stomach.

  Crys spat the words out.

  “Power of thought. Sure. Sounds like something I’d need.

  If it lets me wake up from this stupid dream already—

  and forget it.”

  “Of course.

  That’s possible too—

  if that is what you truly want.”

  The moment Tsitsi said it,

  that horrible drowsiness hit Crys again.

  He clenched his teeth,

  fighting it.

  Sure, he’d said he wanted to wake up.

  But if he fell asleep here—

  he felt like he’d be taken somewhere worse.

  He braced an elbow on the counter,

  trying to hold his body upright as it tipped.

  But his forehead sank onto his arm.

  Strength drained out of him.

  He tried to force his eyes open,

  but his vision narrowed

  until it turned black.

  At the end,

  Crys thought Tsitsi said something—

  like a promise.

  But he couldn’t tell what it was.