The red arrow gave a light chime

  and clicked fully to the right.

  Finally—

  it stopped.

  Golden vines slid back with a soft shrrk, retracting into the gap on the right,

  and Crys slowly opened his eyes,

  as if they still hurt from how tightly he’d squeezed them shut.

  Then—

  the sight in front of him stole his words.

  Everywhere he looked was white.

  Brilliant.

  Empty.

  It seemed to stretch on forever.

  Left.

  Right.

  Even when he turned around—

  all opalescent,

  all the same.

  A silence like a morning after snowfall

  spread without end.

  It was too pure.

  Pure enough

  to be frightening.

  Crys knew it instantly.

  —This isn’t a place I’m supposed to be.

  A helplessness—like being thrown out naked—

  spread under his skin.

  For a while he stayed inside the cage,

  staring into the blinding space.

  No matter how long he waited,

  nothing appeared.

  No presence.

  No footsteps.

  The elevator didn’t move, either.

  Crys stepped out,

  careful.

  A breeze brushed his forehead.

  From where?

  He looked around,

  but there was nothing like a window.

  He couldn’t even tell

  whether this was indoors or out.

  And then he realized—

  mist.

  It drifted through the air.

  It glowed faintly on its own,

  as if it were lighting the space.

  When he walked,

  it clung to his skin.

  Close to his ears,

  it made a soft fizzing sound,

  like carbonated bubbles popping.

  In a place that was neither warm nor cold,

  he moved slowly—

  like walking through water.

  Then.

  A faint mechanical sound

  behind him.

  In this silence,

  even that tiny sound rang too loud.

  Crys turned—

  and his eyes widened.

  The elevator he’d been riding

  was already rising,

  back the way it came.

  “Wait!”

  The moment he shouted,

  his legs were already moving.

  But the elevator didn’t stop.

  By the time Crys reached where it had been,

  it had climbed so high

  he had to crane his neck to see it.

  “No way…!”

  He stood there,

  watching it melt into the white.

  That was it.

  He couldn’t ride it back.

  Crys looked out again—

  over the endless white—

  and despair seeped in.

  If this was outside,

  there was no path,

  like the Antarctic.

  Like the surface of the moon.

  If it was a building,

  there were no doors anywhere.

  —So how do I get out?

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  He forced himself not to panic,

  blew out one long breath.

  Eyes shut,

  he told himself:

  This is a dream.

  Maybe the strangest one yet,

  but still—

  a dream.

  Until he woke up,

  he could either walk around

  or wait here.

  That was all.

  Standing still felt worse.

  Finding even one clue

  would at least keep him from falling apart.

  Crys opened his eyes

  and looked around again.

  Still nothing.

  Then at least—

  toward the side

  where the elevator doors had opened.

  He turned

  and started walking.

  He couldn’t tell if time was moving

  or stopped.

  No matter how far he went,

  the scenery didn’t change—

  only white.

  He couldn’t even tell

  if he was going straight

  or drifting off.

  Still,

  he kept going,

  wordless.

  —But no shadow appeared.

  Not one.

  Little by little,

  he began to think he’d made the wrong choice.

  Walking around a place with no clues

  wasn’t smart.

  Maybe if he’d stayed there,

  the elevator would’ve come back down.

  The thought made his stride hesitate,

  smaller,

  smaller—

  until he stopped.

  Then he turned back.

  As he walked,

  heat climbed into his head.

  Tsitsi.

  The elevator.

  This meaningless space—

  why the hell

  did a stupid dream get to throw him around like this?

  Let me sleep when I want.

  Let me wake up when I want.

  And if not—

  then just get me out of here already

  and let me move on.

  He hadn’t gone far

  when he noticed the glowing mist

  being pushed by wind.

  He looked where it was flowing.

  An opalescent white

  that shone like a rainbow—

  and yet somehow felt like it held

  every color at once.

  The mist gathered from all sides

  into one place

  and began to whirl.

  The center swelled,

  like a cocoon of light.

  Crys stared as the small spiral grew—

  bigger than a person—

  and took a few steps back,

  not wanting to be pulled in.

  That was when he noticed—

  stairs,

  beneath the cocoon.

  They stretched so far

  he couldn’t see the end.

  Upward so high

  he couldn’t see the top.

  As if they’d been there from the start.

  Even though—

  a moment ago—

  there’d been nothing.

  In a world this white,

  not noticing the shadow of steps—

  was that even possible?

  While he stood there, wary,

  the mist cocoon swelled larger still.

  As the mist thinned,

  something began taking shape

  in the empty space.

  Before it fully cleared,

  Crys already knew what it was.

  Another elevator—

  the same birdcage structure,

  domed at the top—

  the same kind of thing

  that had carried him here.

  Only the color was different.

  Not the dull, heavy gold—

  but opalescent white.

  And the decoration wasn’t ornate.

  It was clean.

  Simple.

  It wasn’t the one he’d ridden.

  But it was close enough.

  So if he got in—

  would it take him somewhere else?

  No guarantee it would be anywhere sane.

  But still—

  better than staying here.

  Thinking that,

  he placed a foot on the first step—

  and that was when it happened.

  “You’re not meant to go there yet.”

  In a silence deep enough to swallow even breath,

  a man’s voice suddenly cut in.

  Startled, Crys turned instinctively.

  There—stood a man, gleaming like gold.

  Crys couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  He squeezed his eyes shut—hard—once,

  then opened them again slowly,

  as if testing reality.

  The light was gone.

  No—

  it hadn’t been there to begin with.

  It was the cloak.

  The golden mantle he wore had looked like light itself.

  Hair the color of the sun.

  His beard the same.

  He smiled gently,

  and yet something in him carried the weight of authority.

  On his left chest,

  a brooch—sunstone set into an opalescent base—caught the pale glow.

  The man stroked his beard,

  watching Crys blink and stare as though it amused him—

  then, as if remembering something, he glanced around.

  “Where is your Nahal?”

  Crys tilted his head, lost.

  The man’s brow tightened a fraction.

  “I was told Barneri visited your Olam.

  He should have met your guide as well.

  Nahal—your guide.”

  “Um… I think you may have the wrong person.”

  He’d meant it politely.

  But the man’s frown deepened, and he studied Crys with suspicion.

  “Barneri has long silver hair.

  Eyes like a razor’s edge.

  And his clothes… yes. He favors the look of a sommelier.

  Do you truly not recall him?”

  In that instant,

  forgotten memory surged back like it had never been gone.

  The young man in the room called Olam.

  The one who’d called a boy—who looked just like Crys—his “guide.”

  “Barneri… you mean Baar?”

  “Yes.”

  Crys finally nodded.

  “I know Baar.

  I’ve seen the… guide thing.

  But I’ve never spoken to him.

  And I don’t know where he is now.”

  “That does sound like you two.”

  The man winked—like sharing a private joke—

  then turned and reached into the empty white.

  A seam split the air.

  Slowly, it widened.

  When it opened wide enough for one person to pass through,

  there was only more white on the other side.

  The man stepped over the boundary,

  looked back,

  and motioned for Crys to follow.

  —That might’ve been the way back.

  Crys glanced over his shoulder toward where the elevator had been.

  But trusting something that could lead anywhere

  felt worse than following someone he could at least talk to.

  So he went after the man.

  Beyond the boundary,

  it was the same white space he’d seen before.

  But now there were walls.

  A door.

  This was a room.

  Everything—furniture, walls—

  was unified in a strange white,

  like the world had been washed and left untouched.

  High above was a round window.

  Opalescent stained glass.

  Beneath it sat a chair too grand for any human—

  and a heavy desk fit for a ruler.

  It looked like an office.

  A high-ranking one.

  The man strode to the door, cloak swaying as if it had weight of its own,

  and with one hand—easily—

  opened what should have been far too heavy.

  Then he looked back.

  “Come. We are already quite behind.”

  He said it like a verdict

  and went through first.

  Leaving the bright room for the dim hallway,

  Crys narrowed his eyes as they adjusted.

  For a second, he hesitated.

  No explanation.

  No destination.

  But the man’s silhouette was already dissolving into shadow,

  and Crys hurried after him.

  The corridor was as wide as a hall.

  Only two sets of footsteps echoed—

  and, sometimes,

  the soft scrape of cloak against stone.

  Even when Crys waited for an opening to speak,

  the man stayed silent,

  his attention fixed on moving forward.

  As Crys’s eyes adjusted,

  he finally had room to look around.

  Moonlight poured through ornate windows,

  casting strange patterns across the floor.

  The place felt like a museum.

  Or a castle.

  The pillars and walls looked like white ice—

  but not like any ice he’d ever seen.

  Eventually, a circular hall opened at the end,

  and a spiral staircase led downward.

  But the man didn’t take it.

  He stopped at the edge of the open space

  and turned back to Crys.

  Crys stared, dumbfounded, at the man’s feet.

  —Floating?

  That couldn’t be.

  But when he looked closer,

  something like scribbled letters—childish, jagged—

  glowed opalescent in the air.

  The man stood on that light,

  waiting.

  Crys reached out with a foot, cautious,

  felt something—something solid—

  and then, pretending calm, stepped beside him.

  The next instant,

  the transparent floor beneath the glowing script began to descend,

  like an elevator.

  “…!”

  A scream surged up his throat.

  He swallowed it.

  Then he asked the man—

  “Where are we going?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.”

  The man answered cheerfully,

  as if their silence until now had been a lie.

  “You have not spoken with your Nahal.”

  Then, still with that almost cheerful tone—

  “This is Emet Echad Olam.

  The True One World—

  the place where the foundations of our reality are formed.

  You have been chosen as a Rofeh.

  One who alters reality.

  And where we are going now

  is the great hall

  where this year’s Rofeh gather.”

  So the dream was getting bigger, apparently.

  Altering reality—

  even kids’ anime didn’t say that anymore.

  And on top of that,

  he was dragging in the setting Baar had talked about before.

  Half impressed,

  half exhausted,

  Crys felt his mouth twist.

  “And?”

  “What exactly am I changing?

  Because if my writing grade goes from a C to an A,

  then sure—being chosen as a Rofeh was worth it.”

  This man was a dream, too.

  Obviously.

  Emboldened by that,

  Crys let the sarcasm breathe.

  The man didn’t look offended.

  He smiled,

  like a teacher indulging a bright but stubborn student.

  “If you wish to believe it is a dream,

  that is your right.

  But if you would like to be seen as someone sensible,

  I would not recommend declaring that here.

  What you are experiencing is—

  without question—

  reality.”

  “It can’t be,” Crys shot back.

  “I was literally in bed a second ago.”

  “A common route into this world.”

  The man nodded, as if it settled everything.

  “I would gladly indulge you until you are satisfied.

  But later.

  As I said—

  we are in a hurry.”

  The moment the glowing floor reached the bottom,

  the man swept forward again,

  cloak flaring,

  gliding down yet another long hallway.

  Crys didn’t want to follow.

  And yet his feet moved anyway,

  as if pulled.

  Don’t follow strangers.

  That’s what they say.

  If it felt suspicious,

  maybe doing the opposite would wake him up.

  Turning back now—

  returning to the elevator—

  back to something that might never come again,

  might never have even existed—

  Was that better?

  His mind kept wavering

  as he walked the long, dark corridor.

  The man finally stopped

  before an enormous door.

  He turned to Crys,

  who lagged behind.

  Despite claiming urgency,

  he didn’t hurry Crys.

  If anything,

  he looked patient—

  like a teacher waiting for a slow student to catch up.

  Crys felt awkward,

  like he’d forgotten homework.

  “Can you take a deep breath?”

  “Could you at least tell me what’s going on?”

  “Whatever I tell you,

  you will not believe.

  Experience is the best teacher.”

  The man turned to the door,

  placed a hand against it,

  and gave it a light push.

  The massive arched door, carved with ornament,

  opened inward with a heavy, dragging sound—

  slowly.