1. Tix

Istood surrounded by a dark whirlwind of shrieking figures.

The Vesperan, as they were named in the legends of my people, had large membranous wings and sharp, beady eyes that glinted with malice.

Their grotesque silhouettes spun around me, their razor-sharp teeth reaching out as if to snap the very life out of me.

Despite the situation, my heart remained calm as the hum of a ball of light vibrated from the palm of my hand.

The glow spread outwards, illuminating the sinister faces of the Vesperan, forcing them back with every wave.

They hissed and screamed, unable to get close, yet their numbers seemed endless.

The cool breeze that came with the creatures carried their musty odor — a mix of decaying leaves and old leather.

Their screeches were almost deafening, a chaotic symphony of horror.

I knew these creatures were not real.

They were a figment of the imagination — but not my own.

From somewhere amidst the Vesperan, a terrified scream rang out, youthful and full of fear.

I swung my light towards the direction of the sound, dispelling the creatures and revealing a small, quivering figure on the ground.

The boy looked to be about six or seven.

He was not a Griun, that much was evident.

His skin shimmered in shades of iridescent blue and violet.

Large, round eyes dominated his face, the irises a deep shade of green, now filled with tears.

Two delicate antennae protruded from his forehead, twitching nervously.

His clothes, although tattered from his ordeal, were made of a translucent, shimmery material that reminded me of silk.

I knelt beside the boy, my light still glowing protectively.

"Hey there," I whispered gently, my voice a soothing balm against the residual screeches of the Vesperan. "It's okay now. They can't hurt you anymore."

The boy's wide eyes looked up, searching my face. "Are… are they gone?" he stuttered, his voice trembling.

I nodded, raising my hand high.

With a swift motion, I sent out a radiant pulse from my light, scattering the last remnants of the disgusting creatures.

The entire realm seemed to shimmer, then settled into silence. "Gone," I confirmed, flashing a reassuring smile.

The boy sighed, his small body sagging in relief. "Thank you," he whispered, exhaustion evident in his voice.

And then, without any warning, his eyes rolled back, and he crumpled onto the floor, instantly lost to sleep.

I watched him for a moment, my own senses tingling.

The touch of the boy's skin had felt cool, yet it sent warm waves down my spine.

The boy's scent, a combination of fresh spring and a hint of something more exotic, remained imprinted on my senses.

Then the landscape around me began to shift, the world of the Vesperan and the terrified boy blurring and fading.

Soon, the familiar cold steel bars of Ikmal prison surrounded me.

This wasn't the real world either.

I was still in the dreamworld.

* * *

My heart racedas I stood before the male.

Even with all the changes that maturity had brought, there was no mistaking him.

It was the same boy from the dream, now fully grown.

His iridescent blue-violet skin glowed softly in the dim light, and the familiar large green eyes were now closed in peaceful slumber.

There was an odd beauty in seeing this being asleep — a graceful serenity that wasn't often found within the bleak walls of Ikmal prison.

I blinked and suddenly, the prisoner wasn't lying on his back any longer but on his side.

That happened often in the dreamworld.

When something changed in the real world, the dreamworld took a moment to reset itself, as if it worked with a slight timelapse.

I had to remind myself that this was a service I was offering.

A luxury, to be precise.

I had found a way to harness the dreamworld, providing solace to those who could afford it.

And in return, they'd compensate me with whatever precious belongings they'd smuggled into or acquired within the prison.

I leaned close, warmth radiating from the alien.

His aroma, which once reminded me of spring, had matured into a heady mix of moss, ripe fruits, and that indefinable exotic note.

The sight of the peaceful alien brought back a rush of memories from our first encounter, and for a moment, I allowed myself to get lost in it.

The beast stirred lightly, making a low murmuring sound, still he didn't wake.

The relief in his expression was evident.

The dark shadows of exhaustion and stress that often marked the faces of the prisoners in Ikmal had faded.

He would wake up refreshed, having had a rare night of undisturbed sleep, free from the nightmares that haunted many of the prison's occupants.

I took pride in that.

Pushing off from the cell wall, I stepped into the hall.

The dreamworld of Ikmal was an eerie reflection of the physical realm.

Everything seemed to have a surreal, hazy quality, like a painting that was still wet, its colors ready to bleed with a single touch.

It was also alive in a way the waking world wasn't.

Each cell's occupant radiated differently, pulsating with emotions and energies.

I could sense them all.

One cell radiated with a golden warmth, the delicious aroma of a festive family meal wafting out.

There was laughter, love, and a nostalgia that tugged at my heart.

A few cells down, the door was ice cold.

I could hear the wind howling, and feel the chill bite at my fingers.

The pungent stink of sweat and rusted metal reached me, telling tales of some long-ago battle and the scars it left behind.

Another door vibrated with anger, the air around it thick and hard to breathe.

I moved silently through the corridor, a guardian of dreams, ensuring that each prisoner who'd paid for my services received a peaceful night's rest.

The dreamworld was my domain, a place where I held power and influence.

It was an escape from the harsh reality of the prison, and I relished every moment I spent in it.

But it wasn't just about the power.

It was about connection.

In the waking world, prisoners were often reduced to mere numbers, stripped of their individuality.

Here, in the dreamworld, each dream was unique, each prisoner an individual with their own story to tell.

The dreamworld's corridor extended before me, doors on either side, each a portal to a different universe of emotions, memories, and desires.

I felt drawn to one particular door, different from the rest.

It wasn't shiny or adorned but rather aged and withered, its surface cracked and worn out.

This cell door radiated with an almost magnetic pull, inviting yet intimidating.

I approached and pushed against the door.

It creaked open, revealing the prisoner sleeping on his cot.

I sought his dream and stepped into his dreamscape.

Being a dream door, it gave the illusion of swinging open as any other, even though there was no real physical substance to it.

The very feel of the door handle was cold and metallic, slightly grainy against my fingers.

I cracked it open, and the temperature rose instantly, and a rush of hot air greeted me, carrying the musty whiff of fluffy teddy bears and the tang of sticky toys.

Dark, shadowy figures danced on the periphery of my vision.

Sounds of crying, distant flames, and tiny hurried footsteps.

I could feel the weight of a thousand watchful eyes upon me.

At the heart of this dark maelstrom was the figure of an old prisoner, a Griun, tossing and turning in his cot, eyes shut and rolling with despair.

This was Uhah, the oldest prisoner in Ikmal.

I had heard stories about him — tales of a Griun who had been here for as long as anyone could remember, though nobody really knew what his crime had been.

Some said he was dangerous; others claimed he was innocent, a scapegoat for crimes he didn't commit.

The truth was locked away in the very dreamscape I found myself on the cusp of.

I'd learned some of Uhah's secrets, but the full truth still escaped me after all this time.

Uhah's nightmare was a cacophony of emotions.

Fear, sadness, anger, and most of all, regret — they all weaved in and out, creating a tapestry of torment.

Amidst the chaos, there was something else.

A glimmer, a secret, something so potent that the mere hint of it sent shivers down my spine.

It was the key to Uhah's past, perhaps even the reason for his incarceration, and it was the one thing I hadn't been able to access.

I pulled the dream door shut.

Not tonight, I decided.

I had moved through it countless times and never gotten to the bottom of it, so why would trying again now make any difference?

I shifted, and Uhah's cell phased out like an out-of-focus holo-photo before reforming into another location.

The transition was seamless.

One moment I stood in Uhah's cell, and the next, I was surrounded by the wide-open expanse of the fighting pits.

The arena stretched out, its sand-streaked grounds bathed in the cool glow of the dreamworld's eternal twilight.

The air was thick with anticipation, but all was silent.

There were no jeering crowds, no shouts of pain or triumph, just an overwhelming sense of calm.

I felt the sand beneath my feet, cool and slightly gritty.

Each grain seemed to tell a story of battles fought, of blood spilled, and of dreams crushed or fulfilled.

The familiar aura of metal and sweat was absent.

Instead, the light aroma of rain on parched earth filled my nostrils, evoking memories of a world outside the prison.

Every now and then, the serene landscape would be disrupted by the flickering image of a prisoner, usually mid-battle, his face contorted with effort and aggression.

They appeared out of nowhere, ghostly and ethereal, only to vanish as suddenly as they came.

These were the dreamers, prisoners who, in the depths of their slumber, were reliving their moments in the pits.

Each hoped for a victorious outcome, for the right to claim their Prize.

I shook my head.

The allure of the pits, the promise of a Prize, had led many to their downfall.

For some, it was the desperate need to prove their worth; for others, a hope for some semblance of connection.

In the harsh world of Ikmal, Prizes were one of the few comforts, a fleeting moment of companionship in an otherwise lonely existence.

As I walked the periphery of the fighting grounds, the salty taste of the sweat and blood that once soaked this arena seemed to hang in the air, a haunting aftertaste of the brutal battles that played out day after day.

I was no fighter.

I had no desire to prove my mettle in the pits, to risk life and limb for the chance at a Prize.

Because I had discovered a far more intimate and risk-free way to connect.

Through dreams.

The Prizes, like all in Ikmal, slumbered.

And their dreams were as varied as the stars, filled with hopes, fears, past experiences, and hidden desires.

I had honed my skill, mastering the art of entering and navigating these dreams.

I offered solace, a reprieve from the daily grind, a chance for the Prizes to experience joy, excitement, or simply peace.

In return, I felt their emotions, basking in the warmth of genuine human interaction… and sexual satisfaction.

* * *

The sensationof shifting always felt the same to me.

A gentle tug at the pit of my stomach, a rush of images and sounds, and then a serene stillness as the new dreamworld formed around me.

This time, I found myself in the dreamworld of the Prize Pool.

It was an undulating sea of cerulean and gold, a shimmering mirage of light that pulsed with the dreams and desires of the Prizes.

The floor beneath me was soft, almost spongy, yielding slightly underfoot, and the air was thick with blossoming jasmine.

Every now and then, the serene landscape would ripple, and the figure of a female would emerge, her form wavering like a mirage.

These were the Prizes, their dreams temporarily grounding them in this shared dreamscape.

Some were deep in thought, lost in their fantasies, while others looked around, their eyes filled with wonder and uncertainty.

They all appeared for an instant and were gone just as quickly.

I approached slowly, waiting for the one Prize whose dream resonated with my own desire for satisfaction.

The feeling was mutual; the Prizes were seeking a partner for a romantic encounter, and I was more than willing to step into that role.

The sensation was tantalizing — sweet notes of vanilla and amber wafted through the air with every appearance, awakening a longing in me.

The faint murmur of a lullaby or a lover's whisper teased my ears, a fleeting promise of companionship in this dreamscape.

Then, a flicker caught my attention.

A figure, flickering like the others, yet distinct.

Her presence was unyielding, her form solidifying like dew forming on the petals of a morning bloom.

She was tall, with a slender build, giving her an ethereal grace.

Her hair fell down her back, shimmering and refracting the dreamworld's ambient light like strands of silk.

Her eyes, a deep shade of cerulean blue, held depths of knowledge, curiosity, and intelligence.

They reminded me of a serene ocean, one that has seen countless dawns and heard myriad tales.

Her attire was simple yet elegant — a dress that seemed to be made of shimmering stardust, casting tiny luminous reflections that danced around her.

But what captivated me the most was the serene confidence with which she stood.

It was as if she was as aware of this dreamscape just as I was, a fact that seemed impossible, given that no one else in the prison had displayed any signs of being able to dreamwalk.

My heart raced.

The taste of anticipation, a mix of excitement and a touch of fear, filled my mouth.

I could smell the sweet fragrance that seemed to emanate from her, a perfume of wildflowers and a hint of mystery.

The soft hum of the dreamworld seemed louder in her presence, like the background score to a moment of revelation.

Our gazes met, and the world seemed to still…

Surprise?

Recognition?

I couldn't place the emotion in her eyes, but the connection was palpable.

The distance between us, although mere dreamworld steps, felt vast, like the expanse of a universe, yet charged with an intensity that drew us closer.

For a few eternal seconds, we just stared, neither making a move.

We both expected the other to flicker away and disappear as every other dreamer did.

The moment stretched until there could be no doubt — we were both dreamwalkers!

Her eyes bolted open in shock.

No doubt my expression looked the same.

I recovered faster and asked: "Who are you?"

And in that instant, she winked out of existence.

I stood rooted, the warmth of our brief connection still lingering, the soft sounds of the dreamworld echoing in my ears, and the rich, mysterious scent she left behind enveloping me.

I was no stranger to surprises, but this… this was different.

A fellow dreamwalker, and not just any dreamwalker — a Prize.

My mind raced.

If she was indeed like me, could she access my dreams?

Could she learn my secrets?

The implications were immense.

In a prison like Ikmal, knowledge was power, and the knowledge of my abilities could be a weapon in the wrong hands.

My immediate instinct was to retreat, to shield myself, and lay low.

Her pull was undeniable.

The touch of her gaze, the enigma she presented, the melody of her presence, her tantalizing essence, all beckoned me forth.

Curiosity, that insatiable flame, burned bright.

I needed to know more about her, to understand her abilities, and perhaps, form an alliance or at least an understanding.

To seek her out, I would have to do what I had, for so long, managed to avoid; and fight in the pits.

I wasn't about to head into them without the proper preparation.

I sighed.

I had hoped to enjoy the companionship of a Prize and then turn in for the night.

Instead, I had a long night of sabotage ahead of me.

Rest, fellow dreamwalker.

For it won't be long before we're reunited once more.