2. Grace

My eyelids fluttered open, the remnants of my dream-world encounter clinging to me like morning dew on spider webs.

For a moment, I felt disoriented, caught between the realm of dreams and the stark reality of Ikmal prison.

The touch of the male's gaze still lingered on my skin, warm and strangely familiar.

A question hung in the air:

Was he real?

I sat up and glanced around the Prize Pool.

Females of various races and appearances were scattered across the cots, expressions lost in deep sleep.

Some have resided here a few decades, having been here long enough to build a sense of camaraderie.

Others, like me, were relatively new, each day giving me something that made my eyes wide with disbelief.

I remembered Earth, my home.

The scent of fresh rain, the sound of birds chirping, the taste of my favorite berry smoothie.

Those days seemed far away now, like a forgotten dream.

Rubbing my temples, I tried to push away the creeping despair.

I focused on the dream I'd just awakened from.

The dreamworld was my only solace, a place where I could be free, even if momentarily.

I'd always been an avid dreamer, and using my dreams as my refuge.

However, today's dream was different.

That male…

Was he a mere flicker or something more?

I remembered our brief exchange of gazes, the way time seemed to stretch, the heightened sense of awareness.

Flickers,by their nature, were transient.

But this felt… enduring.

And when he spoke, I shivered.

Although I had heard flickers speak before, it had always been a grunt or an expletive.

It had never been a fully formed question before!

Determined to find answers, I closed my eyes, willing myself back into the dreamworld.

My senses heightened as I navigated the familiar pathways, my footsteps soundless on the shimmering floor.

The dreamworld Prize Pool was both a reflection of reality and an entity of its own, an amalgamation of memories and wishes.

The environment was notably absent of the male.

Disappointment tinged my senses — the cooling touch of the dreamworld's air against my skin, the faint murmurs of distant dreams resonating like far-off whispers, the peculiar emptiness, the indescribable essence of the void.

I sat down, my mind racing.

If he was indeed real, why was he in the dreamworld now?

Was he just a figment of my imagination, a creation of my lonely heart's desire for a kindred spirit?

Doubt began to creep in, dulling the colors around me, casting a haze over my senses.

Suddenly, I heard a soft rustle, like silk sliding against silk.

Turning swiftly, I saw a small bird with iridescent feathers, its eyes gleaming with intelligence.

The bird landed on my shoulder, chirping a soft, melodic tune.

It was a dreamworld creation, birthed from my subconscious.

I took a moment to stroke the bird's soft feathers, taking comfort from its presence.

The touch was reassuring, grounding.

The bird's song filled my ears, a reminder that not all was lost, and that I still had control over some parts of my reality.

The gentle aroma of the forest, a memory from Earth, enveloped me.

With renewed determination, I decided to explore deeper regions of the dreamworld, hoping to find more clues about the mysterious alien.

Even as I ventured forth, a part of me remained anchored to that brief, electrifying encounter.

Was he real?

The question gnawed at me.

If he was real, then there was someone else in this desolate place who understood, someone else who could traverse the pathways of dreams.

The thought gave me hope.

I also knew that dreams were as unpredictable as they were comforting.

I would have to tread carefully and trust my instincts.

The dreamworld was vast, and finding the male again would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

But I was determined.

Whether he was a flicker or a real dreamwalker, I needed answers.

I needed a connection.

And I was willing to venture into the depths of my dreams to find it.

* * *

The steady humof the Prize Pool faded into the background as I wandered past the rows of sleeping women.

My footsteps, mere impressions on the ethereal floor of the dreamworld, led me to a door which opened with an almost ethereal sigh.

It was a sound I'd come to recognize, the very echoes of forgotten memories.

The room had that peculiar sensation of time standing still, a snapshot of reality within the dream realm.

Dim light from an unseen source cast a glow on the room, revealing dust motes that danced aimlessly.

Despite being a dream construct, the room seemed to have weight and substance to it.

I felt the cool air brush past my face, carrying with it the musty scent of old paper.

This room, an office, was a relic from the past.

It once belonged to the madam of the Prize Pool, the woman who had been the face and force behind the whole operation.

But like many of late, she had vanished.

Rumors said she'd been sold, or worse.

Her sudden absence had left behind an unspoken void, one that the prison authorities were in no hurry to fill.

I felt a twinge of anticipation as I approached the old mahogany desk.

Layers of dust seemed to cloud my vision momentarily, the sensation like watching an old film reel.

Here, in the dream realm, the dust didn't cause my nose to twitch, nor did it settle on my fingertips.

Instead, it was a mere impression of time gone by.

I focused on the scattered documents, each one a potential lead.

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, willing the dreamworld to reveal the truths hidden within the pages.

Information,I fed into my unconscious and, therefore, the dreamworld, give me information.

My fingers tingled, and I held my breath, hoping the universe would grant my silent plea.

Pulling the top sheet, I quickly skimmed through its contents.

The words melted and rearranged themselves, a garbled message of irrelevance.

Disappointment welled up, but I steeled myself for another try.

Well, I did ask for information. I didn't say what specific information I wanted.

I centered myself and tried again.

It was like sipping from a cocktail whose ingredients kept changing.

Every time I pulled up a paper, it morphed, shifting in and out of focus.

This dreamworld, while a refuge from the waking world, came with its own complexities.

Objects, like the flickers, were whimsical, unpredictable.

Two hours seemed to pass like minutes, and still, the elusive piece of information I sought remained just beyond my reach.

The dream office started to dim around me, a sign of my dwindling energy.

My body ached, a distant sensation, as though my very soul was tired.

I remembered my encounter with the other dreamwalker.

The intensity of our brief connection had left an imprint on my mind.

Now, exhaustion overshadowed that curious event.

I needed rest, genuine rest.

Dreamwalking, while it might seem like a form of slumber, was actually quite the opposite.

It was more akin to diving into the deeper layers of consciousness, and it took its toll.

Dragging myself away from the desk, I headed back to my sleeping form in the dreamworld's version of the Prize Pool.

As I approached, the boundaries between the dream and reality started to blur.

As sleep finally overtook me, my last thought was of the flicker.

Who was he?

And would our paths cross again?

* * *

The humof excited chatter buzzed in my ears as I awoke, the aroma of fresh bread tickling my nostrils.

The Prize Pool was in a state of flustered excitement.

This wasn't the usual gossipy hum that resonated through the Prize Pool on any given day; it was different, charged with an electric energy.

I straightened my simple tunic and ran my fingers through my unruly hair, hoping to bring some semblance of order to the golden strands.

The light that usually bathed the Prize Pool in a soft, diffused glow seemed harsher today, more intrusive, casting shadows that flickered and danced.

Moving closer to the viewing window, I saw a group of Prizes huddled together, their gazes fixed intently on the fighting pits.

Their conversations, a melodic blend of languages, were punctuated with words like "fighter" and "new Champion."

"Excuse me," I ventured, tapping the shoulder of a female with shimmering azure scales and six bright eyes. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

She glanced at me, her multifaceted eyes shimmering with intrigue. "You haven't seen it yet? There's a new fighter in the pits, and he's unlike anyone we've ever seen before."

I peered into the pits, the clamor of metal on metal, and the guttural roars filling my ears.

Yet, amidst this symphony of chaos, I couldn't spot the mysterious new fighter.

"He hasn't even swung his sword yet!" she continued, her voice rising in astonishment. "Every opponent that faces him…they just seem to… give up!"

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

In the many days since my abduction to the Prize Pool, I had seen numerous battles — brutal confrontations that left no room for mercy.

How was it possible for a fighter to win without even engaging?

Before I could ponder this mystery further, a new fight was announced.

The crowd's roar intensified, the excitement palpable, as the gates opened to admit the combatants.

On one side, a hulking beast of an opponent, every inch of his body a testament to battles hard-fought and won.

On the other side, a rather unassuming figure, his demeanor calm and composed.

The countdown ended and the battle horn was sounded.

The huge hulking beast drew his massie ax and ran at his opponent.

I watched, heart in my mouth, as the new fighter, instead of drawing his weapon, pulled out a small object from his jacket pocket.

Whatever it was, it had an immediate effect.

The colossal opponent, who seconds ago looked ready to decimate anything in his path, suddenly dropped his weapon, his face contorted in fear.

Without a second thought, he sprinted to the exit and clung to the iron bars, leaving the crowd and his adversary in stunned silence.

Whispers surged through the spectators like a tidal wave, each trying to fathom what had just occurred.

The murmurs reached a fever pitch as the announcer's voice boomed, declaring the mysterious fighter the Champion.

The Prize Pool door groaned open.

The mysterious new victor would soon be coming up the steps to present himself before the Prize Pool and claim one of us.

* * *

The rushto the platforms was a chaotic frenzy, a sea of colors and textures, as each Prize tried to present herself in the best possible light for the new Champion.

The platforms themselves were designed to elevate the Prize, almost like a stage, each one illuminated with a soft glow to make the occupant more alluring.

I could hear the soft rustle of silks and the muted thud of footwear as the Prizes scrambled into position.

The collective of various perfumes — floral, spicy, sweet — merged into an overwhelming cacophony, teasing the nostrils and reminding everyone of the importance of the moment.

I didn't want to be here.

Didn't want to be in this selection line-up.

But like everyone else, I didn't have a choice.

I sighed and forced myself onto my platform, feeling the cool, smooth surface beneath my feet, its texture providing a small solace in the midst of this tense situation.

Hoping to blend into the background, I donned a simple pose, eyes lowered.

It was a delicate balance; if a Prize looked too uninterested, she could be punished.

But then, if she looked too eager… well, that had its own set of complications.

The atmosphere was thick with expectation as the Champion entered the Prize Pool.

You could hear a pin drop.

The only sound was the soft padding of his footsteps on the plush carpet and the occasional whispered comment from the Prizes.

Tentatively, I lifted my gaze, my senses immediately drawn to him.

His presence dominated the room; the subtle, tantalizing aroma that had teased me earlier now felt heady and more pronounced.

A mixture of musk and an exotic fruit I couldn't quite place.

He looked different in the natural light, more… tangible.

His skin, previously a pale blue, now radiated a silver sheen, and those deep cosmic eyes seemed to shimmer with an inner light.

I noted the graceful way he moved, the surety in his steps, the lean muscles evident beneath the fabric of his attire.

There was a beauty in his form, and though I tried to suppress the thought, I found him undeniably handsome.

As he moved closer, the world around me seemed to blur.

All sounds faded away, replaced by the rhythmic beating of my heart.

It felt like everything was in slow motion.

I hoped he would just move past me.

Then, our eyes locked.

A jolt of recognition passed between us, and I suddenly felt very exposed.

Like he could see into the very depths of my soul.

My mouth went dry, and my knees wobbled.

Would they betray me and let me collapse in front of everyone?

He leaned closer, his voice deep yet gentle, sending a ripple of vibrations through me. "Finally," he murmured, his warm breath tickling my ear, "we meet in the flesh."

That voice.

There was no mistaking it.

This was the dreamwalker, the mysterious figure from the dreamworld.

Every doubt, every little uncertainty about his identity, evaporated in that moment.

The next moments were a whirlwind.

He claimed me, sealing our fates together.

The Prizes around us erupted into a chorus of whispers, their silken voices filled with shock, envy, and awe.

The platform beneath me felt solid, grounding me as the reality of my situation sank in.

He offered me his hand, his fingers cool and slightly rough against my palm.

The sensation was electric, and as he pulled me gently off the platform, I realized that the journey ahead was one filled with mysteries, secrets, and possibilities.

In a universe filled with uncertainties and chaos, perhaps this unexpected twist of fate was the cosmic dance's way of saying that every once in a while, dreams really can come true.

Even in the most unexpected of places.