As Proto strolled down the misty blue hallway toward the lounge, it occurred to him that it’d been a while since he’d seen Astrid. They’d visited that fairy dream with the GSIs in the woods. He thought it’d gone well—at least, as well as an absurdist romantic comedy could go. But afterward, she’d disappeared on him, and he hadn’t seen her in the multiple days since then.

  Nor did he see her upon entering the lounge. It was relatively empty, though Lilac of course was present at the bar. A few customers were lined up there to order.

  The pale bartendress looked at him as he entered. He raised a hand and opened his mouth to greet her. But before he could get a word out, she’d quickly turned away and strode toward the coffee machine. Her loosely tied black hair swished behind her as she stepped.

  He let his hand fall and his mouth shut. Well, good morning. He ambled over to a small table and sat down. He generally didn’t like standing in lines, if he could wait nearby instead.

  Absently, he peered at the vast painting on the wall, with the long-bearded old man and that butterfly-winged fairy watching the young swain and maiden on the beach. The sea in the painting looked misty. It reminded Proto of the Sea of Dreams that Lilac had shown him.

  Come to think of it, the young man looked a bit like him, right down to the navy blue and yellow apparel—though, of course, he wasn’t wearing a tracksuit. As for the young woman, her appearance was harder to make out. She was looking away with windswept hair reflecting the sun. Its color was hard to discern, like that online photo of a dress that some people swore was blue and black, and others swore was white and gold.

  “Not thirsty this morning?”

  He blinked and turned. There was Lilac, looking down at him in her French waitress outfit with a little plate in two hands. Atop it was his usual black mug with a white-lacquered crack.

  Maybe it was early morning bleariness, but he found this confusing, given that he hadn’t placed an order. “That’s . . . ” he started, then dumbly paused.

  Her face stayed straight as usual, but her ears went pink. “No point making you order if I know what it’ll be, right?”

  He glanced at the bar. The same customers who’d been waiting in line when he walked in were still waiting there.

  A warm tingling swelled through Proto’s breast. “Exactly right! I approve of this reasoning.” He took a sip. “And this coffee.”

  Her black eyes sparkled. “As you should.” She turned and primly walked back to the bar. There was a hint of bounce to her step, which translated through her skirt’s frilly lace.

  After a moment, his gaze drifted from her back to that painting again. Something else about it seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Not even after several minutes of sipping his coffee and waking up.

  “May I join you?”

  Proto looked over from the painting. Lilac was standing beside the table again. Her two hands were clasped, and her white-stockinged legs were touching at the knee.

  He crooked his head and held out his hands. “Leaving your station unmanned?”

  “Yes. I’ll be five full yards away,” she acknowledged in a surreptitious half-whisper. “I won’t even be able to reach the coffee machine!”

  “Well. Partners in crime then!” he declared. “Have a seat, co-conspirator.”

  She daintily sat down and faced him with a glimmering gaze. But she remained silent.

  Proto tried to think of things to say. But he found his mind kept wandering to the business of the day. “Has Astrid been around? I’m supposed to meet her here for today’s visit.”

  “Oh, Astrid. She left a message for you,” replied Lilac. “She’s busy again. She says that you can take another day off, like the other day. An ‘odyssey’ day.” Her lips curved up. “Or, if you wanted, you could take on an optional visit that she has to miss. But she didn’t think it was necessary for you to go.”

  “An optional . . . ?” Proto began, then frowned. “Wait. I’d be doing this visit alone? Even as a ‘provisional visitor,’ or whatever you called it?”

  “Well, yes. This isn’t an interventional visit. It’s an observational visit,” she explained. “In other words, this isn’t a visit where you have to steer anything the right way. You just watch it and report back.” She glanced away. “If, of course, you decide to. You’re not required to. It didn’t sound like Astrid was too concerned about it.” She looked back at him. “How’s your coffee, by the way?”

  He gave it two thumbs up, then extended his index fingers toward her and made a firing noise. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head at him but smiled.

  She seemed to be waiting for him to say more, but he was lost in thought. Astrid’s absence was beginning to worry him. As well as their visit to the fairy forest had gone, somehow, things had veered off course during their brief exchange afterward.

  It had seemed trivial at the time—maybe some accidental snub that’d soon be forgotten, or maybe just his imagination. But now he was concerned that Astrid was avoiding him.

  Sometimes, when things veer slightly off course, you can end up very far apart, if you don’t course-correct quickly. Proto was starting to worry that he should’ve corrected course much earlier—back when Astrid had strode wordlessly out of the lounge, leaving him behind.

  “Where is she today, anyway?” he asked absently.

  “Hm?” Lilac’s black eyes were fixed intently upon him. “Oh, Astrid? I’m not sure. But she said she didn’t need anything from you today.”

  “Ah.” Proto suppressed a wince. That didn’t sound good.

  As he brooded, Lilac’s lips pressed in thought. “Which means,” she finally said, “you’d have time for a day trip. An odyssey, even. But no rivers of forgetfulness, I promise. Just a little peril and hazard.” She beamed faintly, like a crack of sun between two clouds.

  “Hm?” He’d been pondering how Astrid was a bit like a geode—hard and rough on the outside, but fey and pristine inside. There were some gleaming cracks in her craggy exterior. They showed sometimes when her violet gaze went wide. But the instant she turned away, those shining glimmers from the depths were gone.

  Lilac blinked at him. “Oh, I just said . . . never mind.” She smiled forcedly toward his coffee. “How do you like it?”

  “Oh, I like it here.” There was much more he could say, but his mind was elsewhere right now. “I’m starting to think being a visitor suits me.”

  “Ah.” She took a deep breath and let it out. Then, her two small fists went firm, and she smiled again. “Well, if you want more coffee, let me know. An odyssey takes lots of energy.”

  “Oh, is today’s dream a long one? Did Astrid tell you what it was about?” He very much hoped this visit went well. He felt he was at a point of inflection with her. If he messed up today too badly, things suddenly might become irrecoverable. But what might become irrecoverable? “Does it involve a long trip?”

  “No, I meant—never mind,” said Lilac. “I just mean, with how hard you work, you might need two coffees! And maybe a cocktail afterward.” Her black eyes sparkled.

  “Think I’m good for now,” Proto absently replied. “Probably should pass on cocktails before a visit!”

  “Oh, no, I was saying . . . ” Lilac stared at him and trailed off. “Anyway.”

  “So, did Astrid tell you where my visit is today?” he asked.

  Her lips pressed faintly. “The optional visit is at H4 in the Zone of the Ram.”

  He nodded. He knew what that meant now. The identical twins he’d played cards with, Jet and Jag, had explained room names and locations to him the other day. The system was surprisingly simple. The trickiest part was that the doors seemed unmarked. But in fact, the silvery glow strips on the walls beside them had slight variations to identify which rooms were which.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  He’d also learnt that there was no secret method for opening the white doors, which slid open at Astrid’s and Mayger’s touch but not his own. The doors simply were designed to open only at the touch of a visitor. Not a “provisional visitor” like himself.

  “Sounds good,” replied Proto. “By the way, uh, do I need someone to open the door for me? I’m not a visitor yet. As far as I know.”

  Lilac shook her head. “Since it’s an observational visit, the door should provide observational-level access. Meaning non-visitors can enter unattended. Like, say, you and me.” Her eyes flicked up and met his. “No invitation is necessary or anything.”

  “Hm, helpful to know,” he replied.

  She stared a couple seconds as though waiting for him to say more. “Astrid hadn’t taught you that yet? That non-visitors like you and me, or both, can enter some rooms? Like this one?”

  “Nope,” he sighed. “But I guess I haven’t seen her in a few days. I’m starting to think she might be avoiding me.”

  “ . . . are you concerned?” asked Lilac.

  “I’m starting to be,” said Proto.

  “Yes,” said Lilac after a moment. “It’s probably concerning to go for days without a mentor.”

  “Without a mentor?” he said idly. “Oh, no, Mayger does a good job as substitute.”

  “Ah.” Lilac’s face went blanker. She looked more like she had when he’d first met her.

  He hardly noticed. He had a sinking feeling that he’d messed up a few days ago and was struggling to think of a way to fix things. He sipped his coffee and pondered. “By the way, how long do I have to get to this dream?”

  She checked her watch—a simple black and white circle, but with cat ears—and inhaled sharply. “About two minutes.”

  He blinked and leapt to his feet. As he did so, his arm swept across the table, swatting the black mug with the white-lacquered crack. It flew off the table and struck the floor, fracturing into two pieces—a new crack, not the one that’d been repaired already. His remaining coffee splattered across the tiles.

  Lilac looked at him with wide eyes.

  “Oh.” Frozen in place, Proto stared. He started to reach for the mug’s pieces, then stopped, unsure what to do.

  She faced the broken mug. “You’d best get going,” she said emotionlessly. “You’ll be late.”

  “I . . . don’t have to,” he replied. “Here, let me help—”

  “No. Go. I insist.” She leaned and grabbed the remnants.

  He stared at her, mouth open to speak. But already she was gliding away, one black mug piece in each pale hand, her long black hair swishing behind her.

  Pressing his lips, he forced himself away and into the hallway, jogging to try to make the dream in time.

  It was only now that he realized he might be leaving more behind than the lounge.

  Never had this dream felt realer. Real life involved making choices. And, in the end, failure to choose was also a choice.

  “You haven’t made any choices you can’t take back. Not yet,” Somnus had told him days ago. But what about now?

  As he ran toward the Zone of the Ram, the blue corridors looked mistier than usual. But maybe that was just the dismal bleariness within him, translating itself outward upon the world.

  Sometimes, late at night, you get the weary feeling that everything is wrong, and staying awake longer could only make it worse, and the only possible respite is sleep’s dark oblivion. That’s how Proto felt right now, racing toward the dream realm. But he would find no respite there—no, he was going there to study how the world could go more wrong.

  At least he made it to H4 in Zone of the Ram without having to backtrack. And a good thing too. If his count was right, it’d been nearly two minutes since he’d left the lounge. But somehow, that just made him feel worse, like a warm breeze after being submerged in cold water.

  He tapped the door. It smoothly slid open, seeming slower than it ever had before. He slipped in as soon as he could fit and jogged in through the passage. The world beyond was so mirky that he couldn’t make out what loomed there—not till he had stepped across the threshold.

  He found himself upon a barren plain. The dirt was reddish-brown. Clouds of mist were drifting all about him. But there were gaps between them, almost like tunnels, forming and unforming as the mirk moved.

  Against the black void overhead sparkled a sea of stars—not the sparse dots that blink feebly in cities, but the shining galaxies and nebulae that glitter over deserts and tundras. Their light was enough to give the world color, but only twilit greyish hues.

  So . . . where to? He supposed one direction was as good as another. But he was uneasy with the idea of striding through these mists. They didn’t look harmful—just wisps of whitish grey. And the mists that woke you up in other dreams weren’t just roving clouds like these. Still . . .

  Focusing, he tried to move the mists, the way he could control other dreams. But it had absolutely no effect.

  Frowning, he held out a palm and tried to conjure up the first thing he could think of—caviar and mozzarella sticks, the meal he’d eaten with Mayger, Jet and Jag the other day. A silver platter instantly appeared atop his hand.

  Interesting. This just reinforced his concerns about touching those mists, whatever they were. If the rest of this place worked like a normal dream, why didn’t those mists? He idly cast the platter aside, and it dissipated before it hit the ground.

  At the same time, a snippet of sound broached the mists—a girl singing. Listening closely and catching a few more snippets, he managed to discern where it was coming from.

  It seemed clear that that was where he ought to go. The problem was, a wall of mist loomed between him and her. Probably multiple walls of mist. And there were no apparent tunnels toward her.

  He moved toward the edge of the mists, where the white wisps were dwindling from semilucency to nothing. Cautiously, he leaned about a foot away and took a slight breath.

  Instantly, he felt lightheaded and the world went mottled red-black, like when you stand too quickly and verge on fainting.

  Reeling, he stepped back swiftly and took several breaths. He bowed his head and tensed his muscles so blood would flow back to his brain. Neither seemed to help much, but the dizziness eventually faded.

  Well, that’s odd. It was clear now that this was a different sort of dream. What were those mists?

  There was that voice again. It was barely audible now—probably not even recognizable as a girl singing, if he’d not heard it earlier.

  Grimacing, he scanned for the nearest tunnel heading at least slightly in her direction, then took off toward it.

  He’d always been a good runner. He didn’t even need to speed himself beyond his natural limits to make it through the tunnel before shifting mists sealed it off.

  “Good thing I wore my tracksuit, huh!” he murmured to the misty wastes. It felt satisfying finally to reply to the thousand remarks about his outfit. He rubbed the Saturn logo fondly.

  The voice was still far away, but at least it was discernibly a girl singing again. He searched for more tunnels leading at least somewhat toward her, and this time there were three.

  He started toward one of them, then paused and conjured a glass bottle. “Lady Luck guide me!” he invoked, only half-ironically. He spun the bottle on the ground. It ended up pointing at the leftmost tunnel. “Thanks!” he called toward the heavens, already running toward that tunnel. “I hope.”

  One way or another, this turned out to be a good choice. After winding away from the singing for a minute or so, the tunnel curved back toward it. Soon, the song was growing perceptibly louder by the second.

  “In every petal, You are there,” he heard her singing.

  Judging by the sound, she must be no more than ten yards away now, just across the wall of mists he was facing. No tunnels led toward her. But after a moment of staring vainly at the mirk, he noticed part of it thinning to a gauzelike wispiness. On the other side, he could see a girl’s figure and the redness of her hair.

  “In every vein of every leaf,” came the girl’s voice.

  After an instant’s deliberation, he decided to take the chance. He darted toward the thinning wall and leapt, closing his eyes.

  As he entered the mists, a giddy daze swept over him, despite the fact he was holding his breath. It felt like he’d been launched tumbling through the air. As a result, he lost his bearings and stumbled to his hands and knees on the other side of the mists.

  “In seeming chaos—” the girl was singing, when she abruptly cut off at the sound of Proto scuffing the dirt and exhaling.

  Long red hair fell loose around her face, which was dusted faintly with freckles. Her eyes were shamrock-hued and had a fey curve. Her gossamer tunic of green was loose but clung to her frame, which was slender even for her youth—maybe eighteen years old or so. Clasped in two hands were a bunch of blood-red wildflowers.

  “You . . . ” She squinted at him. Her green gaze had the blazing sheen of starlight.

  Then, she smiled blithely. “Hello there.”

  It occurred to Proto that he should be doing something to fit within the narrative of this dream, rather than standing here dumbly and weirding out this girl.

  “Finally! I was worried I’d never find someone out here,” he ad libbed, exhaling with relief. “My car broke down back there. I tried to find my way back to the road, but I got lost with these mists.”

  She tilted her head at him. “Why are you saying that? We both know this dream for what it is.”

  He blinked. This dream was getting stranger by the second.

  “I’m impressed you made it here,” she went on. “We’re awfully far into the Mists! They drift far across the dream border around here.”

  He stared blankly for a few seconds. “I . . . don’t understand what that means.”

  “That’s okay! You don’t need to,” she answered cheerfully. “But would you like to walk with me? I’m headed this way.” She waved directly toward a wall of mists.

  “Um, I would. But if I tried to walk through those mists, I think I’d wake up,” he replied.

  “Yup, you would. If yours truly weren’t here!” With a sprightly whirl toward the mists, she waved a hand. It glowed red as she did so.

  Instantly, the mists parted into a tunnel before her.

  “After you, Sir,” she gestured with a curtsey—then strode in front of him as he approached. “Just kidding! Try to keep up.” She giggled over her shoulder at his bafflement.

  “The way you cleared those mists,” he said slowly, following her. “I tried to do that earlier, but it didn’t work. Could you teach me how?”

  “Nope, I don’t think so,” she winced and smiled. “But feel free to visit anytime if you want a walk through the Mists! It gets lonely out here.”

  “But wait, how do you know I can’t move the mists like that?” asked Proto.

  “I can see it all around you. Wrong aura.” She pointed at him. “As Gramps would say, ‘You don’t have the proper affinity for that.’” She wheezed these words out in an old man’s warbling tones.

  “But we’re all different. Your aura’s very interesting!” she politely hastened to assure him. “It matches your outfit.” She tapped the tracksuit’s Saturn logo.

  “That’s the first nice remark about my clothes in a long time,” he replied.

  “Don’t let it go to your head, Mister!” she chided lackadaisically, waving toward him. His tracksuit abruptly transformed to a jester’s outfit—navy, yellow and white, complete with a Saturn logo. “Your aura matches this one too.”

  He scanned his garb, then nodded grimly at her. She giggled.

  “I’m going to guess,” he replied to the freckled redhead girl with blood-hued flowers, “going way out on a limb here, that your aura is red.”

  “You can’t see that. How did you . . . ?” she began, tilting her head at him—and then her cheeks went red, as she ran a hand through her hair. “Oh, we’re going to go there, are we Mister! You’ll be seeing a lot more red soon!” She held a glowing palm toward him.