The gate of waking dreams

Every night, the same path. The same drowsy shuffle through the dark, the same half-lidded gaze sliding over the world like water over stone. But tonight—tonight, the air is different. Sharper. The weight of sleep lifts just enough for him to see.

There it is—the castle he has never noticed, though his feet have walked this way a hundred times. The path he has always taken without thought now beckons, humming with the pulse of a thousand dreams waiting to be lived.

He hesitates. (Does he? Or has he always hesitated, and only now remembers?) Then, with a breath that tastes of midnight and possibility, he steps through—into the dreamscape that has always been his.

And this time, he will not forget.