Dream: Check point

Before Charles could leave the room—

"Wait!" Jared stood his ground, his eyes fierce with determination. His jaw clenched, and he turned to Cezar as if he had just found what he truly needed.

Cezar smirked, knowing his tactic had worked. "So, where is the location of the yacht?"

Instead of answering, Jared raised a finger and pointed—not at the map, not at the door, but directly at Cezar.

"I don't want Charles. I want your power," he said, his voice full of ambition. Cezar felt like he was facing a reflection of himself at a much younger age.

Cezar's smirk disappeared instantly, his expression darkening with irritation. "That is out of the question."

"That power… it can command anyone as you like," Jared said, his voice steady. "If I have that, all my problems are solved. So if you want the location of the yacht—give me your power."

For a few seconds, they locked eyes in a silent, intense confrontation. Even if Cezar wanted the location of the yacht badly, giving away his power to command would mean Jared could simply order him to forget about the yacht. That wouldn't give him the advantage he wanted.

"You are in no place to bargain with me, boy. I command you to give me the location of the yacht!" Cezar ordered.

But instead of accepting the command, Jared replied, "Trade it with your power first!"

Cezar growled. He could command anyone, but only [The Mentor's name] was immune to his command. Now, it seemed he had found another exception—someone who was not only immune but bold enough to demand his power.

"You want my power, kid? Well, I'll let you have a taste of it first…" Then Cezar blinked at Charles. "Kill him!"

Charles pulled a knife from a hidden stash. Without holding anything back, he charged at Jared.

Jared didn't succumb. He caught Charles's hand and overpowered him, twisting his wrist until the knife dropped to the floor. Then, in the strange logic of dreams, Jared assumed he had a gun on his waist holster. He drew it and pointed it toward Cezar.

BANG!

Dreams are always weird. Sometimes the scene shifts into something completely different in the blink of an eye.

No more Charles. No more bunker.

It's just a lonely road by the gulf, with a forest on the other side. Someone is holding onto his body. Jared is driving his motorcycle.

He leans backward to feel his lover's body, and the lover holds him tighter.

The lover slowly fades, and Jared is now alone, cruising the gulfside road with sunglasses on his face. He had made a promise with someone—a promise that they would meet. And now, Jared finally has his motorcycle, driving along the path to keep that promise.

The sunset is beautiful. The ocean's ripples reflect the glittering sun rays, creating a breathtaking panorama.

When he sees a gas station, he stops to rest and refill the tank. Looking around, he spots a bar nearby. The sky has slowly turned dark, and the stars have taken over the clear blue sky. Jared decides it's time to rest.

The bar is filled with riders—stinking sweat and lame rock music from a stoned artist. A fog of smoke hangs in the damp room, full of sweaty men dancing to the background music. 

They were all dressed the same—leather jackets, leather boots, leather belts, chain accessories, and unshaved cheeks, sometimes with tattoos on their arms. 

Jared entered the bar, walking calmly, unbothered by some of the riders who gritted their teeth, probably trying to scare him. He glanced at them but quickly looked away, uninterested. Moving through the crowded bodies, he finally reached the bar table, where the bartender was tossing liquor bottles in an acrobatic style. He took the empty stool. He wasn't alone—someone was already sitting beside him. 

"Waited long?" Jared asked the person. 

His hair was jet black, and he was smoking while enjoying his drink. He turned his face toward Jared as he recognized him sitting beside him. His smile blossomed, like a cherry on top of his beautiful, androgynous face—amplified by just the right amount of foundation to enhance his aesthetics. 

He perfected his beauty with jewelry: long earrings, excessive silver rings, and a choker necklace. He looked like one of the riders—just beautifully androgynous.

"It doesn't matter. You're finally here," he answered.

Dreams can cross time and space—sometimes souls recognize each other without reasonable explanation. Even though Jared thought this was the first time he had met this man, he knew he loved him. And that love wasn't built on first sight. There was a weight of unspoken forgotten past adventures buried deep inside his scattered memories—the foundation of the love he felt.

"It took me hundred years it seems, .... but I promised I'd make it, didn't I?" Jared whispered before he kissed the androgynous man whose name he had forgotten.

"And that's why I'm here," the androgynous man replied, kissing him again.

A loud, rude voice suddenly broke into their intimacy, mocking them.

"Dump him! He doesn't even remember your name!"

The androgynous man replied, "It doesn't matter. He remembers my kiss."

"You're an idiot!" The stranger laughed and left. His hostile laughter was intimidating, but the androgynous man ignored it.

"We can work it out," he said, and they kissed again.

Jared took the androgynous man outside the bar, handed him the second helmet, and they both drove away, cruising down the night road. Piercing the cool night air under the clear sky, they returned to the opening scene of the dream—where the lover hugged Jared from behind and Jared leaned back into him.

This time, it wasn't just a shadow. Not just an energy.

It was real. It was him—a real body of blood and flesh beneath smooth skin—holding him tightly, possessively, and kissing his ear.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

Jared felt his breath grow heavy, and a tension rose in his chest. "Gotta be honest, I'm a bit nervous."

"I understand... you've been through this phase a lot. This is the stage where you always fall." The lover tightened his embrace, offering comfort to heal the anxiety.

"I don't want to fail again. I've died so many times, only to come back and redo everything all over again, and died again. It was tiring. It was painful. Every death is regretful… but I didn't stop. There's no way I would give up on you. No way!" Jared growled under his breath, exhaling his anxiety, knowing what lays ahead on his journey.

"My love, those failures might intimidate you, make you feel like you're going to fail again—but I'm telling you, this time it's different. You always make changes every time you retake the path, and the change you made this time… it's significant, you know?"

Jared nodded, though it didn't really calm his anxiety. However, even though it scared him, he would do it anyway. Why wouldn't he? If he could ask destiny whether he would make it or fail, and destiny answered yes, he would keep going. If the answer was no, he would ask how to make the no become a yes—because he knew this was his path. Why even bother asking for confirmation?

"You're not alone—never. My voice will reach you soon, and hopefully, it will help you remember... everything. You're not alone, Jared. I'm with you, even though you cannot see me."

The lover ended it with a kiss as the motorcycle roared down the empty road, welcoming the sunrise.

The journey continues...

***

Jared wakes up from the dream in his room in the underground bunker. Everything is so serene, so silent.

Hadn't he killed Cezar?

Why was he still here?

Jared removed himself from the bed and walked toward the toilet to wash his face. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he was horrified to see his face—a blank space. Like a black hole.

But when he touched his face—his nose, his eyes, his lips—everything was in place.

A knock on the door dragged him away from the unexplainable, horrifying image.

Jared walked away from the mirror and tried not to think about the reflection. He opened the door to stop whoever was banging on it.

"What is it?! I just woke up!" Jared scolded whoever was at the door.

It was a guard, wearing protective armor and a helmet, with a rifle slung across his chest.

"Where is [The Mentor's name]?"

Jared glanced at the top bunk. He should be there. "Sleeping."

"Check again," the guard insisted, his voice sharp with urgency.

Jared took a wide step toward the bed and climbed up to peek at the top bunk.

"Charles, someone's looking—"

He stopped mid-sentence as he realized the top bunk was empty. Not even a sign that someone had been lying there.

Panic surged through him as he looked back at the guard. "Where did he go?!"

"So the report was right..." the guard growled. "Your mentor escaped."

"No, he can't leave!" Jared leapt down from the bed and grabbed the guard urgently. "Where did he go?!"

"I don't know. He's probably somewhere in the woods," the guard said—an unsatisfying answer.

Jared pushed him away and rushed toward the locker room, gathering his equipment: gas mask, boots, armor, machete, and handcuffs.

He can't escape!

If he leaves… I'll lose myself!