༺ Prologue ༻

I often wonder if life is nothing more than a dream.

Perhaps we are all sleepwalkers, wandering through a world that makes little sense, grasping at purpose like a drowning man reaching for the surface.

Some of us find it. Some of us don't.

People live their lives in different ways, weaving their own illusions.

Some chase happiness like it's a tangible thing they can hold in their hands.

As if love, success, or wealth will somehow solidify their existence.

Others drift through life, content to let the tide take them wherever it pleases.

And then there are those who live only for the sake of others. Never stopping to question if they even exist beyond the expectations placed upon them.

I think I was one of those people.

I lived because I had to…because the world expected me to.

I smiled when I was supposed to, laughed at the right moments. Worked tirelessly to prove my worth.

And yet, somewhere along the way, I lost myself…

Or maybe even I never really existed in the first place.

Happiness is a peculiar thing. Some people find it in the smallet moments- a quiet evening, a warm drink, a familiar hand to hold.

Others search for it their entire lives, convinced that it exists just beyond their reach, always one step away.

And then there's the butterfly effect- the idea that the smallest action can alter the course of everything.

A butterfly flaps its wings in one corner of the world, and a storm erupts in another.

A decision made in a single moment can change the trajectory of a life. A word spoken or left unsaid, a step taken or avoided- these things shape us in ways we cannot begin to comprehend.

I've often wondered how different my life would have been if I had chosen differently.

If I had spoken when I stayed silent.

If I had turned left instead of right.

If I had held on instead of letting go.

Would I have been happier?

Would I have found meaning?

Or would it all have led me to the same place in the end?

Because in the grand scheme of things, does it even matter?

I once dreamed that just one more chance could fix everything, bring me back to how things were…But even then, nothing would change.

No one would notice. No one would remember.

The world would continue turning, indifferent and unshake, as if I had never existed at all.

And maybe that's not such a bad thing. Maybe we were never meant to be remembered.

Maybe we were only ever meant to dream.

Because dreaming isn't all that bad.

In dreams, you can be whoever you want. In dreams, you can rewrite the past without consequence. In dreams, you can be happy, even if only for a moment.

And in the end, when all else is lost, when the weight of reality becomes too much to bear, dreaming is all that's left.

So I'll keep dreaming…

Because dreaming is all that I can do.

And maybe, just maybe it's enough…

—

So why…why is this a dream that I so desperately want to wake up from?

***

Cough!

"It hurts...

It hurts...

It hurts..."

A man with dark, messy hair muttered, each syllable carrying pain.

He coughed again, blood escaping his mouth.

From the glass shards scattered all over the floor where he lay, he could make out his appearance.

It wasn't pleasant in the slightest.

His eyes were bloodshot and full of tears. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose.

In other pieces of shattered glass, he saw two other bodies around him, in the same state he was in—each lying in a pool of blood.

He wanted to move and sit upright, but the fear of more pain coursing through him held him back.

*Cough...*

In all honesty, this was the first time he had experienced such immense pain.

He was dying... and he could feel it.

But the agony was too much. He wanted it to end.

The thought of ending it himself washed over him, and he strained, trying to pick up a glass shard with his bloody hands.

*Splatter!*

His eyes widened.

His pupils shrank as he struggled to make sense of the situation in front of him.

Blood splattered across his face.

"AAAGGGHHH!!!"

He screamed, clutching the hand he had tried to pick up the glass shard with.

His hand was... gone.

A foot appeared in his peripheral vision.

He looked up while clenching his severed arm, trying to stop the flow of blood.

A woman stood above him, wearing a skirt, black leggings, and high-heeled boots.

As she stepped into the flickering chandelier light, her features became visible.

A woman with red hair and blue eyes.

Her beauty was otherworldly.

But that beautiful face bore a look of disgust as she sneered down at the helpless man on the floor of what seemed to be an office space.

["P-please..."]

The man uttered, coughing up blood as he weakly raised his remaining arm toward her, a desperate plea for mercy.

In a split second, his other hand was severed.

*Splatter!*

He screamed again.

But the more pain was added to him, the number his body became—halfway to death.

Blood rushed desperately from every organ, trying to heal him.

But it was futile.

All it led to was more blood loss.

["Wind Blade..."]

The woman's voice was void of emotion.

A powerful slash of wind severed the man's right leg.

He cried and cried.

His tears ran dry, and with each sob, the ones left slowly turned red.

Then came her sobs.

The man coughed, trying to speak.

["E-even when you cry... you're still as beautiful as ever..."]

*Cough!*

["But... just this once... please—"]

*Splatter!*

The woman's hand remained extended, her head turned away, not even looking at where she had sent the wind blade.

The groans and cries had stopped.

Only then did she look at where the man lay.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

["I don't even know why I fell for a man like you..."]

She murmured.

The man's head was severed from his neck.

***