Chapter 3: Between Waking and Dreaming

Elias gasped as his body hit solid ground. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his limbs, but the sensation barely registered—his mind was still reeling. One moment, he had been running from those hollow-eyed figures, and the next, he had been swallowed by darkness. Now, he lay sprawled on what felt like concrete, cold and unyielding beneath his palms.

He pushed himself upright, his breath ragged. The city was gone. The flickering streetlights, the distorted buildings, the silent figures—all had vanished. Instead, he found himself in an unfamiliar corridor, its walls lined with old, rusted doors. The dim overhead lights cast long, wavering shadows, and the air smelled of damp stone and something metallic, something wrong.

He wasn't alone.

Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate. Elias stiffened, his muscles tensing instinctively. The footsteps grew louder, closer. He turned, searching for a place to hide, but the corridor stretched endlessly in both directions. No exits. No escape.

A whisper slithered through the air.

"You are between."

Elias spun toward the sound. At the far end of the corridor, a figure stood. It was the same as before—featureless, its form shifting as if it wasn't entirely bound by this reality. It radiated something unnatural, something ancient. It wasn't just looking at him—it was studying him.

"Between what?" Elias's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

The figure tilted its head, as if amused. "Between waking and dreaming."

The lights above flickered violently, casting the corridor into momentary darkness. When the light returned, the figure was gone.

Elias's pulse pounded in his ears. He forced himself to move, to walk forward. With each step, the corridor seemed to shift, warping around him. The rusted doors lining the walls rattled, as if something on the other side was trying to get out. His breath quickened, his instincts screaming at him to turn back, but there was nowhere to go except forward.

Then, at the very end of the corridor, he saw it.

A door that was different from the others.

Unlike the rusted, decaying doors around him, this one was pristine, untouched by time. A simple wooden door with a brass handle. It didn't belong here.

A sharp knock echoed through the corridor.

The sound came from behind the door.

Elias hesitated, every nerve in his body screaming at him to run. But something about the door called to him. A familiarity he couldn't explain. Slowly, he reached for the handle.

The moment his fingers touched the brass, a wave of dizziness crashed over him. The corridor dissolved into nothingness, the ground beneath him vanishing.

He was falling again.

Then—

His eyes snapped open. He was back in his room.

The clock on his nightstand read 7:42 AM.

Elias sat motionless, his breath coming in short gasps. The weight of the dream—if it was a dream—pressed down on him. He could still feel the cold floor beneath his fingers, still hear the whisper that had followed him through the corridor.

A knock at the door shattered the silence.

His blood ran cold.

The same deliberate, measured knock as before.

Elias turned his head slowly, his body stiff with fear. He wasn't sure what terrified him more—that someone was at the door, or that he already knew what they were going to say when he opened it.

He rose to his feet, each step toward the door feeling heavier than the last. He reached for the handle, his fingers trembling.

The door swung open.

And the world fell away.