Ari sat across from Aristotle in the Great Hall of the retreat, discussing Cedar’s well-being. The Great Hall housed an assortment of rooms, all reserved for the renowned—spaces brimming with the greatest minds of all time. The retreat referred to these luminaries as The Ancients.

  Ari had partied with rock stars, shared crumpets with celebrated inventors and novelists, and even attempted to paint the with Leonardo da Vinci as his personal instructor. The retreat provided everything he needed to stay fulfilled and entertained. Yet, as a man of many years, Ari had already experienced all it had to offer.

  “And who is this girl, if you don’t mind my asking?” Aristotle inquired, his light brown eyes reflecting his curiosity.

  “She’s me. Well, she’s my younger self from a previous life,” Ari replied.

  “Be patient with her. Patience is bitter, but the—”

  “—fruit is sweet,” Ari finished the quote. “Yeah, I know. But she’s not getting any better. If anything, she’s getting worse.”

  Aristotle cleared his throat and gazed into the distance. “Even in the shadow of past turmoil, may reason be her sanctuary. Her spirit, though burdened, possesses the strength to rise. If she bravely embraces the healing journey—acknowledging and confronting her pain—she will rediscover her enduring resilience.”

  “You make it sound easy,” Ari responded.

  “Perhaps it would be wise for you to go to her,” Aristotle suggested. “Stop dithering with an old coot like me and spend time with her. Be the light in the mirror that she needs to see.”

  “I guess I’ll try again,” Ari conceded. “Thanks, Mister Aristotle, sir. It’s been a pleasure.”

  “Come and visit again. Lord knows I cherish the company,” Aristotle said, his face wrinkling with delight.

  Ari left the Great Hall and headed to Callahan’s Pub, the latest addition to the retreat, courtesy of Cedar’s extensive knowledge of watering holes. One of the retreat’s most enticing features was the freedom to create new establishments or reconstruct cherished places from memory. Callahan’s Pub, in particular, held a special place in Cedar’s heart. Ari, remembering his life as Cedar, recalled it as an escape after grueling days of waitressing.

  The pub, nestled among vibrant flora, was situated in an area once famed for its extraordinary density of exotic bird species. This lush setting had even been home to the mythical Phoenix, thriving amidst the abundant greenery. However, since the emergence of Callahan’s Pub, Phoenix sightings had ceased. The pub’s jarring presence disrupted the natural paradise, resembling a blemish on the landscape. It overshadowed the surrounding foliage, dimmed the vibrancy of the blossoms, and stifled the teeming life that once flourished there.

  Ari burst through the pub’s door with a mix of urgency and determination. “Cedar!”

  Onstage, Cedar stood in the spotlight, microphone in hand, belting out the 20th-century classic “Friends in Low Places” by Garth Brooks.

  “Get down from there,” Ari demanded, grabbing the arm that held her beer. The amber liquid sloshed over the rim and splattered onto the floor.

  “Hey, I’m singing here!” Cedar protested, briefly glaring at him before resuming her spirited, albeit slurred, rendition of the song.

  “No, you’re coming with me,” Ari insisted, pulling Cedar’s arm. “This is ridiculous.”

  “This guy bothering you?” a burly man asked, stepping up to Cedar.

  “No, John, I’ve got this,” Cedar assured him through the mic, punctuating her words with a wink.

  Once offstage, Ari recalled Aristotle’s advice to “be the light in her mirror” and took a moment to steady his frustration before speaking. “What’s wrong with you? This isn’t like you.”

  “This is exactly who I am. Sorry to disappoint,” Cedar retorted, her voice hiccuping as she swayed unsteadily.

  “Wasn’t Nozomi supposed to help you? What happened?”

  “She help me. I feel loads better, see?” Cedar claimed, forcing an awkward smile.

  “Don’t you want to see your parents again? To go home?”

  “I tried to leave, but you wouldn’t let me,” Cedar shot back, taking another swig of beer and wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

  “You can’t go home like this,” Ari said, shaking his head. “You’re clearly dealing with PTSD—it’s obvious. I mean, just look at yourself. When was the last time you bathed?”

  Cedar glanced down at her rumpled pajamas and squinted. “Thursday?”

  “You don’t even know what day it is,” Ari said, exasperated.

  “Whatever. I don’t want to go back there anyway. I home.” She turned to face the bar’s patrons. “Hey, everyone, we’re not here for a long time—”

  “—We’re here for a good time!” the crowd chorused with her.

  Cedar joined the cheer, raising her glass triumphantly. Before she could take another sip, Ari grabbed the pint glass from her hand, spilling its remaining contents onto the floor.

  “We’re going to see Nozomi.”

  “Ow, you’re hurting me.”

  “Stop struggling then.”

  Cedar yanked her arm free and planted her feet firmly on the ground.

  “Cedar, I’m trying to help you,” Ari said, concern edging his voice. “You’re not getting better.” He knew it was wrong to force help on someone unwilling to accept it, but he couldn’t let go of his investment.

  “We’re all just a stupid program. Everything is a program,” Cedar slurred. “At least while I’m here, the world won’t blow up. I’m protecting everyone by staying put.”

  “We’re more than a program,” Ari countered, setting the glass on a sticky table. “The truth is out there, and we can find it together—but only if you trust me.”

  Hearing his own words, Ari felt a pang of doubt about his intentions. He knew his motives weren’t entirely selfless, yet he couldn’t control his need to act. He believed the truth existed, though it remained tantalizingly out of reach. The notion that he might uncover it himself felt both absurd and compelling.

  The endless cycles of death and rebirth haunted him, their unyielding repetition terrifying in its constancy. Across countless universes, hijackers waited to disrupt progress, halting evolution. If he could save even one universe from being hijacked, perhaps he could glimpse another layer behind the truth of existence. But hijackers swarmed now, like bees in a burgeoning hive, pollinating as far as the outer rims. Their numbers grew with each tick of the clock.

  Ari had begun to accept that the ultimate truth might lie forever beyond his grasp. This realization gnawed at him, leaving a hollowness filled with longing for the unattainable. He recoiled at the idea of creating yet another universe, unwilling to join the trillions who blindly followed the same repetitive script. To him, this was the very definition of insanity.

  What Ari sought now was not truth but rest—a reprieve from the endless cycles.

  This sense of defeat was a far cry from Ari’s former self. Not so long ago, he had been fiercely committed to uncovering the truth of existence. He believed that every level gained, every spell mastered, brought him closer to his ultimate goal—a goal that seemed just beyond the horizon, always attainable with one more spell, one more step of advancement. Yet, it had taken him a millennium to realize that his quest was futile without a multiplier—a catalyst to accelerate his journey.

  Ari needed Cedar. She was the answer he had been searching for, and he, in turn, was her multiplier. Together, they formed the key to unlocking not only the rest he yearned for but also the continuation of his pursuit of truth. To bequeath his interface to his former self symbolized progress—a divergence from the unending cycles, a chance to alter the trajectory of events. This change might finally reveal the meaning of life—the reason for their existence.

  In his own roundabout way, Ari’s intentions toward Cedar were pure. He had not lied to her; careful word choice and the nuances of semantics ensured he had steered clear of outright falsehoods.

  “Trust me,” he said again, his voice carrying a little more conviction this time.

  Trailing a few steps behind him, Cedar asked, “What can Nozomi possibly do? She’s already tried everything.”

  “No, not everything,” Ari replied. “There are thousands of treatments here. You gave up on some of them—not all of them.”

  Cedar’s eyes darted back and forth, following Dr. Michael Jones’ extended finger as it moved to and fro.

  “The brain operates similarly to a computer,” Dr. Jones explained, pausing his hand movements.

  “Don’t remind me,” Cedar retorted.

  The doctor continued, undeterred. “During REM sleep, your brain processes memories too distressing to confront while you’re awake. It’s akin to defragmenting a hard drive. Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing therapy—or EMDR—assists in processing these traumatic events while you’re conscious and in the present. It works like a pendulum, swinging between the painful memory and your current understanding. This approach encourages your body to relax and feel at ease.”

  “Sounds like a load of hogwash, but okay,” Cedar replied with a shrug.

  “Let’s delve into your most recent distressing memory—the one that triggered your current state of mind,” Dr. Jones suggested. “I want you to visualize it as if you’re watching a movie.”

  Cedar’s gaze wandered around the familiar office. “I’m more interested in talking about . Do you remember me?”

  “Yes, I remember you, Miss Wells,” he replied evenly.

  “So, you know that none of this is real?”

  Dr. Jones took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses, his expression calm. “This place is real, Miss Wells. Although it may not be the world you’re accustomed to, what happens here is still very much real.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that we’re inside a magic spell?”

  “I’m not emotionally affected by it, no,” he answered.

  “But what about your family?” Cedar pressed.

  “They remain real to me. I live my everyday life and come here when needed. My family is back home waiting for my return.” He motioned toward the door. “Beyond that door lies Cheshire, not the retreat.”

  “Are you still a construct of my subconscious?”

  “We share the same energy stream, yes. However, I interpret events distinctly—from a more impartial, objective perspective. I am part of you, yet I am also an individual entity. Much like your relationship with Ari.”

  “And you’re okay with this?”

  “I am.” Dr. Jones interlaced his fingers on the desk. “I can’t explain why, but I understand that I exist because I am necessary. I am content with my life, and my life is filled with purpose. Are you ready to begin?”

  Cedar found his response unsettling. It felt automated, devoid of emotion. His eagerness to close the topic abruptly suggested he either didn’t want to contemplate it further or was incapable of doing so.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.

  “The most important thing to understand,” Dr. Jones began, “is that the root of all psychosis lies in neglecting the truth. It’s my job to help uncover what that truth might be.”

  “That’s easy,” Cedar replied with a shrug. “Nothing’s real. I’m literally having the same problem I had when I first met you. Nothing matters. Everything’s a prop.”

  Dr. Jones rifled through his notes before asking, “Is it possible that Satan’s Citadel triggered this falsehood?”

  “I suppose so. It happened right after completing it.”

  “Then we should start there. At the dungeon. The trigger.”

  “Sounds good to me, Doc.”

  “There are many ways people avoid accepting the truth,” Dr. Jones continued. “Some run from it, others try to negotiate with it. The common thread is their refusal to accept reality as it is. This reluctance prevents them from letting go, hindering real change. They remain trapped in the past, futilely trying to alter what cannot be changed.’

  ‘At its core, psychosis often stems from an inability to let go—particularly, letting go of fear,” Dr. Jones explained. “Confronting the truth can be overwhelming, leading people to construct narratives that are more palatable. Often, these narratives hinge on irrational fears or a blindness to actual events. Does this concept resonate with you?”

  “It does,” Cedar nodded before shifting her eyes. “I think.”

  “Fear, in a way, serves as a protector, keeping us safe. But it’s also a choice. Fear doesn’t choose us; we choose it. The true struggle is internal.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Cedar agreed. “I know all this, but I still can’t do it. I can’t let go.”

  “Part of your struggle lies in not knowing exactly you need to let go of. You haven’t identified the specific fear or the critical truth you need to accept.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “That nothing matters?”

  “That’s not a truth; it’s a fear. In fact, it’s more of a deflection,” Dr. Jones said gently. “Consider your time in Satan’s Citadel. That experience was pivotal—it pushed you to the brink and led to your realization that the universe is a construct. Everything is coded, created—a dream within a dream, if you will. In the depths of your suffering, you achieved a profound awareness of reality. But now, with this newfound understanding, you find yourself unable to embrace it. The weight of such a truth feels overwhelming.”

  Dr. Jones leaned forward slightly. “Could it be, Miss Wells, that by uncovering this truth, you’ve also discovered your full potential? And perhaps your fear is rooted in losing it—or in the possibility that you might never fulfill that potential again?”

  Cedar shook her head. “I never thought about it that way, but I don’t think that’s it. I just don’t see the point in anything anymore. Nothing matters.”

  “You must understand, Miss Wells,” Dr. Jones said firmly, “what you’re experiencing is a symptom of psychosis—a manifestation of a deeper fear. You are deflecting, unwilling to face the truth—a truth that terrifies you. What are you afraid of?”

  Cedar hesitated before answering. “You just said it. The universe is a construct. A dream within a dream. It’s not real.”

  “At no point have I stated that the universe isn’t real,” Dr. Jones countered. “The universe is a shared experience, shaped by myriad perspectives. While it may indeed be a construct, the reality we perceive and the rules that bind it hold validity and purpose. Now, I’ll ask again, Miss Wells: what is it that frightens you?”

  A heavy silence fell over the room as Cedar stared into the distance, lost in thought.

  “More often than not,” the doctor continued, “the answer lies within the trigger itself—the cause of your realization. Whatever led you to believe that the universe is not real, is the fear you’re avoiding.”

  Cedar exhaled shakily. “I . . . sometimes see things. Visual hallucinations. Hell. Demons. Minions. Satan. Being eaten alive. I have nightmares about the hell pit too. About being disembodied, stuck for eternity in nothingness.”

  “Yes, but remember, you overcame those challenges,” the doctor reminded. “Are you afraid that perhaps next time, you won’t?”

  “I’m very afraid of that,” Cedar admitted.

  “Uncovering the truth you’ve been avoiding is crucial, but comprehending it is equally important,” Dr. Jones explained. “Grasping the extent of your power is challenging. Acknowledging complete control also means embracing total responsibility. The notion that you wield the power—like holding a paintbrush that shapes the universe—is a daunting realization. It’s not easy to accept that you may be the architect of your reality.”

  “Shyeah . . . that’s putting it lightly,” Cedar pressed her fingertips against her temples. “But I don’t get it. I don’t understand what you’re telling me.”

  “Your fear seems to stem from the terror of being torn apart, dismembered by those minions. This fear has two underlying causes.’

  ‘Firstly, there’s your incomplete understanding of your power. If you fully grasped it, the minions wouldn’t intimidate you. In essence, you’re running away from your true potential.’

  ‘Secondly, there’s a fundamental absence of trust. Trust in the assurance that even if you were devoured, you’d ultimately be alright. If you truly understood and embraced trust, fear would lose its grip on you.”

  Cedar shook her head. “I’m not powerful,” she asserted, struggling to maintain composure. The alcohol she had consumed earlier started to creep its way back up the pipe.

  “You powerful,” Dr. Jones insisted.

  “I’m not.” Cedar lunged for the nearest trash can, expelling the day’s intoxicants in a distressing display.

  Dr. Jones watched silently, then removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “This,” he said with a sigh, “is going to take a while.”

  Over the ensuing weeks, Cedar embarked on an intensive and multifaceted therapeutic journey under Dr. Michael Jones’ careful supervision. He employed a range of techniques, searching for the most effective approach. Eventually, he settled on a combination of EMDR and Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, enhanced with micro-doses of psilocybin. This innovative regimen aimed to address both the psychological and neurological aspects of Cedar’s struggles, offering her a holistic path to healing and self-discovery.

  Ari provided daily support, offering words of encouragement and motivation. His consistent presence proved invaluable as Cedar gradually regained her strength and resilience. However, her progress suffered a slight setback when Ari suggested she revisit the hell dungeon to confront her fears directly. After the initial shock wore off and she had time to process the implications, her recovery resumed with renewed vigor.

  Cedar reconnected with herself through martial arts training with Bryce, shared outdoor meals with Ari, and meditated under the stars late into the night. Slowly, the idea of completing the hell dungeon a second time no longer seemed so daunting. As her strength and sanity returned, it even began to feel necessary.

  One morning, Cedar sat at a picnic table after placing her breakfast order with Alma: two eggs over easy, a side of bacon, sliced avocado, and toast topped with roasted tomato. Ari joined her, sitting across the table as Alma delivered their plates.

  “I think I’m ready,” Cedar said.

  “Ready for what?” Ari asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “To try the dungeon again. I want to go back in,” she said, picking up a slice of bacon.

  “Aren’t you worried about a relapse?”

  “If I relapse, then I’ll know for certain I’m not ready to go home yet.”

  “So, if you don’t relapse, you’re saying you’re ready to move forward?”

  Cedar nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “I can’t stay here forever. The longer I put it off, the harder it’ll be to leave.”

  “You’re sounding like an adult. What’s like?” Ari teased, flashing a sideways smirk.

  “Crappy, honestly,” Cedar replied, smirking back. “But I have to save the world, right? No way around .”

  “Crappy or not, it is what it is,” Ari said, dunking his toast in the yolk of an egg. “But hey, you get to be a hero. That’s got to count for something, yeah?”

  “I want to do it after breakfast. And I want that backpack with all the stuff in it.”

  “Of course,” Ari said, nodding with his mouth full. “It definitely makes things easier.”

  “Yeah, no kidding. Why did you keep it from me the first time?”

  Ari shrugged as he sopped up the last of his yolk with a corner of toast. “I don’t know. It’s like . . . once the worst happens, you’re no longer afraid of it. I think the reason you got such bad PTSD was because you finished the dungeon on your first try—you didn’t have time to process it. I didn’t give you the backpack because I didn’t actually you to finish on the first try.”

  “I it,” Cedar almost sneered.

  “When one scary thing happens after another, it gets overwhelming. The brain can’t handle it,” Ari explained. “It’s almost like we’re to fail—to fail and keep failing—until we have the courage to accept our own power. If we don’t fail, our brains get stuck. Frozen in fear, afraid of losing everything. But when you fail, it makes you less afraid of it. You get me?”

  Cedar stared at him for a moment, “You knew this would happen to me?”

  “I didn’t think it was going to be bad. Sorry for that.”

  Cedar leaned back with a sigh. “It wasn’t just the dungeon—it was everything. A culmination of everything.”

  “It’s best to take it in small bites,” Ari said, shoving two slices of bacon into his mouth.

  “You’re not the most eloquent person to eat with, you know that, right?”

  “Like you’re one to talk.”

  Cedar smirked, unaware of the dried yolk clinging to her chin.

  After breakfast, Ari handed Cedar the bottomless backpack. She returned to her cabin and unpacked the armor she had stowed away eight long months ago. A fleeting sense of dread washed over her as she slipped the cloak over her hardened leather pauldrons—the same cloak that had saved her life on multiple occasions.

  Her hands brushed over its pockets, finding a small lump: Satan’s ruby ring.

  She pulled it out, letting it rest in her palm. For a moment, she stared at it, debating whether to put the damned thing on. Eventually, she decided to tuck it back into her pocket. She’d wear it once she reached the dungeon’s entrance. The ring gave her the creeps.

  The small black backpack sat on her bed, looking deflated. Cedar opened it, peering into its spacious, dark interior. Ari’s instructions echoed in her mind:

  she thought.

  She reached into the backpack, feeling a little orb gravitate to her palm as though she were a magnet.

  The backpack contained all the magic, health potions, and water she could ever need. With it securely hoisted onto her back, Cedar prepared to leave. Instead of taking the long way, she summoned the retreat’s travel widget and transported herself directly to the entrance neighboring the dungeon.

  Standing at the threshold of Satan’s Citadel, Cedar felt a wormy unease crawl through her stomach. She slipped the ruby ring onto her finger and glared into the dark maw of the dungeon. The same eerie sounds she remembered from her first visit echoed within, bellowing and beckoning her forward.

  Ari wasn’t there to see her off—Cedar had insisted she’d rather do it alone. This second attempt should be a cakewalk. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

  She double-checked her armor, feeling for the circlet around her head, then switched on her headlamp.

  she thought.

  Testing the backpack’s versatility, she reached in and pulled out a string of holy beads.

  “Bazinga!” she shouted triumphantly. “I guess this thing really carry everything.”

  She considered equipping herself with water guns filled with holy water but decided against it—they’d be too cumbersome. She could always grab them later if needed.

  With no good reason to stall any longer, Cedar plunged into the dungeon. She barreled down its corridor, trampling over the smaller creatures and deftly skipping over the big daddies.

  Ari napped in a hammock outside the dungeon as Cedar approached, Satan’s skull cradled under her arm like a basketball.

  “Hey,” she called out.

  Ari didn’t stir.

  “Hey!” she repeated, nudging his rear with her foot.

  “I’m up, I’m up,” he mumbled, his eyes settling on the new skull under her arm. “Oh good, we can add that to the collection. How’d it go?”

  Cedar’s excitement bubbled over as she launched into her story, words spilling out like a kid retelling their first rollercoaster ride.

  “I’m officially the dungeon master! You should’ve seen me—I completed all the levels, freed all the slaves. I basically had an army of prisoners fighting alongside me. I was unstoppable. And when I got to Satan, you know what I did?”

  “No, what did you do?” Ari asked, clearly amused.

  “I didn’t wait for him to speak. My army and I stormed the throne before he could utter a single word! While he was busy blowing fire on everyone—which, by the way, killed my entire army—I found his stupid pitchfork, snuck up behind him, and pow! Right in his back.” Cedar mimed her actions, stabbing the air with an invisible weapon.

  “Good,” Ari said with a nod. “I’m happy for you. I think celebrations are in order, yes?” He clapped her on the back, sending a cloud of dust and ash billowing around them.

  Cedar coughed, scrunching her nose as she turned to spit grainy particles out of her mouth. “Don’t you want to hear more? I was invincible! Nobody laid a hand on me. Those big, stupid fire demons died with just one orb! And I found a slingshot in the pack—took them out like fish in a barrel and—”

  “I get it, I get it,” Ari interrupted with a grin. “You crushed it in there. That’s my girl. Come on, let’s celebrate at the retreat. You can tell me the rest of the story over a drink.”

  “It’s finally over,” Cedar sighed, her shoulders dropping as relief washed over her. “I can go home.”

  “,” Ari said, his tone shifting slightly.

  “What? You’re kidding, right?” Cedar frowned. “Tell me you’re kidding. I mean, I’m up for whatever it is, but I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”

  “I want to show you the hub,” Ari said. “There’s no fighting involved, I promise. It’s my secret lair. And don’t forget, you still have to battle your subconscious before you get to go home.”

  “I didn’t forget,” Cedar replied. “Honestly, I feel like I could conquer the world right now. I’m literally not afraid of anything.”

  As they entered the retreat, a crisp puff of aromatic air lifted Cedar’s mucky hair, giving it an almost comical bounce. Nozomi, as always, was there to greet them.

  “Konnichiwa, welcome. Onegai shimasu, the menu,” Nozomi said, leading Cedar and Ari to the large standing touchscreen menu.

  “Will you be wanting your usual?” Nozomi asked.

  “Whoa,” Cedar said, blinking. “I’m having déjà vu.”

  “No, she always does this when we come in through the front door.”

  “Oh right, she’s a program,” Cedar recalled.

  Nozomi’s smiling face awaited a command.

  “Nozomi,” Cedar said, her voice steady and clear. “I trust that you know exactly what I need.”

  Nozomi glanced Cedar up and down, taking in her fatigued, unkempt appearance.

  “Yes, I know just the thing,” Nozomi replied before turning to Ari. “And for you, Kobrakowski-san?”

  “My usual, please,” Ari said, grinning.

  “What your usual?” Cedar asked, curious.

  “Hey now, that’s like asking to see my search history.”

  “No, it’s not,” Cedar laughed. “I’m going to be you anyway. Why not just tell me?”

  Before Ari could reply, a group of beautiful women approached along the cobblestone path. “We are ready for you, Kobrakowski-san,” they announced in unison, gathering around Ari’s arm.

  “You’ll just have to wait and see,” Ari replied, letting the women lead him away.

  Nozomi delivered on her promise of rejuvenation. After a cleansing dip in the pool and indulging in specially brewed tonics and elixirs, Cedar emerged feeling revitalized, scrubbed clean of all dungeon residue. She had also mastered using the as a communication device and arranged to meet Ari outside the steakhouse after her detoxifying ablutions.

  Clad in silk linens selected by Tsumugi, Cedar stood outside the steakhouse with Ari, watching the NPCs bustle around them.

  “Tell me about this hub,” she asked.

  “It’s easier if I show you,” Ari suggested. “Hold my hands to form a circuit.”

  Cedar grasped his open palms.

  “Here we go,” he announced.

  Within seconds, her vision was overtaken by a small, boxy image overlapping the scene in front of her. When she released Ari’s sweaty hands, the new surroundings snapped into focus.

  “Wow . . . ” Cedar was awestruck as her gaze roamed the expansive view.

  “I know, right?”

  They stood in a glass house, encased by tall picture windows offering a panoramic view of an ocean. The sun, poised between dawn and dusk, cast a spectacular array of harlequin colors that bounced off scattered clouds.

  “The sky is amazing here,” Ari remarked. “I usually keep it on sunset mode, but sometimes I switch it to thunderstorm. That’s pretty cool, too.”

  “This would be, like, a billion-dollar property,” Cedar observed, scoping out the minimalist decor. The space was sparse, furnished with only the bare necessities: a leather recliner, a small refrigerator, a lamp, and a petite desk. Everything was immaculately clean, untouched.

  “Where’s the bathroom? And your bed? Where’s all your stuff?”

  “Everything’s downstairs. That’s the hub. What you see here, as far as your eyes can reach, is a firewall. Nobody can get in—we’re completely surrounded by ocean.”

  “Why do you need a firewall? Where are we, exactly?”

  “We’re technically inside my mind,” Ari explained. “Us ascended folk call it ”

  Cedar raised an eyebrow. “That’s original. Go on.”

  “The formal name is the realm of thought. As you go on adventures, you’ll encounter powerful adversaries who’ll try to infiltrate your mind and enslave you.”

  “Oh, god.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ari said reassuringly. “This place is impenetrable. Once I transfer my interface to you, this’ll all be yours. You won’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Why would anyone want to enslave me?” Cedar asked, her brows furrowing.

  “The thing is, we can’t be killed in the spirit realm. Enslavement is the only viable option for control,” Ari explained. “Predators typically target the vulnerable, but we’re far from weak.” He snorted with a laugh. “Power can be accrued through the acquisition of slaves. Slaves offer their captors admiration and fealty—kind of like the dynamic between narcissists and their enablers.”

  “Huh . . . but this place is made of glass. It’d be easy to break in,” Cedar pointed out.

  “Is it?”

  At Ari’s implicit challenge, the glass walls sprang to life, shifting and clattering as they transformed from clear crystal to opaque black shields. The armored walls blocked out all light, plunging the room into the darkest chamber Cedar had ever experienced—darker even than her first dungeon crawl with the zombies.

  With a sharp clap from Ari, light flooded the space, revealing the new walls. Cedar ran her hand over the many ebony scales that now shingled their surface.

  “What’s it made of? It feels like hard plastic,” she said, tapping the wall. The material absorbed the sound, leaving no echo.

  “It’s not plastic. It’s crafted from the most resilient material known to man—xenobots.”

  Cedar arched an eyebrow in recognition. “Self-replicating robots?”

  “That’s right. But these are part of me—or us, I should say,” Ari added, a hint of pride in his voice.

  “Impressive. Okay, show me the rest,” Cedar said, glancing around, half-expecting to find a staircase.

  “You might want to step back a bit,” Ari suggested, retreating toward the wall.

  In the center of the room, a square section of the floor began to rise, transforming into an elevator platform.

  “Pretty cool, yeah?” Ari asked, grinning.

  “Very,” Cedar replied, stepping onto the elevator. She noticed rows of glowing buttons embedded in the wall, each labeled with a distinct name.

  “What are these names? Maeve Swan? Who’s that?”

  “Each floor represents a life we’ve lived. They contain our memories—even the ones we can’t consciously remember. I’d steer clear of anything above the fiftieth floor, though. Those are the oldest versions of us—they’re wild and untamed.”

  “Dear lord.”

  “There’s something else you ought to know,” Ari said.

  “What?”

  “Once you ascend, you’ll be given a choice about remembering your past lives,” he cautioned. “Most people remember gradually, one life at a time, over the course of many years. The foolish try to recall them all at once—and they usually go insane. I advise against remembering them at all.”

  “Why not remember at least one life?” Cedar asked, her gaze following Ari’s hand as he pressed the lowest button on the panel.

  The elevator began its descent, gliding smoothly down the shaft with a whisper of wind.

  “There are painful things in everyone’s past they’d rather forget. Remembering even one regret can ruin a person. Most people wait until the end—until they’re ready to move on, to begin a new verse. Recalling their past helps them let go and start fresh. It gives them a naive hope that they’ll do better next time.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Cedar said quietly.

  Her eyes tracked the blur of passing floors, the scenery shifting too quickly to discern any details. For a fleeting moment, however, she thought she saw trees and a stretch of blue sky on one level.

  “How many lives have we lived? A hundred?” Cedar asked.

  “Good guess,” Ari said, nodding. “Yes, we’ve lived a hundred lives. It varies for everyone, but a hundred is pretty common. Suicide victims tend to live the most lives—it takes them longer to ascend.”

  “Sucks for them.”

  “It sure does.”

  The elevator continued its descent, gliding smoothly past the final stratum of lived experiences before coming to a gentle, nearly imperceptible halt.

  “Bottom floor, men’s wear,” Ari announced with theatrical flair.

  “Funny,” Cedar deadpanned, her face unimpressed.

  Stepping out of the elevator, she entered a vast underground chamber brimming with technological marvels.