Time is inconsequential in a dreamscape. Flowers don't follow their natural blooming cycles, people don't age or wrinkle in the sun, and Cedar had no concept of when she first arrived. Her only constant was death. The present moment served as her sole guiding benchmark, each passing second erasing the last from her memory. With every turn, Cedar underwent a rebirth—her birth, into a macabre, unknown universe, time and again.

  "Snap out of it," Everly implored, slapping Cedar across the face. "Do something!"

  Cedar came to her senses, not stunned by the hard slap that brought her back to her current situation. An air of urgent danger permeated the atmosphere, mingled with the scent of decay.

  They found themselves in a dark, dew-laden forest. Hellacious shadows creaked and groaned within the muffled dampness. A sudden, elephantine roar captured Cedar's attention, and she caught sight of a bear—a grotesque amalgamation of life and death—charging towards them. Its massive paws, caked in muddy crimson and larger than its broad, flat skull, pounded the earth towards them.

  "Do something!" Everly pleaded once more, tugging at Cedar's arm. "Wake up!"

  What could Cedar do? She had no weapon, no armor. Although she felt awake, the cryptic urgency in Everly's words puzzled her. Was she awake?

  Her thoughts were shattered by Nachi's screams of agony. A second ghastly, bear-like creature, resembling a zombified grizzly, sank its teeth into Nachi's upper thigh. The beast, its fur a tangle of filth and blood, loomed over Nachi, clamping its jaws into his flesh several times over, searching for the right grip. Once secured, it began to thrash Nachi's small frame from side to side with violent force, like a fish tail. With each savage swing, Nachi's femur dislocated, his muscles, ligaments, and tendons stretching to their limits, fraying and snapping with the strain, like guitar strings under too much tension.

  Ignoring Nachi's predicament for the moment, Ari lunged at the approaching bear before its protruding claws could reach Everly and Cedar. All the while, Nachi's skin was being torn apart like wet tissue paper.

  "Wake the hell up, Cedar!" Everly yelled into her ear.

  "Oh, I get it," Cedar understood. The fog lifted as she realized the deeper implications of Everly's demand.

  As time and memory held little value for Cedar, an ingrained instinct prompted her to search for anything that might be useful. If not immediately useful, she knew she could adapt it to the situation. Like a key in a lock, she was confident she could turn any key into one that would fit. Spotting a stick on the ground, she grabbed it and began whistling at the bear, which hovered over Nachi's decimated body. The bear, uninterested in Cedar, licked its drooling chops and sniffed at Nachi's nearly severed leg, hanging by a strand of muscle fiber.

  Cedar didn't have a concrete plan. She was improvising, guided only by her belief that all objects were keys—universal solutions to problems. The stick in her hand could be as effective as a battering ram or a wand charged with magical potential.

  Circling the bear, Cedar tapped the stick on the ground to catch its attention. A plan began to form in her mind. She would use the stick . . . as a stick.

  She whistled at the bear again.

  "Hey there, little guy," she called, whistling for the creature as if it were a dog. "Yes, that's right, I'm talking to you."

  Silence ensued after Ari dispatched the first bear. The only sounds were the creaking shadows, ominous and ready to engulf anything with a pulse.

  Ari and Everly watched as Cedar worked her magic.

  Waving the stick at the bear, Cedar taunted, "You want the stick? Come on, I know you want it."

  The bear raised its heavy head, eyeing the stick with curiosity. It was captivated as Cedar moved the stick back and forth seamlessly before she released it deep into the woods. The bear bounded after it, leaving Nachi's lifeless body behind.

  The three survivors hurried to Nachi's side, but it was too late. His eyes were empty, a blank expression frozen on his face.

  "It can't be," said Cedar, bending over to touch his cold cheek. "We can't die here."

  Everly crouched down and lifted Nachi's limp wrist to examine it.

  "He's not dead, he's gone," she said.

  Ari leaned in. "That's it?" he asked. "That little thing there?" he pointed at a needle, no longer than an inch, stabbed upright into the center of a birthmark just below Nachi's inner wrist.

  Everly sat in a lounge chair next to Ari, watching the waves ebb and flow against the sandy shore. Above them, a low-hanging moon, unnaturally large and bright enough to illuminate the night sky, queerly shone a bluish-gold light on them.

  They were on an unnamed beach in an unnamed land, accompanied by a cool breeze and the melodious rhythm of the waves. Here, in this moment of serenity, the problems and obligations of the real world seemed distant and irrelevant. She felt a sense of true freedom, untouched by ordinary worries. Apart from the occasional outbreak of carnage, absent since the zombie bear battle, made these past few weeks a time of peace. This tranquility had deepened her connection with Ari, fostering a profound and unshakable bond. A feeling that was now inescapable.

  Ari had come to her rescue so often that Everly found herself frightened at the thought of facing the real world without him. She had grown attached and dependent on him, embodying the very clinginess she had always despised in others. Despite her self-reproach, the love she felt was undeniable and, to her surprise, ineluctable. She hated herself for this dependency, yet she loved the man. She loved Ari.

  As she ran her fingers through the sand, Everly savored the sensations and textures of the fine grains. They felt more real than real, as smooth as chiffon.

  With all her basic needs met, an epic tale of her experiences waiting to be penned, and a bright future before her alongside a man who could provide her with anything and everything, she felt content. The only uncertainty that lingered was whether he would choose to stay.

  She looked over at him, sitting in his lounger as if he didn't have a care in the world. His confidence was unrivaled, his boundless knowledge far surpassed her own. Everly had never met a man quite like him—solid, compassionate, reassuring. Just one look from him was enough to reassure her that everything would be alright.

  He must have felt her eyes on him. Without turning his head, he asked, "What's up?"

  Everly averted her eyes. "No, it's nothing. I just . . . "

  "What?" Ari turned to face her. “You can tell me.”

  How could she convey her desire for him to stay without explicitly asking him to stay? There to be a way for them to meet again, after Cedar's ascent.

  "It's just . . . you always say everything happens for a reason," she began.

  "Yes," Ari nodded.

  “Why is the universe expanding into nothingness? It seems counterintuitive. If we're meant to be converging, to become one with everything, than why is everything drifting apart?"

  "The universe is being flattened," he said. "It'll eventually lose all its spacial dimensions and once gone, we'll be back inside the singularity."

  "Oh . . . "

  Everly bit her bottom lip, her mind grappling with the prospect of retiring to a harsh, unforgiving world without the man who had saved her on countless occasions during their journey. He'd always been there, consistently choosing to save her over Cedar. He must have felt it too, their connection.

  "But aren't we meant to be together? To connect with each other?"

  A sigh of understanding shown through his countenance, an acknowledgment that spoke volumes.

  Upon hearing his knowing sigh, Everly felt exposed. She knew that Ari knew the way she felt about him. She wondered how he could possibly discern her feelings for him. Throughout their time together, they had never crossed the line beyond professionalism—no touch, no flirtation, no declarations of affection. She had meticulously maintained a neat, professional relationship. Yet, somehow, he seemed to have perceived the subtle nuances of her feelings—undertones she hadn't intended to reveal.

  "I'll always be here. will always be here. Nobody actually goes away," he assured.

  Everly's thoughts turned to Cedar. How could Ari, a legend of a man, have emerged from someone so immature and disagreeable? Cedar, in comparison, was no Ari.

  "She's me, Everly," Ari said, reading her mind. "I know that's hard for you to understand, but we're the same person. I'm just a little bit older and wiser, that's all."

  Everly always felt uneasy whenever Ari flexed his mind-reading abilities. She hated when he did that.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Give her a shot, you'll see. She won't let you down when it counts."

  All the cards were on the table. Everly had nothing left to hide. Now was the time for honesty. Cedar was close to ascending, Everly couldn't afford to waste any more time.

  "Can we meet again?" she asked. "After?"

  He shook his head.

  "Just hear me out—what if I ascend too? I could go to that place, the spirit realm, whenever I wanted. We could continue seeing each other."

  Ari remained quiet, his quietness amplifying her frustration.

  "It doesn't have to end here," she insisted, feeling a lump of anger rise in her throat. Ari's refusal to express his emotions infuriated her. This marked the first time she allowed herself to be vulnerable with someone, and it left her feeling powerless. His non-response felt like a series of blows, knocking her down further when she was already beaten.

  "You can't do that to a person," she blurted, dusting sand off her palm. "You can't come into a person's life, pretending to care about them, and then leave. You of all people should know that. It's damaging," she added, struggling to regain her composure.

  "I'm sorry. I never intended for this to happen. You knew the plan all along, I didn't hide anything from you. I'll always care about you."

  "So, you won't help me ascend? If you won't help, I can do it myself. I have full access to the equipment and it'll only take five minutes."

  "Everly . . . "

  "What? You can't stop me."

  "You can't ascend from here," Ari countered. "Cedar can only ascend through . She needs to do it. You would need another you, an ascended Everly from a different universe."

  His words made Everly's heart sink further. She knew he was right. Not everyone who went through rehabilitation emerged as saints connected to the spirit realm. As she fought back her tears, her throat tightened into a knot, the emotional turmoil becoming overwhelming.

  "Are you married? Is there someone else?"

  "I was married lots of times but no, that has nothing to do with it."

  "What then? Where are you going?"

  "I'm not going to anywhere."

  "What does that mean? Only a moment ago you stated very clearly that nobody actually goes away, did you not?"

  "It's complicated," said Ari.

  "Well then un-complicate it. I deserve at least that."

  Ari looked out at the ocean. "You have to promise not to tell Cedar."

  "I promise," Everly said, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

  "I have to merge with her . . . with Cedar."

  "Merge? I don't understand."

  "She needs my interface, my spells and abilities, she won't inherit any of it without me. She needs to become me, and I, her."

  "No," Everly shook her head in disbelief. "No no, there has to be another way. with her?"

  "It sounds crazy, I know, but there's no other way."

  "What if she can manage without your spells and abilities? She can find her own magic, she doesn't need yours."

  Ari shook his head in disagreement. "It's my interface that she needs. All my abilities can only be accessed through my interface."

  "But what happens to you in this merge? What happens to Cedar?"

  "When the process is complete, I'll wake up as her. I'm not going to die, but all my memories will be wiped. The memories that Cedar and I haven't shared together, will be gone. My life as the great and mighty Ari Kobrakowski will be erased from my memory."

  "And Cedar? What happens to her?"

  "Nothing. She'll wake up with my interface installed, that's it."

  "You going to die."

  "I'm not though," Ari responded with a tired laugh.

  When Everly was younger, she never believed in true love or soulmates. However, she believe in finding an equal, someone who matched her intellect and could navigate the world with her. Yet, the problem she consistently encountered was a lack of passion in these so-called matches. She often felt sidelined, as if she were playing second fiddle in their lives. This gave her the impression that their relationship was meaningless—that sheherself, was inconsequential.

  On the flip side, when Everly matched with a person who handed her everything, not withholding their power and dignity, she found them pitiable. She sensed that their desire was not truly for her, but rather for what she could offer them. In her eyes, these men would lavish her with attention for the sole purpose of receiving validation in return, confirmation that they were special and needed.

  She didn't want to be a validation dispenser.

  At a young age, Everly came to understand that a person can only trust another to the extent they trust themselves. Without self-trust, a person would need an incessant stream of validation.

  Simply put, if someone didn't believe in their own worth, they would always seek external affirmation. And since such validation could be sought from anyone, it made Everly feel replaceable. She didn't feel genuinely seen or understood by these individuals. To them, anyone could serve the role of dispensing validation, why must it be her?

  It was only upon meeting Ari that Everly realized that love and admiration were one and the same. She met a man who was not only smarter and more talented than she, but also her teacher, her mentor. Ari provided a kind of care and support that was new to her—a safety net, a guide. And unlike most men, Ari sought nothing of her in return.

  She recognized that most people might never experience this love because they are either too consumed by their own narcissism or lack of self-confidence to fully trust their partner. True feelings occur when two complete individuals meet. It's not about two halves coming together; it's about two wholes creating something infinite. For the first time in her life, Everly understood why people married.

  "Ari . . . "

  "Hmm?"

  "I think I need a Mai Tai."

  "You assholes!" A dripping wet Cedar came traipsing up to them looking angrier than ever. "That was the worst one yet! Where were you guys? Didn't you see me out there swimming to shore? You could've at least made a boat to come get me. Jerks, the both of you. What's the point of you even being here? I'd rather do this alone."

  "Are you sure she's close to ascending?" Everly asked Ari.

  Ari shrugged.

  "You have no idea what I just went through and what are you two doing? Lounging?"

  "Cedar, you won't—" Ari started to explain, but Cedar cut him off.

  "Don't you dare say it," Cedar spat.

  Everly looked between Ari and Cedar, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She resented being accused of idleness while Cedar underwent her rite of passage—Everly would gladly exchange places with Cedar, knowing the reward of super powers awaited at the end. Cedar had it all, and what did Everly have? A deep, unattainable love? A future comforted only by the prospect of book sales?

  "You won't ascend if Ari keeps helping you," Everly chastised. "You'll only prolong us being here."

  Cedar lunged for Everly, sending both her and the lounge chair tumbling over.

  "Why are you even here?" Cedar yelled, pinning Everly down on the sand.

  "Enough," Ari intervened. He stood up and once again had to pry the women apart.

  "Don't you want to know what I was doing while the two of you sat? Do you even care?" Cedar fumed.

  "Maniac," Everly muttered as she stood, dusting sand off her dress. She was well aware that Cedar knew about her dulled pain sensors, yet it still stung. "You have no manners.”

  "You don't give a damn about what I just went through!”

  "Tell us what happened," Ari urged.

  "I was trapped inside a coffin on the bottom of the damn ocean, that's what. I kept dying every time I ran out of air, leaving me no time to find a way out. No time."

  "Well, you clearly didn't die," Everly pointed out, her arms folded in front of her chest.

  "I die, over and over. I felt all of it—the water filling my lungs, the pain. I couldn't breathe, and each time I blacked out, it was just for a second before the nightmare restarted. Look, look at my eyes," Cedar insisted, widening them for both to see. "See how bloodshot they are?"

  "Yikes," Ari sympathized. “I’m sorry kid. That sounds awful.”

  "Boohoo," Everly remarked dismissively. "Cry me a river. You're going to be a damn super hero, poor you."

  "Asshole." Cedar lunged at Everly once more, only to be held back by Ari.

  "Why are you bitchier than your normal bitchiness? What? Is Ari's Mai Tai machine broken?" Cedar taunted.

  "Ladies . . . " Ari scolded, attempting to moderate the situation.

  "No, I'm sick of it," Cedar erupted. "She's only here for her stupid book, which, by the way, nobody's going to read. Nobody's going to believe it. Don't you miss anyone back home? Why are you still here?"

  "I don't need this," Everly said flippant.

  "Nachi left, why can't you? He's a hell of a lot happier now I imagine.”

  "Nachi was being devoured by a ," Everly shot back.

  "So? We've all been eaten by something at this point."

  Everly's eyes sought Ari, silently pleading for him to understand her unspoken request.

  "I got you," he said.

  At that moment, the retreat of magical delights materialized, and Everly turned to make way for it.

  " why you won't leave," Cedar jibed. "Because of the retreat! Well, why don't you just in there then?"

  "Hey now, it's alright," Ari rubbed Cedar's trembling, damp shoulders. "Calm down. You're almost at the end. You see how stable this place is? And how lucid you are?"

  "How much longer?" asked Cedar.

  Ari looked in the vicinity of the overturned lounge chairs, locating his bag. Picking it up, he said, "Here . . . " He reached into the bag and pulled out a vial. "This could be it. The final step."

  Everly, overhearing their conversation, paused at the entrance to the retreat. The thought that this could be her last encounter with Ari gave her pause.

  "Wait," she called out, retracing her steps back to them. “Can this really be it? What happens if this was the last time?"

  Ari shrugged. "You wake up."

  "And that's it?" Everly asked, her eyes fixated on the vial. She wondered if Ari was upset with her. His apparent indifference made her question why he didn't attempt to offer a tentative farewell or acknowledge the significance of their potential parting. Did their time together mean nothing?

  "You should be happy, Everly. You won't have to deal with us anymore," Cedar interjected.

  Everly knew that Cedar was close to ascending. It was evident just by the stability of the world around them and Cedar's more grounded presence.

  In the early stages, Cedar would flitter away, off to another nightmare without notice. Once Ari found her, which he did, time and time again, Cedar's lucidity would be gone. She'd act clueless as demons or eerie figures approached them. At other times, they would find themselves trapped in a maze with no beginning or end.

  But now, the situation had changed. Cedar no longer disappeared unexpectedly, and the once pervasive monsters were nowhere to be seen. Ari had mentioned that Cedar was at the stage where she was learning to let go of her basic needs: the search for food, shelter, the struggle to stay warm or to cool down. In her most recent trial, Cedar had been deprived of air, the most fundamental necessity of all.

  This evolution in Cedar's trials reflected her journey towards ascension, each step stripping away the layers of her physical and psychological dependencies, bringing her closer to a transformative breakthrough.

  Since Cedar no longer vanished into new nightmares, Ari had to coax her along. Journeying to the bottom layer of her subconscious required her to ingest potions. Without them, Cedar would awaken prematurely, to return to the real world unascended.

  Just as Cedar was about to drink from the vial, Everly intervened, placing her hand over the spout. "Wait."

  "What?" Cedar looked puzzled.

  "Shouldn't we discuss this first?" Everly suggested.

  "Discuss what?" asked Cedar.

  "We should coordinate our stories. For when we return to reality."

  Cedar sighed. "Is that really necessary?"

  "Of course it's necessary," Everly hissed. "We need to be on the same page."

  "Alright then, what do we tell them?" Cedar acquiesced.

  Everly, known for her unwavering commitment to the truth, which made her excellent at her job, found herself at a crossroads. Telling the truth seemed the most straightforward approach, but she was acutely aware that the reality of their experiences might be too far-fetched for anyone to believe. This posed a significant risk to her hard-earned reputation.

  "Let's go to the retreat to talk it over. We can relax and think things through thoroughly," Everly suggested, hoping to buy some time to formulate a more palatable version of their story.

  "I just want to finish this," Cedar countered. "I'm so close, I don't want to draw it out any longer. I'm sorta on a roll here."

  "I think the truth will be good enough," Ari weighed in. "They don't have to believe it, but it what happened."

  "Aren't you writing a book about this anyway?" Cedar questioned Everly. "I assume you'd be sticking to the facts in your book."

  Everly, not ready to let go of the moment, made a final plea. "What if we have one last celebration? A farewell party, or something. When will we ever get the chance to see the retreat again? I don't want things to end on such a sour note with you, Cedar."

  Cedar, however, remained unswayed by emotion. She brought the vial to her lips, her expression resolute.

  "Bygones," she said before throwing her head back, swallowing the contents.