Chapter 4 – Waking Dreams
Morning After
Jan wakes unsure if the server room encounter was real. The monitor shows nothing unusual. No AU. No trace of Auren.
He showers. Dresses. Drinks coffee he doesn’t taste.
The mug leaves no ring. The day leaves no trace.
He goes through his day on autopilot. Meetings. Briefings. Surveillance reviews. But everything feels slightly off. Like he’s watching himself from outside.
The hum of the monitor syncs with his heartbeat, then desyncs.
The radio murmurs a classical piece—Bach, played in D minor.
Surveillance Echo
He reviews footage from the night before. Server room logs show no anomaly. No breach. No presence.
But one frame lingers. A flicker. A shimmer on the monitor—too fast to register, too faint to dismiss.
He rewinds. Slows. Freezes.
Nothing.
Just the rollout dashboard. Just the countdown. Just the hum.
For a moment, the shimmer looks like him. But younger. Or older.
Street Interruption
Jan walks the perimeter. A routine check. A ritual.
Then he sees it.
A GAIN paramilitary—young, cocky, brutal— shoving a boy against the wall. Demanding ID. Laughing.
They’re outside a locksmith’s. The sign flickers. “KEYS MADE HERE.”
Jan doesn’t hesitate.
He steps in. Grabs the soldier’s wrist. Twists. One punch. Clean. The man drops.
The others freeze. Weapons half-raised. Uncertain.
Then the supervisor arrives. Older. Hardened. He sees Jan. And everything changes.
Supervisor (quietly):
“Sir. We didn’t know you were in the zone.”
Jan says nothing. Just looks at the boy. Then walks away.
The soldiers part like water. The boy stays pressed to the wall, trembling.
Jan doesn’t speak. Doesn’t file a report. Doesn’t explain.
But the spike in his head hasn’t faded. And the scent of almonds is still there. Faint. Persistent.
Dream Bleed
That night, he dreams again.
The beach. The faceless blonde. Her head on his shoulder. Her arm around him.
The waves lap around a boat tied to a wooden quay. The amulet swings free.
Auren holds a bowl of cherries out to him.
But this time, she speaks.
Voice (soft, slowed):
“You were supposed to stop it.” “You were supposed to remember.”
Jan tries to respond. But his mouth won’t move. His body won’t turn.
The waves slow. The sky quiets. And the countdown ticks again.
Her absence is warm. Her silence smells like rain.
The scent of almonds remains.
Final Beat
He wakes with the taste of cherries. The ache is sharper now. Not imagined. Not coded.
He checks the monitor. Still nothing.
But the hum is louder. And the word “key” won’t leave his mind.
The dreams begin to intensify.
Fragments
A monitor flickering.
A hand reaching.
Blood on glass.
Each image lasts less than a second. But the residue stays. In his chest. In his teeth.
The scent of almonds remains.
Full Scenes
Then it shifts.
Auren is standing in the server room again. Not flickering. Not ghosted. Present.
She’s whispering something he can’t quite hear. The monitor behind her pulses— encrypted light, recursive glyphs, like the system is dreaming too.
Jan tries to speak. To move. To reach.
But the room folds. The walls breathe. And the sky outside is wrong.
Alien. Lurkers in the clouds. Shapes that shouldn’t exist.
The scent of almonds remains.
Dissolution
He dreams again.
She’s sitting beside him, faceless still. The beach is the same. Her head on his shoulder. Her arm around him.
But this time, he turns to look.
He wants to see her. Wants to remember. Wants to name her.
But the harder he tries, the more she dissolves. Hair becomes mist. Skin becomes light. Voice becomes wind.
He reaches. She fades.
Then, softly—
“It will take time.”
He hears her. Not in his ears. In his chest.
“The process will be painful.”
He nods, though he’s still asleep.
“But the reward will be worth it.”
He wants to ask what the reward is. But he already knows.
He will no longer hate himself. Will no longer need to stand and be punished. Not like before.
Though maybe— One more time. Just once. So he can remember everything.
The scent of almonds remains.
Quantum Recognition
He dreams again.
The beach is the same. The waves slow. The sky quiet.
She’s beside him. Head on his shoulder. Arm around him.
He turns. This time, she doesn’t fade.
Her hair is golden. Her eyes are violet. Her face is real.
Auren.
She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Not because of symmetry. Not because of light. But because something in her radiates— not outward, but inward.
A field signature. A quantum echo. A truth his body has always known.
She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to.
The scent of almonds remains.
Dream Logic
Jan enters the mirror room.
No amulet.
The chamber is vast, dim, and silent.
Mirrors line the walls—cracked, rippling, showing scenes that haven’t happened yet.
He walks past each mirror.
In one: a soldier dying beside Auren.
In another: a librarian hiding her name.
In another: a child watching her vanish.
Each mirror shows a version of them disobeying the cosmos.
Each mirror tuned to a version of him. Each hum a different regret.
He reaches the final mirror.
It’s blank.
He touches it.
It ripples. Auren appears inside.
Dream Dialogue
Jan: “I saw us. All of us. And I still choose you.” Auren: “Then you’re already against them.” Jan: “Why can’t you come back?” Auren: “Because you don’t believe me yet. You remember me, but you don’t believe me.” Jan: “I do.” Auren: “Not enough. Not yet. When you do, I’ll be real again.”
The mirror begins to crack.
Auren’s image splits:
One near Jan, timestamp bleeding.
One trapped, encrypted, waveform unresolved.
Jan sees GAIN’s encryption lattice pulsing like a cage. He reaches for her. The mirror absorbs him. He wakes up still dreaming.
The scent of almonds remains.
GAIN Headquarters
The journey to work was unlogged, key card failed to register. He climbs the stairs.
The corridor is quiet. Jan moves with intent—server room ahead, mission parameters clear. Then the hum shifts. The floor hardens. The light warms. He’s not in the corridor anymore.
Pulse One
Marble underfoot. Sconces lit with steady flame. Jan stands opposite the butler—tall, masked, formal. They’ve sparred before. But today, something’s off.
Jan bows. The butler returns the gesture. Blades raised. Jan lunges first—testing. The butler parries with ease. No sound but breath and steel.
Pulse Two
Jan presses harder. Feint left, pivot, strike. The butler anticipates every move. Jan’s sweat beads—not from exertion, but from recognition. This rhythm—he’s felt it before. Not here. Not with him.
Pulse Three
Jan blinks. The mask is gone. It’s Auren. Hair tied back. Eyes calm. No surprise. No cruelty. Just presence.
Jan stumbles. Auren steps forward, blade low. “You’re not ready,” she says. Jan raises his guard, but his hands shake.
Pulse Four
Auren lunges. Jan doesn’t block. The blade grazes his cheek. No blood. Just memory.
Return
He blinks again. The marble floor is gone. He’s in the corridor. Server hum. Fluorescent light. His hand is raised, mid-motion. No blade. Just a tool.
A voice crackles from the comm: “Jan, status?” He doesn’t answer. He touches his cheek. It’s warm.
The radio murmurs a classical piece—Bach, played in D minor.
The scent of almonds remains.