Cedar sat across from Dr. Michael Jones, occupying the same leather armchair she had during their first meeting. His office remained unchanged—the swaying pendulum clock still ticked in the corner, and dusty books lined the shelves in their usual disarray. The only notable difference was Dr. Jones himself. He looked visibly shaken, a stark contrast to the composed demeanor she remembered.

Leaning forward, his padded elbows resting on the desk, he probed her with a sharp, almost desperate curiosity.

“What happened to you? Who were those people that took you?”

“They’re from the rehab prison,” Cedar replied. “I’m in one of those virtual rehab thingy’s right now. I was just flying around town a second ago.”

As she mentioned the virtual rehab, a thought struck her: were Nachi and Everly still waiting for her at the Cheshire Welcome Inn? That would be her next stop. She glanced at her watch, noting she had enough time for one last visit before meeting Ari for breakfast. Her fingers brushed against the white dot on her temple. It hadn’t moved; in fact, it felt as though it had fused with her skin.

“I’m sorry, but that’s just not possible,” Dr. Jones said, his voice tinged with both skepticism and concern.

“You’re part of my subconscious,” Cedar explained. “You’re exactly how I imagine a psychologist would look and sound. It’s really cool that you remember me and didn’t reset or anything.”

She knew she sounded crazy, but she didn’t care. After all, she was only talking to herself—or, more accurately, to a manifestation of her mind. It all made sense now. Nozomi had needed to hook into her subconscious for this very reason.

“I’m afraid your delusions have surpassed my scope of practice,” Dr. Jones said with a weary sigh. “I can’t help you here. You need to be in a facility, Miss Wells. I’m sorry.”

Cedar saw the sincerity in his expression as he added, “We need you back. In the real world.”

“I can prove I can fly,” she declared, rising to her feet. For a fleeting moment, she considered conjuring a superhero outfit, complete with a cape, but the thought of resembling Ari made her cringe. Instead, she focused all her energy on her feet.

They remained firmly planted on the ground.

She tried to jump, willing herself to hover, to break free from gravity’s hold. But each time, she landed with an audible thud.

Dr. Jones clicked his pen, jotting something in his notebook. “The deeper you delve into these delusions, the harder it will be to pull yourself out. You can’t fly, Miss Wells. That should be your first proof.”

His words stirred a memory of Ari’s lecture about proof, faith, belief, and trust. Cedar couldn’t recall the details, but she distinctly remembered him comparing her to Jesus.

“I’m a god, Dr. Jones,” she blurted. “Which makes you a god too, by association.”

She began jumping up and down, her movements erratic, her tone veering toward mania.

“That’s enough,” Dr. Jones implored, his eyes wide with worry. “Please stop.”

His disbelief stung, and she realized it might be the root of her failure to take off. Perhaps, deep down, she shared his doubt. A small, nagging part of her couldn’t believe any of this was real.

Before coming here, Cedar had considered visiting her friends and family. But in the end, she decided against it. They were only figments of her subconscious, and while she missed them desperately, she knew this journey was one she had to face alone.

Dr. Michael Jones, for all his flaws, was the only one she could confide in—if only to mess with him.

“Menu.”

The large luminescent display of glorious delights illuminated the scholar’s office. Its ghostly glow clashed with the austere cherry mahogany furniture and brass accents, creating a surreal contrast.

“What the . . .” Dr. Michael Jones rose from his desk, bewildered.

“Menu, go away.” Cedar waved her hand at the display, causing the light particles to scatter like a dissipating hologram. She wanted to ensure the interface still responded to her commands.

“What was that?” the doctor asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“I should get going. Sorry, Dr. Jones. If I find time to visit again, I will.”

“No, wait, Miss Wells—”

Ignoring his protests, Cedar strode out of his office. Once outside, she bent her knees and sprang into the air, launching herself into the lower atmosphere with ease.

Moments later, she touched down outside the Cheshire Welcome Inn. Opening the door to her alleged motel room, she found it exactly as she remembered—boring beige walls, unremarkable furniture—but no sign of Nachi or Everly.

Cedar glanced at her watch: 5:55 a.m.

She had spent the last ten hours flying across the world, visiting landmarks from Hawaii to Antarctica, Easter Island to Tibet. Her journey had been nothing short of spectacular. If there were a champion tourist title, she’d earned it—though she lacked the requisite megapixel camera hanging around her neck to make it official.

“Menu.”

The menu of delights materialized before her once more. She selected End Program, terminating the Weightlessness simulation and prompting her return to the retreat. The world shifted around her, and she found herself standing outside the vine-encrusted pagoda where Nozomi had first affixed the white dot to her temple.

She made her way to the front of the Japanese steakhouse, where Ari was waiting for her on a bench. His calm presence was betrayed by the slight furrow of his brow as he glanced up at her.

“I’m right on time,” Cedar said, grinning.

“That you are,” Ari replied. “How was your sleep? Restful?”

“I didn’t sleep. Sorry.” Cedar gave a sheepish shrug. “I found the Weightlessness program and thought it would be nice to try before bed, but then . . . well, I didn’t realize I’d be able to fly all over the world and—”

Ari raised a hand to stop her. “I told you, didn’t I? How this place can suck you in?”

“What’s the rush, though?” Cedar countered. “Don’t we have all the time in the world? You said that. On day one. You remember?”

Ari groaned, rubbing his face in exasperation. “A little excursion now and then is fine, but you have to stay focused. Most people spend their whole lives being distracted and don’t realize it until it’s too late.”

He stood from the bench, brushing invisible dust from his trousers. “You ready for breakfast?”

“I’m famished,” Cedar admitted.

“On second thought, this might be a good time to meditate.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Being half-asleep and starving is a great time to meditate,” Ari said with a smirk. “You’re close to the void without even trying.”

“Can’t I just have some wagyu and eggs first?” Cedar’s stomach growled in protest.

“After.”

Ari summoned the menu of delights, scrolling through its endless options. His expression turned mischievous as he made a selection.

“Forget the dungeon today,” he said with a devilish grin. “I found something better.”

“What is it?” Cedar asked, leaning over his shoulder to see his choice. “Asceticism? What’s that?”

“I’ve never tried it myself, but if it works, we might be able to skip the dungeons altogether.”

Cedar doubted that anything in the retreat could be as torturous as a dungeon—but then again, she remembered her time spent in space. A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard, wishing she had water.

“Ari . . .”

Before she could finish, a door creaked open in front of them, revealing a dark, empty room illuminated by a single lit candle.

“What is asceticism?” she whispered.

“You should have thought about that before you spent the night gallivanting,” Ari replied, his tone laced with mild reproach.

Cedar took a step back, nervously tugging at her elbow’s weenis. “You can’t make me go in there.”

Ari regarded her with calm intensity. “Remember why we’re here,” he said evenly. “You’re right, I can’t make you go in. But think about why we came in the first place—and what we’re trying to accomplish.”

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

After a moment of silence, he continued, his voice firm but not unkind. “This is what distractions do. They trap you in the cycle of forgetting and remembering, only to forget again. They keep you tethered to the illusion that you’re powerless to change anything. Distractions are like dreams—and what do dreams do? They suck us in.”

“I’m not powerless,” Cedar grumbled under her breath.

“Prove it.”

Cedar hesitated before stepping forward and peering inside the stark enclosure. It lacked any identity, no hint of malevolence lurking in its shadows. The space itself was void-like, a formless expanse where time seemed to stretch endlessly—a far greater menace than anything physical.

Taking a deep breath, she crossed the threshold. Behind her, Ari sealed the door, leaving her alone in the silent, suffocating void.

“Oh well,” she muttered, exhaling. She trudged over to the solitary table, where the flickering candle rested. Sitting cross-legged before it, she surveyed her surroundings. The darkness was impenetrable, the boundaries of the room—if there were any—completely obscured.

With a sigh, she thought, Might as well sneak in a nap.

Barely a minute into her attempt, a piercing screech shattered the silence, jolting her awake. She shot upright, scanning the room, but saw nothing. Irritated, she lay back down to try again, only for the same sound to erupt, sharper and more jarring this time.

“Well, so much for that plan,” she said, springing to her feet.

“Asceticism . . . how do I know that word?” Cedar wracked her brain for its meaning. “Sufis were ascetics. I remember that. But what did the Sufis do?”

Her mind came up blank. With no answers and no distractions, she resigned herself to staring at the candle. It was pristine white, with a solitary wax trail glistening down one side, cradled in an elegant brass holder.

She yawned, sprawling out on the floor for a moment before sitting back up. Fixing her gaze on the flame, she leaned forward and curiously blew it out.

“Huh.”

Darkness enveloped the room, and Cedar squinted into the void. Nothing happened. Then, without warning, the candle reignited itself, its flickering light scattering across the empty space like a defiant beacon.

Bored, she stretched out her hand and hovered it over the flame.

“Ouch!” She pulled her hand back with a hiss, rubbing her palm.

Before she could dwell on the pain, another candle flickered to life in the distance. Intrigued, Cedar stood and approached it, her boredom overtaking her unease. As she drew closer, she noticed an object lying beside the candle on the table.

She snatched up the leathery item, which unfurled itself to the floor.

“A whip?” Cedar arched an eyebrow, the object heavy in her hands. Suddenly, a light bulb went off in her mind. “Oh . . . Sufis practiced self-flagellation!”

She sloshed the whip lazily from side to side, testing its weight while contemplating its purpose. The thought of self-inflicted pain struck her as both tedious and absurd—about as appealing as running a marathon. It simply wasn’t her style.

Pain, she thought, should be earned. It should come from mistakes, from not paying attention—not from me deliberately punishing myself.

She tossed the whip aside and stared at the candle, her mind churning. If asceticism was a test, she wasn’t convinced it was one worth taking.

This must be Ari’s idea of a joke, Cedar thought. Punishment for having fun last night. But why tempt me with pain after knowing how much I’ve already flirted with it?

She shrugged and lazily swung the whip, giving herself a light smack on the back. It didn’t hurt—it was more like a slap from a stiff piece of leather. Yawning, she smacked herself again, slightly harder this time.

“Menu,” she called.

The glorious menu of delights materialized in front of her, its shimmering display easing her mind. At least she wasn’t trapped in this ridiculous program. Too tired and hungry to play Ari’s games, she felt an overwhelming urge to opt out. But then again, wouldn’t that mean letting him win?

With a sharp inhale, she swung the whip and struck her back hard this time. A spontaneous gasp escaped her lips.

“I’m not a masochist,” she whined, staring down at the short whip in her hand. “This won’t work if I don’t believe in it.”

As if responding to her doubt, another candle lit up in the distance, illuminating yet another table with a new object placed beside it.

“Oh, screw this.”

Without even inspecting the newest “torture tool,” she commanded the menu to take her back to Ari.

The program fizzled into oblivion, and Cedar found herself standing once more outside the steakhouse. Ari sat on the bench, looking smug.

“That was fast,” he remarked.

“I’m not doing that. How could you even suggest it?”

“It’s good to try different things,” he said with a shrug. “Asceticism is supposed to help you overcome emotions, promote clarity, and annihilate fear. That’s the goal here, right? It also teaches patience. Patience is huge. You want to learn something about—”

“No, Ari,” she interrupted, cutting off the glint of excitement in his eye. “I’m so tired and hungry. I won’t remember anything you say.”

“Remind me later, then. It’s worth knowing.”

Feeling a small swell of empowerment from leaving the torture chamber and dodging Ari’s lecture, Cedar announced her plan. “I’m going to eat breakfast and sleep. I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave the retreat. How do I even call you?”

“I’ll probably be outside, working on the new dungeon,” he replied. “Just come find me when you’re ready.”

Cedar nodded, disappearing into the steakhouse. Inside, she devoured wagyu and eggs, savoring every bite. As soon as she finished, the glorious menu whisked her away to a secluded, dimly lit bedchamber where she collapsed into the plush mattress and slept soundly for ten hours.

When she awoke, she glanced at her watch and gasped. Half past five in the evening!

“Ari’s going to kill me,” she groaned, rushing to put on her Kung Fu attire. She had accomplished nothing since completing the second dungeon. Was it really just yesterday?

Her body still felt drained. She wanted more rest, more food, and a long soak in the cleansing pool. She hadn’t had a single day to herself since arriving, and the burnout was finally catching up with her.

“Menu!”

The glorious menu of delights appeared, its warm glow illuminating her face. Instead of navigating the options by hand, Cedar tested out a new idea.

“Take me to Ari.”

Her solid surroundings dissolved into dust as the dimly lit room faded from existence, wafting away like smoke into the unknown. Cedar found herself standing on firm ground just outside the retreat. To her left, the haunting yet familiar Level Two dungeon loomed next to the spa’s calming facade. On her right, a new and unnerving cave yawned open, its vexing maw crowned by a skewed wooden plank that read Level Three in jagged lettering.

Ari lay in front of the new dungeon, swaying gently in a hammock with his eyes closed.

“I’m sorry, Ari,” Cedar began. “I was out cold for at least ten hours. I haven’t had a day to myself since I got here.”

“It’s okay,” Ari replied without opening his eyes.

Cedar motioned toward the ominous cave. “Have you been in there yet?”

“I have.”

“I’m ready for it,” she said eagerly. “I just need my sword.”

Ari opened his eyes and sat up, stretching his arms lazily. “You’ll need more than a sword.”

Cedar let out a small sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to chastise her for being late. She wasn’t the disciplinary type, and she could already tell her future self wasn’t either. Still, she wished she’d grabbed dinner first—she could have gotten away with it.

“I get more weapons?” Cedar perked up.

“Armor,” Ari corrected. “The beasties in there are a bit prickly.”

He reached down and grabbed a sturdy backpack resting next to his hammock.

“New backpack?” Cedar asked.

“Yeah. We need to bring a few things for this one. Potions, magic, snacks, too.”

Cedar’s stomach growled in response.

Ari pulled several pieces of leather armor from the bag and handed them to her.

“Here, put these on.”

Cedar accepted the gear, laying each piece out on the grass. The armor was crafted from dark brown leather, save for the chest piece, which had black molding shaped like a spider across the front. The set included leather pants, a heavy cloak, a wide belt, shoulder guards that attached to the chest piece, and sturdy new boots.

Without pause, Cedar stripped off her loose-fitting Tai Chi-fu pants, which offered no protection and felt more like pajama bottoms than actual combat gear. She slipped one leg into the leather pants, then the other, and sucked in her stomach as she buttoned the snug waistband.

The chest piece came next, slipping over her head with its front and back sections held together by woven straps on the sides.

“Pull the straps to tighten it,” Ari instructed, gesturing toward the dangling fabric.

As Cedar cinched the chest piece tight, Ari pulled out the rest of the gear: a pair of gloves, wrist guards, and a beaded headband.

“Put the boots on first, before the gloves,” he said, picking up the shoulder pieces. “These clip on here.” He secured the guards in place with practiced ease.

Cedar threaded the belt through the loops, clasping the buckle. With each piece of armor she fastened, she felt an odd mix of emotions. The heavy leather seemed to bolster her spirit, imbuing her with a newfound resilience. At the same time, a rock settled in her stomach. She’d never needed this much protection before.

As Ari held a glove open for her to slide her hand into, she asked, “Why all the armor? Just how bad is this place?”

“Bad,” Ari replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Cedar’s throat tightened.

“While you were asleep,” Ari continued, “I had time to make a few modifications. Let’s just say it’s all your worst fears combined.”

Cedar stared at him, her unease growing. “Are you sure I’m ready for this?”

Ari gave her a measured look. “Pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure?” Cedar echoed.

“If you complete this dungeon, you won’t have to do any more,” Ari said, clamping a wrist guard around Cedar’s forearm with a solid clink.

“All my worst fears . . . does that mean I have to do public speaking in there?”

Ari chuckled but gave her a stern look. “Ha, no. This dungeon is called Satan’s Citadel. It’s modeled after how Catholics and Christians envision hell. It’s got all the classics—demons, fire, lava—and you can probably guess who the boss fight is with.”

Cedar shuddered, the devil’s face forming unbidden in her mind’s eye.

“How do I beat the devil?”

“He uses your own fear against you, so as long as you keep your cool, you’ll be fine. Honestly, he’s boring. Don’t let him rattle you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Cedar scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“He’s a big dummy.”

“Sure,” Cedar said sarcastically. “Sounds like a real pushover.’

‘Is there a hell? Like, a real hell?” she asked.

“Hell is whatever you make of it,” Ari replied cryptically.

“I hate answers like that.”

“Since this is a hell dungeon,” Ari continued, shifting back to practical matters, “its main source of magic is fire.” He opened the backpack and revealed a bundle of small blue orbs nestled inside. “You’ll need either water magic or ice spells.”

He held up a deep blue orb, its liquid core swirling hypnotically. “Water,” he said simply.

Then he pulled out another orb, this one an icy sapphire shade. “Ice.”

“Got it,” Cedar said with a curt nod.

Ari pulled a pair of small daggers from the pack and handed them to her. “Here. For close combat. They fit into these sheaths on your belt.” He tapped the designated spots. “Your sword clamps on your left side. Draw it with your right hand.”

“I know man, this ain’t my first rodeo.”

Ari stepped back, scrutinizing her with a careful eye. “You’re hungry,” he observed, reaching into his pack again.

“You can tell that?”

“My interface tells me all sorts of things. Here, eat this.” He handed her a tube of brown paste. “It’s a full steak dinner, so take small swallows, or you’ll throw it up.”

“Sounds delicious,” Cedar remarked before squeezing a dollop onto her tongue.

Ari stepped back once more, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, the headband. I almost forgot.” He picked up the stretchy circlet of beads and placed it gently on her head, the shimmering baubles resting just above her ears. “This gives you the same protection as a helm. Plus, it helps clear your mind.”

“God knows I’ll be needing that,” Cedar said, feeling her hunger begin to wane. She felt her senses sharpen as the circlet embraced her head through its own volition.

“When we get out of the dungeon,” Ari said, “you can take as much time as you want in the retreat. Deal?”

“For realzies?”

“For realzies,” Ari replied with a nod and a faint, worried smile.

Cedar squeezed the remaining paste into her mouth.

“Hey—what did I just say?” Ari scolded.

“I’m not swallowing it all,” Cedar said through a mouthful of paste, pointing to the bulge in her cheek. “It’s right here.”

Ari rolled his eyes but straightened his posture, looking at her with a steady gaze.

“Are you about to give me one of your famous pep talks?” Cedar asked, her voice half-muffled. “You know, the usual: none of this is real, the only evil is fear, believe in myself, yada yada. Did I miss anything?”

“I think you got it,” Ari said, his expression softening as he held her gaze. He lingered, unwilling to let go.

“You’ll be different after this,” he said quietly.