Chapter 3: Is this a dream?

Estelle's lungs burned as she jerked awake, as if she had been holding her breath for hours. Her vision swam, images appearing in blurry slideshows—slowly awakening—until they sharpened on a scene that didn't make any sense: Massive chunks of black rocks drifted through empty space, moving with glacial slowness. Between them, clouds of gray and golden dust sparkled in phantom light that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"Where...?"

She turned in a slow circle, searching. For what, she wasn't certain, but her eyes strained against the endless darkness beyond the debris field. Nothing but more rocks, more crystalline dust, more emptiness. A nagging familiarity tugged at her like she was peering into a half-remembered dream—she had seen this before, she was certain of it. But when she tried to remember, pain pulsed at her temples, forcing her to squint as she whipped her head around, hunting for any clue to ground her.

Between the searching and understanding the surroundings, she noticed something felt fundamentally wrong. Her body felt impossibly light, as if gravity had released its hold on her. Her thoughts drifted increasingly unmoored—everything felt clear but nothing felt understandable—and yet her feet remained planted on... she looked down. What she stood upon wasn't ground at all, but a series of shattered stone platforms forming a crude staircase. It led forward into nothingness, ending abruptly where new steps had yet to materialize—though similar rocks in fragmented forms hovered nearby, as if waiting to solidify beneath her feet should she dare to advance.

“Where… am I?” the words felt thick in her mouth.

Her last clear memory was sitting at her desk, starting a new campaign within the World she had made. She remembered clicking "Enter Campaign" and then—this. This void. This cold space where nothing felt real.

A thunderous boom interrupted her thoughts, her heart hammering against her ribs as she jolted. She whipped around to see two massive rocks colliding nearby, grinding together without any sign of rebounding or stopping. They splintered into fragments—some spinning off into the darkness to soar among the other rocks—while others hurtled toward her with alarming speed, only to be caught and deflected by swirling clouds of animated golden dust.

"Am I dreaming?" she wondered aloud. The void offered no answer. Had she fallen asleep at her desk? She looked back over her shoulder, trying to trace her steps, but found nothing—no path, no trail between clicking that button and waking here. No memory of drifting off, no explanation for how she had arrived in this familiar place. "I must be... I must be dreaming," she muttered.

Her attention was drawn to the increasing sparkle of golden dust around her. Something felt odd about its movement. As she tracked the particles’ flow, she realized they were gathering under the broken stairs.

The golden dust bathed in unknown light, forming dune-like terrain. It shimmered in waves, beckoning her forward. Something about this sight sparked a blurry memory. She was certain this place was one of her creations—one of the thousands of maps she had built over the years—yet she couldn't pin down exactly what or where it was. It felt like one of her abandoned projects, relegated to some dusty archive. A dry smile crept across her face. "So now the dead ones come to give me nightmares too? Maybe I should have deleted that world instead of clinging to some... impulsive thoughts."

Estelle briefly entertained the thought of jumping into the abyss rather than ascending the broken stairs. She hadn't designed anything for such acts, but she was curious what her mind might conjure in that final moment. She shook her head, dismissing the idea. Beyond her fear of what lurked in that darkness, she wanted—needed—to remember this place. What was this? Where was this? Why had she created this? Or perhaps she was being presumptuous, and this wasn't her creation at all.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Forward she went, carefully planting her feet on each uneven platform despite her earlier misgivings. As she looked down, something caught her eye—a flutter of movement. Her cold, numbed skin was pulled by a heavy white coat that covered a black mockneck garment, her hands encased in skin-tight black gloves. "Oh," she muttered abruptly. "This is..."

A flash of memory struck her. This clothing—it was similar to the old designs the Architects used to wear. Estelle whipped her head around immediately, taking in her surroundings with new understanding. “Oh... I see—this place... This is that place—" her words trailed off into thoughts. 'Yes, that place... where the Architects came from—their origin point, supposedly. I think? I believe so? But I deleted it... or maybe archived it. Then how does this place still exist? Oh... right. A dream. But why am I dreaming of this place? Is it because I chose the Architect race for my campaign?'

Her thoughts were clear yet scattered, racing between remembering and creating reasons, until another distant collision of rocks caught her attention—another piece of lively animation populating this environment. 'What a generic environment—I could have done better,' she thought, pursing her lips. 'What was this place's purpose again? Beyond being the origin point... It feels like I'm missing something crucial.'

Lost in thought, Estelle placed one foot forward. The movement disturbed the golden dunes beneath the broken platform, sending particles spiraling upward in delicate eddies. She watched them dance, momentarily dazzled—until they froze. Every mote hung suspended, perfectly still, as if time itself had stopped.

She unconsciously tilted her head. That's when she felt it: her skin shivered, hairs standing on end. A vibration, so deep it seemed to resonate in her bones, rippled through the void. The floating rocks trembled—dust rippled back into motion, and waves of tension passed through the distant clouds, shattering their glimmer into unified waves across their surface like ripples from an explosion. The fabric of this space held its breath, waiting.

“Where are you going?”

The voice rolled through the void like thunder, carrying an unsettling familiarity that made her skin crawl. It was androgynous and resonant, carefully measured—and horrifyingly similar to her own, though processed and altered as if run through countless filters. A memory flashed, and her eyes widened with recognition. This was her voice, the same type across countless records for her world's narratives, but she had never heard it like this: alive, autonomous, questioning.

She turned slowly, searching the void for its source, but found only the endless field of rocks, the swirling golden dust now moving placidly, and the broken path that seemed to mock her with its purposeful design. 'Huh? Narration? Was that me? Did I really make a narrative about the origin of the Architect race?' Estelle wondered, taking another step forward.

"I tread these broken paths—" the voice came again, in that same processed tone, as music abruptly faded in from the distance, echoing throughout the void.

“Oh—" She halted immediately, recognition dawning in her widened eyes. The orchestral sounds flowing to her ears were unmistakable—a piece she had listened to countless times over the years after commissioning it. A soft electric synth echoed like waves, accompanied by a slow, delicate piano melody that carried a futuristic ambience, while violin strings stretched in quick rhythm beneath.

A smile spread across her face, reaching her eyes. 'I remember now. This is one of the racial introductions I created for the world. I voiced the Architect's sequence myself and commissioned a group of composers for the music.' Her smile widened. 'To think I'm experiencing it firsthand in a dream. How fascinating.'

Although this place would eventually be erased in the far future by her own hands—save for the individual assets that made up the entire set—she couldn't help but feel her mind was rewinding memories, perhaps rebelling against her will. 'No, that can't happen,' Estelle immediately declared. 'No matter what—I have to delete it.'