This is the story of a boy who never woke up from his dream—an eternal slumber, an endless adventure.
There once was a boy who longed to be free. He wished to dance, to sing, to run through fields and play with the other children. But fate had given him a frail body, too weak to even step outside. Day after day, he sat by the window, watching others live the life he could only dream of.
"Sigh..." The boy exhaled softly, his breath fogging up the glass. "How wonderful it must be… to be like them," he murmured. "To run, to play, to laugh without care… Yet here I am, trapped within the confines of these walls."
He coughed suddenly—harsh and wet—blood staining the hand that covered his mouth.
A gentle knock came at the door. It opened slowly, revealing a kind-looking woman with worry etched across her face.
"Are you alright, dear?" she asked, stepping inside.
"I'm fine, Mom. Just a light cough," the boy replied, forcing a tired smile.
She walked over and gently kissed his forehead. "You should rest, my sweet." With a soft voice, she tucked him into bed. "Have a nice dream," she whispered before quietly leaving the room and closing the door behind her.
Another sigh escaped his lips. "I guess I should rest for a bit…" he whispered. "If only I could be free."
He closed his eyes—and drifted into dreams
[Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.]
The rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock echoed faintly, then faded into silence.
The boy stirred, slowly opening his eyes.
"Huh…? Where am I?"
He sat up, blinking in surprise. He wasn't in his room anymore. He was in a grand, sunlit chamber that looked like it belonged in a castle. Marble floors gleamed beneath his feet, and velvet curtains framed the tall windows.
The door creaked open. A boy, perhaps a year or two older than him, stepped inside pushing a trolley laden with treats and drinks. He wore a crisp butler uniform and smiled warmly.
"Ah, you're awake. That's good—I was beginning to think you might sleep forever," the boy said cheerfully. "You must be famished. Here, have something to eat."
"Wait! Hold on! Who are you? What is this place?" the boy exclaimed, overwhelmed.
The other boy paused and gave a small bow. "Forgive my manners. I am Alvin, your butler and guide."
"Guide…? Wait, where exactly am I?" the boy asked, still confused.
Alvin's smile didn't falter. "I'll explain everything soon, but first—you should eat. You'll need your strength for what comes next."
Still unsure, the boy eventually gave in. The food was delicious—sweeter, richer, more vivid than anything he'd ever tasted.
Once he'd finished, he turned to Alvin again. "Okay. I've eaten. Now will you tell me where I am?"
Alvin folded his hands behind his back. "You're in the Realm of the In-Between," he said. "A world made of dreams and fantasies come to life. Here, you can do anything you wish. You can run, play, sing—anything. Here, you'll never age, never grow sick. You can be free."
The boy's eyes widened. It was as if his deepest wish had been answered.
"What do I do now?" he asked quietly, uncertain.
"Well," Alvin said, a glint of mischief in his eye, "you could go out and play. Or… you could stay here forever. The choice is yours."
He turned to leave, pushing the empty trolley toward the door.
"Oh, and one more thing," he added, pausing at the threshold. "As your guide, I can also help you… wake up. If that's something you still want."
He winked and left the room, the door closing softly behind him.
The boy stood alone in the chamber, noticing something strange—he felt… fine. His legs were steady, his chest no longer tight. He walked without stumbling. No coughing. No pain.
"How long has it been… since I felt like this?"
He wandered around in awe until a burst of light caught his eye. [BOOM!] An explosion of color erupted outside the window. He rushed over to see fireworks painting the sky in brilliant shapes and hues. Below, people danced and cheered in a lively festival.
"Whoa… that looks amazing!"
"I know, right?" came a voice beside him.
"Wha—?!" the boy jumped, startled to find Alvin standing silently beside him again.
"H-How did you do that?!" he exclaimed.
Alvin only grinned. "That's a secret. Hehe."
The boy eyed him suspiciously but let it go. "So… what's going on outside? Some kind of party?"
"It's the Festival of Stars," Alvin replied, his tone more serious. "It only happens once every twenty years. It's a celebration of the constellations that once filled the night sky… back when the stars still shone brightly."
He glanced at the boy. "Why not go and enjoy it? After all, it's not every day you get to move around like this."
Before the boy could respond, the room around him shifted—and his adventure truly began.
After a few minutes, the boy finally collected himself.
"What the hell was that about...?" he muttered to no one in particular.
He looked around and saw that the festival was in full swing. The streets were alive with energy—adults and children laughing, colorful stalls lining every corner, games being played, music filling the air as dancers moved in rhythm. It was chaotic, yes, but in a beautiful way. Everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives, and the boy, for once, didn't feel like an outsider.
He walked for a while, trying anything that caught his eye—from sweet, fragrant snacks to amusing little games. He had never been able to move so freely before, and with each step, each bite, each smile, the joy in his heart grew.
Then, something caught his eye.
A group of kids around his age were playing with an older boy, who looked like the leader. The boy hesitated for a moment, then asked himself, "Can I join them?" Gathering his courage, he approached the group.
"Hey, can I join you guys?" he asked, his voice tinged with nervous excitement.
The older boy turned to him and smiled warmly. "Sure! The more the merrier. We were just about to grab some food anyway."
He extended a hand. "I'm Mike, by the way. What's your name?"
The boy opened his mouth to answer, but—nothing came out.
"My name is ________," he tried again, but once more, no sound escaped his lips. It was as if the name itself had been swallowed by the void.
"Huh? Didn't catch that," Mike said, looking confused.
The boy tried again, but he realized with growing unease that he couldn't remember his name. It was just… blank. Like something—or someone—had taken it from him.
"Well, you can tell me later if you remember," Mike said, brushing it off with a grin. "Come on, let's go before the good stuff's all gone!" With that, he grabbed the boy's hand and pulled him along into the bustling streets.
Together with Mike and the group, the boy played to his heart's content. He laughed, he ran, he tasted foods he never had the chance to before. The restrictions of his fragile body were nowhere to be found, and he relished in the freedom.
But eventually, after many games and shared smiles, he waved farewell to Mike and the others, choosing to continue exploring on his own.
Then—
DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG.
A deep, echoing chime rang out from the direction of the castle. It was the sound of a great bell, and its toll resonated throughout the entire city.
The boy looked around. The streets, once lively and crowded, were now eerily empty. The stalls had vanished. The music had stopped. The once-chaotic charm of the festival had been replaced by an unsettling silence. The streets, once winding and cluttered, were now perfectly straight and unnaturally uniform.
Something wasn't right. He could feel it.
Then, faintly, he heard it—a distant giggle, the sound of children laughing.
"Let's play..."
The voice was soft. Too soft. It felt wrong.
Then the streetlights began to flicker...
And go out.
One by one.
As if something was moving closer.
In the distance, the boy felt a chilling gaze upon him. Then, a figure appeared: a man dressed in a black trench coat, holding a black umbrella. His eyes glowed a piercing yellow, as if he could see right through the boy.
Instinct took over, and the boy ran. He ran as fast as he could, heart pounding. Every time the man drew closer, the lights around him flickered and went out. He had to get away.
The boy's feet carried him toward the castle, but the man's footsteps grew louder, closer. The boy's desperation peaked as he reached the castle's door, banging on it urgently.
"HELP! HELP!" he shouted.
Fortunately, the door swung open. It was Alvin, who blinked in confusion.
"Huh? It's you. What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost," Alvin said.
But just as he spoke, the man's footsteps grew louder again, and the castle lights began to flicker. Alvin noticed too, frowning. His eyes began to glow with multicolored light, and with a snap of his fingers, the lights went out completely.
When they returned, the boy found himself standing behind Alvin, while the man stood before them.
"What are you doing here, brother?" the man asked, his tone as cold as ice.
The boy froze, his mind racing. 'Brother? These two are siblings?' he thought in shock.
"I'm here for the boy, Lorien. Get out of my way. Don't interfere," the man replied in a flat, emotionless voice.
Alvin, now called Lorien, seemed to panic. His voice grew desperate, almost pleading. "Please, just this once, make an exception. Just this once!"
The man, who was now glaring at Lorien, responded coldly, "No. I can't make any exceptions. Do you want to destroy the natural order of life and death, Lorien?"
The boy, still reeling from the revelation, suddenly understood. He looked at Lorien with disbelief. "Wait... does that mean... I'm dead?" he asked, his voice shaky.
Lorien's expression faltered. A flash of guilt passed across his face, and he sighed heavily. "I just wanted to give you the experience of having a healthy body and playing, sorry for lying to you. I couldn't bear to tell you the truth." His tone softened, revealing the weight of the regret he carried.
The boy stood frozen, the reality of it all sinking in. "I guess this is it, huh? I really thought... I'd get to live longer," he murmured, his voice breaking.
Tears threatened to spill, but the boy fought them back, his mind too overwhelmed by the harshness of reality. "So... before I go, can I at least know who you two are?" The boy's voice was desperate, as if to grasp onto something—anything—that would make sense of this all.
The man, whose cold demeanor had barely wavered, softened for the first time. His voice, when he spoke, was calm and soothing.
"Well, I guess I should go first. My name is Admatha, but I'm known to most as... Death," he said, his eyes warm now, though still filled with an undeniable gravity. "Sorry about my earlier temperament. I don't like when people interfere with my work."
Lorien gave the boy a reassuring smile. "I guess it's my turn then. I'm Lorien, also known as the King of Dreams." He looked at the boy kindly, his smile offering some semblance of comfort in the face of everything happening. "Everything will be alright."
The boy nodded, though uncertainty still lingered in his eyes. "So... I guess this is the end of my journey, huh?" He looked at Admatha, his expression hopeful, as if clinging to a final wish. "Can I at least say goodbye to my mother before I go?"
Admatha's face softened with regret. "I'm sorry, child, but your time is up. We've already delayed your journey to the afterlife longer than most, and I'm afraid it's time for us to go." His voice held a hint of sorrow as he extended his hand to the boy.
The boy hesitated, staring at the outstretched hand, unsure. But after a moment, he grasped it, his decision made.
"Hey, kid... I never actually got your name," Lorien said, breaking the silence. He thought for a moment, then smiled. "What's your name?"
The boy paused, then with a small but peaceful smile, he answered, "My name is... Arman. My name is Arman."
Finally, he turned to Admatha, his face calm despite everything. "I'm ready."
As soon as the words left his lips, a wave of relief washed over him. It felt as though invisible shackles that had bound him for so long had broken free. For the first time, he felt light, unburdened.
Admatha smiled warmly, and six white wings sprouted from his back. They enveloped the two of them in a bright, peaceful veil of light. In an instant they burst into flowers then, they were gone.
Lorien stood still for a moment, then whispered softly, "I'm sorry, Arman. I couldn't save you, but I do hope you enjoyed the dream I made for you."
He teleported to his library, where he noticed something peculiar—a book, new and untouched. As he approached, his eyes widened, and a smile crept across his face. The title of the book read, *The Boy Who Dreamed*.
In the waking world, Arman's mother stood outside his door, knocking gently. "Sweetie, are you awake yet? I'm coming in…"
She opened the door, only to stop in her tracks. Arman's lifeless body lay on his bed, a peaceful, satisfied smile on his face—as if he had just drifted into eternal slumber.