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Instead, the light aroma of rain on parched earth filled my nostrils, evoking memories of a world outside the prison.
Every now and then, the serene landscape would be disrupted by the flickering image of a prisoner, usually mid-battle, his face contorted with effort and aggression.
They appeared out of nowhere, ghostly and ethereal, only to vanish as suddenly as they came.
These were the dreamers, prisoners who, in the depths of their slumber, were reliving their moments in the pits.
Each hoped for a victorious outcome, for the right to claim their Prize.
I shook my head.
The allure of the pits, the promise of a Prize, had led many to their downfall.
For some, it was the desperate need to prove their worth; for others, a hope for some semblance of connection.
In the harsh world of Ikmal, Prizes were one of the few comforts, a fleeting moment of companionship in an otherwise lonely existence.
As I walked the periphery of the fighting grounds, the salty taste of the sweat and blood that once soaked this arena seemed to hang in the air, a haunting aftertaste of the brutal battles that played out day after day.
I was no fighter.
I had no desire to prove my mettle in the pits, to risk life and limb for the chance at a Prize.
Because I had discovered a far more intimate and risk-free way to connect.
Through dreams.
The Prizes, like all in Ikmal, slumbered.
And their dreams were as varied as the stars, filled with hopes, fears, past experiences, and hidden desires.
I had honed my skill, mastering the art of entering and navigating these dreams.
I offered solace, a reprieve from the daily grind, a chance for the Prizes to experience joy, excitement, or simply peace.
In return, I felt their emotions, basking in the warmth of genuine human interaction… and sexual satisfaction.
* * *
The sensation of shifting always felt the same to me.
A gentle tug at the pit of my stomach, a rush of images and sounds, and then a serene stillness as the new dreamworld formed around me.
This time, I found myself in the dreamworld of the Prize Pool.
It was an undulating sea of cerulean and gold, a shimmering mirage of light that pulsed with the dreams and desires of the Prizes.
The floor beneath me was soft, almost spongy, yielding slightly underfoot, and the air was thick with blossoming jasmine.
Every now and then, the serene landscape would ripple, and the figure of a female would emerge, her form wavering like a mirage.
These were the Prizes, their dreams temporarily grounding them in this shared dreamscape.
Some were deep in thought, lost in their fantasies, while others looked around, their eyes filled with wonder and uncertainty.
They all appeared for an instant and were gone just as quickly.
I approached slowly, waiting for the one Prize whose dream resonated with my own desire for satisfaction.
