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As I moved closer, I could smell a distinct, earthy scent coming off him.
It hit me then.
Chius wasn’t just sleeping; he was in a state of deep meditation, a daydream of sorts.
This was both an opportunity and a risk.
The boundaries and rules of the dreamworld were not as clear when it came to daydreams, and who knew what I might encounter or how he might react?
It was a risk I was willing to take.
For Tix, for the future, and to quell the growing dread within me.
With cautious optimism, I reached out, allowing my consciousness to meld with Chius’s daydream.
The surroundings started to shift, and I felt a rush of sensations — the warmth of a different sun, and the distant cries of unfamiliar birds.
Hoping to uncover his fears, his vulnerabilities, anything that might give Tix an edge, I plunged into the depths of Chius’s psyche.
There was no turning back now.
I entered his daydream, driven by hope and determination, praying I’d find the answers I was searching for.
* * *
The sensation of waking from the dreamworld was always disorienting, a heady blend of the weightlessness of dreams and the pull of reality.
This time, however, my senses snapped into focus faster than ever before.
The familiar hum of the Prize Pool’s walls buzzed around me.
I could feel the cold, hard ground beneath me, almost as if it was urging me to move.
Pushing off the floor, I was immediately on my feet.
A frantic urgency bubbled inside of me, and I searched frantically for something, anything, to write on.
Spotting a discarded scrap of paper on a nearby table, I lunged for it.
The paper was slightly damp and had the distinct aroma of stale sweat.
It was not ideal, but it would have to do.
I quickly scribbled down what I had discovered from Chius’s daydream, my fingers tingling with each hurried movement.
Finishing, I looked around for a way to get the message to Tix.
My heart thudded loudly in my chest, its rhythm amplifying my anxiety.
The air felt thick and muggy, and each breath was laborious.
Spotting a guard near the entrance, I sprinted toward him.
His imposing frame stood still as stone, and his large helmet stared straight ahead, not acknowledging my approach.
“Please,” I implored, thrusting the note toward him. “You have to give this to Tix. He’s about to fight in the pits. It’s vital.”
The guard’s response was a nonchalant glance in my direction, his face revealing nothing.
