Lin Feng scoured every inch of the chamber.
He ran his fingers along the cold stone walls, pressing against each brick with slow, methodical care. His palms scraped over uneven textures, faint carvings, and dust-filled cracks. He wasn't sure what he was hoping to find—maybe a hidden lever, a door, a clue. Maybe a way out.
Or maybe just something to do.
He crouched down, tapping the floor tile by tile, half-expecting one to give under his weight like in some old video game. Nothing. Every slab of stone, every groove between them, was stubbornly ordinary.
Hours passed—or maybe it was just the same minute, repeating.
His eyes drifted back to the tree, that square, unnatural thing standing in silence. It was too still. Not a single leaf moved. He'd felt its presence since entering, like it wasn't just part of the room—it was the room. The heart of it. The eye watching everything.
"Why am I even doing this?"
The question came like a whisper from inside his own skull. He wasn't even sure he'd thought it himself.
He sat down against the wall, letting his arms fall to his sides. His muscles ached from hours of pointless searching. He sighed.
"It's a dream, right?"
His voice echoed faintly. Still no answer. No movement. Not even a flicker from the torches.
He stared at his phone again. Still 21:15. No bars. No notifications. The screen felt like a ghost—familiar but disconnected from anything real.
"If this is just a dream… then why try so hard? Why search every brick?"
He bit his lip.
"Am I trying to convince myself I'll wake up? Or that I won't?"
He rubbed his face with both hands, as if trying to wipe away the uncertainty. He didn't know anymore. The longer he stayed, the more real it all felt. Not just visually—his body hurt, his sweat was real, the dust in his throat tasted real. But that couldn't be right. Dreams didn't last this long. They didn't weigh on your chest like this.
And yet…
"Why do I feel watched?"
He turned again toward the tree. No change.
And still—that pressure, like unseen eyes pinned to his back. It wasn't constant. It came in waves, like a silent tide. One moment he could almost breathe normally, the next it felt like something invisible had stepped closer.
He stood and turned slowly in place, scanning every angle. Nothing. Not even a shadow out of place.
"Get a grip, Lin," he muttered.
So he dropped to the ground and began doing push-ups.
Twenty… thirty… forty-five.
His arms shook. The pain was welcome. Familiar. Measurable. Each movement helped clear the fog in his mind. Fifty-seven… fifty-eight… sixty—
He collapsed, breathless.
He flipped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling that faded into darkness. No stars. No cracks. Just black.
After a minute, he sat up and began jogging around the chamber. Small laps at first, careful not to crash into the strange square tree at the center. Then larger, looser loops. Over and over, pushing himself harder.
"Stay moving. Keep the mind clear. Don't think too much."
The rhythm helped. Step by step, breath by breath, it gave him a beat to hold on to. No answers, no changes—just motion.
Until he heard it.
"So restless…"
Lin Feng stopped mid-step.
He spun around, heart hammering, eyes wide. Nothing. Just the stone, the tree, and the silence pressing in once again.
Was that in my head? he thought.
Did I say it?
The voice had been soft—almost too soft. But so close, as if someone had leaned in, just inches from his ear, and whispered with amusement.
"Who's there?" he shouted, turning in place. "Who are you!?"
His voice echoed off the stone, returning to him empty.
He stood still, chest rising and falling, adrenaline sharpening every sense. His eyes flicked between shadows. His ears strained.
Nothing.
He turned slowly in place again, trying to find the direction the voice had come from. He had felt it—not heard it, but felt it—brushing the edge of his mind. It hadn't come from the room. Not exactly. It had felt like it came from within him, or through him.
He didn't know which idea was worse.
"Okay… maybe I'm really losing it now."
He backed toward the wall, eyes scanning the room again. Everything looked the same, but it no longer felt the same. The air felt heavier. The light colder. The silence deeper.
He sat again, back against the wall, and hugged his knees to his chest. He tried to focus on breathing.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
His hands trembled. His muscles ached. He felt more awake than he'd ever felt in any dream.
That's when he heard it again.
"Why do you run… if you believe it's only a dream?"
This time it wasn't faint. It was crisp, intimate. A voice not in his ears but inside his mind, clear as memory.
He froze.
"Who are you?" he asked again, quieter this time.
Silence.
Lin Feng stood up slowly. The torchlight seemed to flicker with his heartbeat. He stepped toward the tree again, uncertain. The square shape, once strange, now felt… deliberate. Artificial.
What is this place?
What am I?
The voice didn't come again, but its presence lingered, like a scent left behind in an empty room. He could still feel the weight of it near him. Watching. Waiting.