Dreams… they are a funny thing. They can be more real than your first kiss… and they can be more real than the time you cut yourself with the kitchen knife. But is it only real to the mind? Everything we experience when we dream, lucid or otherwise, are as familiar as our own heartbeat. But when we wake up, with or without the memory of the dream, does it truly end? Does the world in that dream disappear? Why does it appear again in the next dream?

The cult taught him much. At first he felt unease by their teachings and practices. They were so alien, so unreal and illogical that he started to doubt them. Salvatore did enjoy their company though. They acted very much like normal people when not performing their practices. Much of the cult's beliefs were inspired by the many teachings and beliefs of Buddhism, Shintoism and Hinduism. The rituals, pilgrimages, the method of worship and the pilgrimage one must take. Sal experienced much of these after his initiation rite, but not one did he feel that they amount to what he was supposed to learn or do. What was the purpose?

The cult itself dedicates itself to achieving personal goals through dreams. They believe they could achieve divinity through dreams, transcend to other realms, cross dimensions and create something from nothingness. Mind over matter… it definitely sounded ridiculous.

Every night for the past few weeks he had studied on the concepts of dreams, cross referencing sources from other religions to the sciences and metaphysics. Nothing. Days went by and Sal still could not understand it. His brown hair grew unkempt, lack of grooming and trimming had made his hair touch his shoulder. Book after book, website after website, and each hour felt like an eternity and it only frustrated him more. Then he reached the point where he was fed up; he tossed his books aside, yelled in agitation and thrashed about his bedroom. They expected so damn much from him and he had nothing to show for all his work. They'd berate him for being so distant, disconnected from the way and would push him to do more; if they knew so much then how come they never achieved their goals? Their excuse is what shut him up though: dreaming in general, managing and controlling your dream in rapid succession is the first step. And they had done so. Their eyes did not lie; they have dreamed... and they dreamed many.

He appeared before the confession booth in the cult church; Father Grigori had little to no acolytes but he still kept up with the system. They had many devoted followers with unquestionable loyalties… all except him. Grigori was not surprised when he saw him enter the booth, but he smiled and welcomed him regardless. Out of the many followers in this cult, the only one who offered him comfort rather than lecture was the head of the cult.

"Dreams guide you acolyte Salvatore." He said.

"And also you father," Sal responded. "Forgive me but I am troubled father… I feel as though I am lost."

"The sound of your anger was indication enough," he said with a chuckle. "But pray tell, what is it you are lost on?"

"The dreams father… I can't dream… I can't shape or mold a dream let alone have one. I've tried for a great and many days but… I feel lost."

The father looked at him with sympathizing eyes and breathed slowly. He took the time to collect his thoughts before he spoke, "dreams cannot be sought after physically my son. Your studies have showed you the methods and ways, but your mind, not your body, should be the one to attempt it."

"But I have. I've thought of everything, thought of all methods and_" he was interrupted by the father, "that is your problem. You thought. Dreams do not come through thinking Salvatore… they come through emotion, command and openness. You have not yet commanded your mind to open itself to the dreams… you most give yourself open to let them flow freely… and you must feel them as they enter. Dreams cannot be demanded, only allowed."

Sal was silent as he listened to the father's teachings. His mind gazed through the other side, peering through the old father's gaze before it drifted down to the floor. He took in every word he had to say before he finally responded, "Allow… the dreams to flow… how do I know if I'm dreaming?"

"Remember our mantra son." Then Sal bowed his head and recited the mantra of the cult, "through sleep, comes dreams. Through dreams, comes life. Through life, comes knowledge. Through knowledge, comes enlightenment. Through enlightenment comes the will; awake in the dream."

"That's right Salvatore. Remember, this Mantra is not just used as a means of worship. Repeat yourself this every hour of every night before midnight, then when you sleep, you will wake in the dream."

"And… the pilgrimages? The rituals? The rites? What do they serve?"

"They serve as our connection to the immaterial realm. The pilgrimages are to enlighten us, to connect ourselves to our world on a deeper, personal connection. It is because our world is also connected to the immaterial realm; so very much so that they are touching, but neither of them existing in the same place. Through this connection, we will allow ourselves to connect to this realm, and thus, allow the dreams flow from there to us. This, along with the rituals and practices, are the necessary requirements needed to achieve our personal goals."

"Such as divinity?"

"Yes and much more. Though I believe my acolytes may have misinterpreted the meaning of achieving divinity. We cannot mold the world we live in through the means of our dreams. But we can influence worlds we create through our dreams. To remove ourselves from this realm into another, to create a world or even to cross into other dimensions and realms is a difficult process."

"So… everything… is just a dream?"

"No Salvatore… you misunderstand. Dreams are the gateways. Dream alone are just dreams if one does not have total understanding and control. Sometimes… even the most enthusiastic acolyte will be unprepared for the troubles ahead."

"And how do you know this?" Grigori fell silent with that. The pain in his eyes and the tension of his trembling lips as he bit into them were clear indication of some… unsavory memories.

"I've lost acolytes before your initiation into the cult. I've seen men go mad from the revelations, from the worlds they've visited. Never had I felt so accomplished… yet so ashamed. They have made a huge step on the right path… but they awoke in dreams that would destroy lesser men's minds. The fear… the agony… the madness it caused... it was terrible. Beautiful that they have took the next level in dreaming… but at the same time, horrific… as they were unprepared… alone and in pain. I have never mentioned the successes of the previous acolytes to you. Even the other acolytes from before swore an oath to keep it behind closed doors. It would ruin the cause and the belief this cult had built."

He was stunned. Salvatore wasn't sure what to say. Successful? It couldn't be. And to think these successes ended up in poor favors for the dreamers. How did one survive such an ordeal? What sort of horrors did they experience? What was waiting for them in the beyond that they've so desperately sought after?

"Bah…" Grigori started to speak once more, "I've shouldn't have mentioned that. I… I think… I may end the session today. And Salvatore… remember this tale, for I feel that my method was wrong, and I've lead you new generation on a dangerous path. Whatever realm you enter, whatever dream you have to take you, remember my warnings… remember my tale… do not succumb." And with that, Grigori slid out of the booth and rapidly walked towards the quarters. Considering what time it was, Sal felt the need to sleep too. Hopefully this time he will dream… and he will dream easy.

His bedroom was small, but comforting. It staved off the cold and weather that threatens him and the other acolytes. A small desk in which to read and write and study, a single, cushioned wool bed to rest on, and a simple ceiling light to illuminate the dark brown interior. With such a small window, it was difficult to see much outside. Salvatore turned to his desk to study one last time before he knelt on the bed to recite the mantra. Ten times; he had forgotten about it though. To dream in bliss is to dream in comfort; he must at least dream of something pleasant to avoid such horrid experiences.

And dream he did. As he climbed into the bed, tucked himself under the sheets, repeating the mantra in his head until the mind became blank and null to everything, he saw a form. Alien geometries that shaped into unrecognizable, indescribable forms. They were beautiful though… beautiful than he could imagine. To him, it looked like some ordinary meadow illuminated under the twilight sky, but it wasn't. It was as though two minds are at work; a veil cast over the nature of the dream, as if to conceal its true beauty. Was what he thought it was real? Or was it a guise? Dreams were always under a form of guise. The more the dream took shape, the more he saw. Beautiful… utterly beautiful. As if by instinct, he reached for the tuft of grass, caressing the blades underneath the palm of his hand. Soft, smooth, and wet. The dream flowed, he allowed it to come. He touched the dream, and it reacted, giving him insight into his own dream. The alien shapes come back, and awestruck was Sal when he gazed upon the misshapen beauty.

He felt as though doors opened in his world, he felt the need to explore, to traverse through these doors. There were so many though… so many odd sharpened and colored doors that it was difficult to decide on which one.

One door stood out from the others… more so than ever. It was large, made of brass, operated by a great and many clockworks and gears that defined mechanisms. It looked so alien, almost magical in nature. There were slots filled in with strange runic boxes of incomprehensible origin. No alphabet on Earth was matched to this. Not even dead civilizations that have this sort of structure.

Compelled to open it, Salvatore reached for the door, pressed his palm against the titanic metal brass plate and pushed against it. No good. He tried another part of the door, then another, and another until he heard a click when he pushed against a loosened slot. The box shook and sunk into the hole, matching the others around the door. The gears and clocks turned and shifted, it spread the metal brass doors in a vertical shape, and pulled away from each other. The abyss beyond the door trembled and shuddered, as if beckoning the young acolyte. In fear he recoiled, backed away from the door as if to run. But when he turned, he felt several invisible hands grasp around his arms and legs, pulling him into the void. Sal screamed and yelled for help, but could not do anything to remove himself from the binds that hold him. Darkness enveloped him as he continued to struggle, until all he could see was black.

The more he thought, the more his head hurt. Salvatore had been whisked away from his newly formed dream into another it seemed. Or… at least he thought it was. The dream felt real yes, but this felt… strange. Everything was… real… more than real. To put in perspective, it felt alive… truly… independently… as if he was awake. Yet he wasn't… he knew that.

He arose from the ground, finding himself beside a stone path leading north and south. At least… he thought it is. Wherever here was, it wasn't home. One look around showed him a strange geographical landscape. Hills and plains inhabited by strange looking trees and giant twisted mushrooms, awkward stone fence and lamppost architects that closely resembled the Hindus craftsmanship and oddly shaped, floating, jellyfish like beings.

This had to be a dream. It just had to. He thought to himself how impossible this was. But it was real… by the dreams it was all real. Then… a sudden compulsion told him to look up. Surly the sky will provide answers. But no. What he saw was nothing a mortal should comprehend. It was impossible… beyond impossible! This was no sky at all. There was… there was no explanation for it. There was nothing to describe the night sky. There was no space that he could see or understand. It had no identifiable color, shape or meaning. But that wasn't the only thing that distraught him so greatly. Floating in the sky were two physical beings… or half a being… or… is it a being at all? Is it a person? A thing? The swarm of information of having to awaken in this seemingly bizarre new world had knocked the wind out of Sal. He fell onto the plains again, drifted off into sleep… if one could sleep in a dream.

There were dark visions… visions that plagued his mind. Great shadows swallowed him whole; from the ground up they reached head to toe, threatening to engulf him. Dread and fear had overtook him, until a soothing voice called out from beyond the shadows. It was then, did he finally wake.

"Wake up… are you okay? You're dreaming! Wake up!" The voice was calm, but loud enough to be audible. When Sal did awoke, he was greeted by an ashen skinned looking… human… with eyes as red as blood and hair as white as snow.

"Stand up… there you go! You were dreaming… what's your name?"

Salvatore took a look around the environment again. The sky… looked like the sky. There were stars, constellations, nebulas it seemed… and… two moons. Two moons in place of the impossible shapes he witnessed. Were they even real? Was that a dream too? No it couldn't be… but it looked normal to say the least. Well… normal as being on some world having two moons have. But only then did he respond to the grey skinned humanoid creature with a nervous tone.

"My name is Salvatore… w-where… where the hell am I?" were his first words.

"Why, you're in Morrowind, Imperial."

Salvatore took a while to hear what he said, still processing everything around him. He turned to the man again, puzzled and confused.

"What?"