Dedicated to Lilo, my regal rascal. Rest in peace.

Beta Reader: Faulty Paragon at

Big thanks to the KH Rogue Nebula for keeping the Big Bang alive and to my Beta Reader for her hard work!

If you want to read this fic with the intended formatting, head on to AO3.

Mercy! thou dearest attribute of heav'n,

The attractive charm, the smile of Deity,

To whom the keys of Paradise are given—

Thy glance is love, thy brow benignity,

And bending o'er the world with tender eye,

Thy bright tears fall upon our hearts like dew,

And melting at the call of clemency,

We raise to God again our earth fix'd view,

And in our bosom glows the living fire anew.

- "Prometheus" by James G. Percival

1

The City

Present

There was a fire sale at the Dream Store twice a year. Landscape packages mostly; open fields of rye, forests in the distance, sunsets on the beach and lots of flowers. Commentators on the website insisted there was something sinisterly Freudian about the dreams of bees pollinating flowers; they were certain the government was reaching into the minds of wounded soldiers to entice them into having babies and counter the dwindling population in the aftermath of an ugly civil war.

The notification for the sale activated a countdown. Isa sat huddled by his computer on a squeaky office chair. Wadding protruded from the edge of the seat, where he picked with his fingers. His picking had already created a hole in the seat; at this rate he'd be sitting on just the thin sheet of wood underneath come the end of the month.

Isa could either keep digging, chew on his fingers, or rub on his lucky ring. It lay in a red jewelry box he had stolen from his sister, a pink, transparent ring with a dome. Inside, on a small patch of lime-green grass, were two corn cobs looking up, waving and hugging, with wide grins on their cartoonish faces. It was, by all accounts, an odd ring to hold onto. Childish, yes - more garbage than anything else - but amongst his few worldly possessions, this was one of his most prized ones. Isa put it onto his ring finger where it was loose enough that he could turn it when he fiddled with it.

He watched the countdown's green numbers shift as he hummed on an old tune he didn't know the lyrics to. Four hours until noon. He went to the checkout with a cart full of landscape packages and the long-awaited update for Hypnosis Voice. Sum total: 2 500 gil. Download time: 4 minutes and 36 seconds.

Light barely cracked through the thick drapes hanging over the only window in his cluttered bedroom. The bed in the corner was no longer visible under layers of clothing he hadn't used since the war ended. The sturdy bookshelf by the door was lined with empty cans of corn, spinach and peas all except for one shelf reserved for a tub for the canisters he needed for his inhaler. Tucked in the corner next to the closet and by the window, was the desk with a refurbished stationary computer he'd gotten as a welcome home gift. Cables slithered everywhere, some connected, with others just lost in the tangle. In front of the window was his most prized possession: a Canon 5D Mark III on a homemade tripod, perfect for pictures of the moon.

To anyone from the outside world, this was a dump, so Isa kept his door locked to live in peace. Everything he needed was right here.

With four hours to go, he still had plenty of time for work. The tabs were open; obscure and cute blogs of fashionable young women leading lives of fantasy. They updated almost every day, telling an indifferent world about their accomplishments. There, Isa found pictures of gorgeous shoes, adorable skirts and dresses that had been chosen with great care. Each picture looked unique, not easily found on any search engine. Those were the pictures Isa saved and later uploaded to his own blog.

The theme had taken hours to get right. The colors had to be pastel, soft colors that threatened no one and were as cute as his profile picture; a round-faced girl, late teens, pale complexion, rosy cheeks, a bob cut, dark hair with the sheen of silk. Isa tried to run his fingers through the viper's nest that was his hair. He had a comb somewhere in his room. Probably in the mess of clothes.

He placed his slender fingers atop his keyboard and typed.

Went shopping today and got these shoes. Aren't they cute?

Upload picture. Post.

The comments came within minutes. They thought he was her. She had no deformity, no branded skin visible to the world. The compliments poured in along with invitations to friendships, earnest and malicious alike. Isa made no distinction between either. Both began and ended the same, and all he was interested in was the admiration they wanted to lure him with.

ItsAWave

I love them! They're so hard to come by tho. Where did you find yours?

noIX

They're custom made :) Follow this link

ItsAWave

The page won't load. It just shows me the login page and won't work even after I log in

ItsAWave had commented regularly since a week ago. The comments were always nice and short. The bunny icon was a plus. A quick search revealed that they lived in the wealthy neighborhoods in the inner city where only the families allowed in the DTTH lived. With luck, it was a dumb teenager who was connected to the household's router.

Isa scrolled through the comments, leg shaking as he chewed on his forefinger. There were always cruel and crude comments. Those were the ones he should stop and interrogate, and he did, at the very end. He just had to sort the comments by best first. One bite for each like, and breakfast was fast approaching.

Someone knocked on his door. Isa froze.

"Isa?" said Aqua, his older sister. "I'm going out now. Do you need anything?"

Isa reached for his phone and texted: Milk.

"Got it. Please eat today, okay?"

Aqua lingered for a moment, her shadow playing against the light at the bottom of the door. When she got no response, she walked away with a sigh. Not until ten seconds after the door in the hallway slammed shut did Isa make a move for his door.

Aqua had placed a tray with a variety of dishes right outside: rice, meat stew, mango curry, a salad of sugar peas and finely chopped red onion, and a slice of blueberry pie. Foods Isa had liked once upon a time. Isa took the salad and the hard rye bread by the stew before he closed and locked his door. Two locks, one chain.

Eating breakfast was a chore. Neither the rye bread or salad tasted of anything. It was nothing more than different textures moving around in his mouth as he chewed diligently. He didn't want to choke. Not today.

The clock was approaching noon. Everyone to their battlestations, it's gone time. Isa put his helmet on. It was a biker's helmet that had belonged to Terra long before he married Aqua. It was the closest Isa had to his army-issued helmet that he had lost, so he made do.

Isa flipped down the visor and pulled his curtains apart, one hand on the camera. Twice a year, as sure as the fire sale at the Dream Store, the army overtook the streets to the sound of the Dirge. People dispersed and disappeared into any building nearby. Anyone who failed to move was apprehended. For two hours, twice a year the city was as empty as the moon.

Three.

Two.

One.

A loud, overwhelming Dirge echoed throughout the City. The windows shook, and the ones closer to the river almost always shattered. The sound seemed to distort the buildings; it fractured the waves in the river. Dust rose with the tremors.

Isa panned the camera and pulled up his visor as soon as it was safe. The Wheel of Energy, also known as the DTTH, loomed in the distance, like a second sun. It had a shiny black surface, light barely noticeable on its nodes and three-part rays. The Wheel was anchored to a plateau made of constantly shifting square blocks that cracked blue on stormy days. Underneath the plateau was the grand reverted staircase that led nowhere. It was made of huge black blocks, each step the size of the city center. The Dirge originated from there.

Isa stared at it, tried to figure out where the Wheel began and where it ended as if he'd ever seen it parted in two. The rays seemed to sway in the wind like heat off the pavement. Its call always summoned monsters; it was always followed with death.

Many years ago, the Wheel had levitated over the City, loyal to its place by the Citadel and overlooking the Pillars of Existence which had been a massive waterfall by a crystal structure at the park. Isa loved that park where giants of the sea swam in deep aquariums where no human could reach them. An invasion had shattered the crystal structure and turned the old city center into a lake. The dirge of the dying giants had scared the Wheel away.

The Wheel began to wander until it was tethered to a round platform out by the river by a large structure with a finish similar to the Wheel. The platform was only accessible by two bridges; the new bridge littered with soldiers and the old Blue Ridge Bridge.

The sight of the second sun made Isa's scars ache, it revived the flames and the dull ache that made his whole face numb. Isa shuddered and forced himself to look away. He took pictures of the empty basketball court with the crooked basket and the birch roots protruding through the concrete; of the old plaza with the marble cherub fountain that had gone gray and brown in the elements, leftover rain turned to sludge inside the fountain; and of the old monument erected by the last King, an angel of Light striking down one of Darkness, spear piercing through the heart, foot against his throat for Darkness to grovel in its last moments. The last picture he needed was of the Blue Ridge Bridge.

Isa panned the camera again, and for a few seconds, all he saw was green forest. Bushes shook as if they were caught in a typhoon. Isa lingered. Something wasn't right. Judging by the coordinates, this was on a small island under Blue Ridge Bridge, Jurassica, known for the fossils of Microceratops.

Isa held his breath, expecting to see the face of a feathered dinosaur long thought extinct. The green became red, and then, a face, contorted in a deathly struggle for air.

A man's face. Hands gripped at the red tie hanging from a branch. Red like the flesh that had held soulmates together; red like the blood that colored the umbilical cord; red like blinding fury that incinerated everything.

Isa dropped the camera with a groan, hands clammy and shoulders stiff. His blue bangs clung to his moist forehead. At the first wheeze, Isa stumbled back into his room. A row of cans toppled over when Isa bumped into his bookshelf and water splashed from the tub with the canisters. All three of them floated horizontally, like ships in rough water when Isa dug his hand in frantically for one canister. He shook the inhaler, put it to his mouth and breathed as deep as he could. Two pumps was all it took for the potent gases to open up his airways and rid him of the wheezing.

Isa put his inhaler next to the tub. He looked at the spots of water around the cans that had fallen over, and decided that cleaning up that mess was a tomorrow-type of work.

The camera was heavy in his trembling hands as he positioned it back onto the tripod. The right coordinates were carved on the windowsill. They led to the toll gates on the Blue Ridge Bridge. No cameras were allowed within a radius of five miles in either direction. There were speculations as to why, but with these pictures, they'd know for sure.

Only five of the ten booths were manned, not with soldiers, but with entry-level policemen. Their condescending star badges could be seen from the moon. Isa moved the camera and saw the renovated layers of chain-linked fences with barbed wire at the end of the bridge. They had placed black boxes alongside the fence that seemed to emit heat or something else that distorted the air above them. Monsters pushed through there and became the splashed marks of crimson on the concrete, next to the bloated corpses of fallen novice cops.

As soon as the Dirge died, Isa pulled the curtains over his window and removed the helmet, his whole head damp with sweat. Three years ago a man had died in front of him. The details were foggy and warm and sticky like the flesh that had joined soulmates. He had decided then that the dying weren't for him. They always came to visit him in his sleep, during inopportune moments when he paused and let his mind drift, between uploading pictures of Hello Kitty bags that weren't his, and writing cutesy posts. It was the sole reason he was stationed here, and not at the frontlines, where men strapped themselves to bombs and colored their surroundings in red, pink and purple. The man dying on the island was an inopportune visitor.

The computer bleeped and he flinched. The Dream Store had added another offer, Pirate Island - four maps for only 5 000 gil. A steal, Isa thought, and added it to the cart.

Isa skipped lunch and dinner. He couldn't sit still, pacing instead of fighting the urge to pull his curtains open and look for the man that hung himself on Jurassica. Five thousand steps in, his pedometer beeped and celebrated with virtual confetti on its small screen. Pacing wasn't proper exercise. He stood on the intended spot for sports in the middle of the room, where he could move without bumping into anything. With back straight, tummy and buttocks tight, Isa jogged on the spot. He got 10 000 steps in before bedtime. His stomach growled at the change of routine. He would've needed the throw-up bucket, had he eaten. Knowing Aqua, she'd thrown the bucket away as soon as Isa had parted with it. It had been army-issued for all cadets. Isa had forgotten his helmet, but not the throw-up bucket.

The buzzing of the computer fan died out slowly when he turned it off. Isa could hear the TV in the living room - yet another segment of breaking news. The alarmed voice had nothing nice to tell; its purpose was to spread tragedy around and urge people to stay inside, because monsters would always find a way into the City.

Ten was bedtime. If he fell asleep any earlier than that, the Dream VR would shut down long before Terra left for work, and the dead loved to pay him a visit then.

Recommended use: max 4 hours per night.

Isa tapped his fingers against the black and slick side-pieces of the Dream VR. Four hours for a healthy sleeper, eight for those who preferred hypnosis over sleep, ten for those who wanted to sever the thin line between the realm of dream and waking. Surely, it was for those who made a habit out of it, not those who needed it once in a blue moon to escape demons.

The door outside in the hallway creaked open. Terra watched the news when Aqua went to bed. Impromptu visits were not commonplace, not with an unstable hermit in their midst. Isa approached his door slowly, heart pounding. The monsters were getting smarter, with so many years under their belt, they might have learned how to work an elevator and unlock doors.

"Terra!" said a raspy voice as amused as a drunkard at the height of inebriation. "I've got delivery."

Isa knew that voice. It belonged to Terra's coworker, a man with long, gray-streaked hair and one eye. Normally, he came around once a month, but with the approach of the Dirge, the frequency of visits had been on the rise.

Isa rested his hand on the door knob and held it up as if one lock was all there was between them.

"What happened?" Terra asked as he made his way from the living room. He dug his heels into the floor with annoyance that came to an abrupt halt. "Aqua!"

"Your hocus pocus is growing weaker."

"Shut up, Xigbar. Just tell me what happened." Terra shuffled away from Isa's door and into the hallway.

"She picked up where she left off by stealing credentials. The Wheel actually moved this time. It's been a while since it's taken any commands." Xigbar paced, his full brogue Oxford dress shoes made a tapping sound against the laminate floor like the flaps of old countdown clocks.

"Did she find anything?"

"She's found plenty and it's a problem. Intel says we've got monsters coming in from the east and there's only one way there are any openings there. So you either fucking fix her and do it properly or she's signed her own death warrant. We don't have room for any more fuck-ups." Xigbar punctuated each word like he'd said it countless times before.

"If she dies, we'll never find the missing Core."

"At the rate she's going, we'll all die before we find the missing Core. If I get the orders, I'll pop one right between her eyebrows. Nothing personal, friend. Just business."

The door slammed shut. Isa pressed his ear to the door hearing only the rustling of Terra moving, and then, the heavy steps down the corridor. At no point did he hear Aqua's voice.

Isa let go of the door knob. He had his hand on the chain, convinced he'd unlock his door one lock at a time to see where Terra was taking her. But his hand remained in place until he stepped back on wobbly knees. There were many reasons he wasn't at the frontlines, Cowardice was just one in a line of many.

Isa grabbed the Dream VR and shoved his closet door open. The closet was padded with pillows of memory foam duct taped together and glued to the walls. A small LED-screen tucked into the closet wall turned on at the signal of the VR once Isa switched it on and positioned himself in a bed of layers upon layers of bubble wrap. His pillow kept his head at a forty-five degree angle, perfect for the light of the LED-screen to crack through the small space between the VR-glasses and his cheeks. The headphones were heavy and covered the shell of his ears, drowning the sound of the news from the living room.

DREAMLIGHT INC.

The Dream of Your Dreams©

You have (10) new Dream Sequences installed.

The VR read his eye movements. Isa did nothing for the Gold Rye sequence to start. He stood out on a field of golden rye surrounded by a blurry forest in the distance that prattled in the soft breeze. Ahead were three grand oaks in separate circles of dirt: love, money and knowledge. Whatever the Dreamer chose next shaped the rest of the sequence. Isa lingered in the field, rye reaching up over his knees. Fifteen seconds in, the sky darkened from bright gold to a warm lager brew. Three lines lit up at his feet and parted to light up the way to the three oaks, but Isa kept waiting until the rye started to bleed corns of glittery light that levitated and disappeared.

"Safe mode," Isa said, and corn and rye became pixelated.

Five paces forward and ten paces right, where the space between the rye was wider and the edges of the pixelated light shone an ominous red, is where the IP-address was.

A touch and the sequence flickered. Isa closed his eyes with it, and once back online, he was no longer in safe mode. An array of IP-addresses filled the field of rye, each choosing one of the three oaks for sweet dreams. Then it flickered again.

Search initiated.

Searching…

Law Enforcement Activity (5)

Searching…

Local Environment Agency (2)

Search cancelled.

Connecting...

Isa shook his head and blinked in quick succession. The search window disappeared with a bloop. Just a glitch. The system was uncompromised and the IP-addresses intact. The mission was to find a way into the DTTH, and so far, there was only one person who'd reached out from the inner city with possible access to the Wheel: ItsAWave.

They'd given Isa their credentials through the phishing site he'd linked them to for the cute shoes. Isa walked forward through the dense vines of numbers in search for ItsAWave. With enough prodding and hacking, the system could last for two additional hours and he'd be able to upkeep his sacred routine.

ItsAWave chose the Tree of Love. Isa hooked himself to the IP-address with ease before the field of rye became blocks of electric blue that cascaded to the sides and revealed the waiting world behind the Tree of Love.

Skyscrapers rose as high and stood as closely as bamboo. Parade lights lit up the tiled streets. A live band played a jazzy tune on the plaza ahead, crowned with a marble cherub fountain, water trickling down to its sides in a lotus formation. Down the main street, between the tile and the flower beds, stood low and decorative metal containers holding burning coal, the flames low and an intense red. This was the inner city before the conflict.

ItsAWave took the shape of their avatar: a young woman in a woolly pink coat wrapped around her petite frame, dark skinny-jeans, sand-colored Uggs and a red knitted scarf around her neck, her thick blonde hair tucked inside. Each item cost a fortune and was only available through proper channels. Anyone who dared to infringe on copyright in Dream VR best not be attached to worldly things, for the price was steep.

"Happy New Year!" yelled a man in a fluffy bear suit. He stood surrounded by colorful balloons and a sign around his neck that said 'Free Hugs.'

Isa hurried after the avatar through the picturesque scene he had seen many times before. Usually the trigger happened by the fountain. A NPC masked as a customized Prince and/or Princess Charming swooped in with either a romantic pick-up line or stumbled in with pair of two left feet that always led to a once in a lifetime love story. It was good for beginners. Connoisseurs went for the bigger maps.

The avatar passed the trigger, steps brisk. She turned by the cotton candy kiosk, as if the map for the Tree of Love was infinite. Running up against a wall mid-dream was jarring enough, but Isa had no idea what it would do to a hop-on like himself. He ran to catch up with her.

"Hey! Wait!" he called and reached his hand out to grab her arm.

ItsAWave stood halfway through the line where the wall should be, frozen like a paused video. The jazzy tune glitched as if on a short A-B repeat loop.

"Shit…" Isa fidgeted. "Escape."

Search initiated.

Searching…

Law Enforcement Activity (5)

Searching…

Local Environment Agency (2)

Search cancelled.

Connecting…

When the search window closed again, the avatar was further down the road, walking with purpose until the short and narrow road became yet another plaza. Another glitch, surely. The jazzy tune was a beckoning to stay on the map he knew, but it had been a week since his last report and a hefty sum of income came with the pictures of the Blue Ridge Bridge. Enough to make up for his penchant for cute accessories.

The music died when Isa stepped over the boundaries of the map. No step he took made a sound. The corridor between the original map and the new one was a cut up image, copy and pasted and arranged to look like antiquated brick buildings on a narrow brick road, programmed with the stability of a newborn fawn.

Isa ran across the corridor. His foot snagged against uneven terrain and he tumbled into the new map; a plaza with tiled ground, colorful lighting, a cherub fountain, cotton candy and decorative metal containers with burning coal. It was all the same but later at night. The sky was covered in fireworks drawn with crayon.

Isa didn't move from where he sat on the tiles. The jazzy tunes were replaced with a melancholic acoustic guitar, a prominent bass and a slow beat.

"Where's the bear?" he found himself asking.

ItsAWave stood facing the fountain, arms across her chest as if embracing herself.

"I haven't drawn him yet," her voice was thick. "Do you know where you are?"

"In a dream. Your dream."

Majestic flowers - King Proteas - bloomed and died at her feet.

"We have a finite amount of tears," she said. "Pain is finite too. The worst of it is when you're poised in the middle of apathy and agony and you oscillate between the two like a pendulum that's gone awry."

"I don't - I don't know what you're talking about." Isa backed away as if her words would have less of an impact with distance between them. His heart skipped a beat.

"Finite amount of tears, finite pain, so why won't it stop?" She cried.

ItsAWave turned around and Isa flinched. Her face was round like a ball, shiny like varnished wood, face carved and filled with pastel colors, some of which spilled down her cheeks as she wept. She tilted the upper half of her face back to open her mouth until her jaw clicked like the button on a tape recorder. The voice wasn't hers, but belonged to the invisible band.

"I started a joke, which started the whole world crying..."

The fireworks screeched their way to the hand-drawn night sky and exploded in chopped frames, the smell of the smoke lingered and entwined with the cotton candy and the burning coal. Isa pursed his trembling lips. The cold air made his nose and throat ache until his eyes watered and he wept.

"I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing…"

"Stop," Isa sobbed. He struggled to stand up, legs as stable as that of a newborn fawn. The distance between them was small and overridden with crude programming, each error popped up in the shape of purple pansies. There were a dozen different things Isa could have done, but the song was sprouting roots in his bones, blooming and cascading like wisteria flowers in his head until he wept small, blue petals.

Isa sprinted. He tackled the avatar to the ground, and they fell soundlessly together, drowned out by the song. The wooden head didn't crack against the tiles no matter how many times Isa slammed the head against them. Breathless, chest bruised with sobs, nose stuffed with petals and tears, Isa grabbed each end of the red scarf.

"'Till I finally died, which started the whole world living…"

The scarf cut into the avatar's pale skin and turned it red, white and then purple. The body convulsed. Perfectly manicured nails dug into Isa's forearms, scratching and struggling until he bled. The song faded in and out like an old and worn out tape. Isa pulled the scarf tighter and bunched it around his hands. He didn't stop until he heard another click and the song stopped.

"Oh, if I'd only seen," Isa hummed and snivelled as he dropped his sore hands to his side, "that the joke was on me…"

None of this was real. Yet, the soft merino wool against his fingertips made his heartbeat thump in his gums and the rye bread became a ghost in the back of his throat. He lowered his gaze and it was just a glimpse. The red of the hair splayed against the tiles knocked the air out of him. The lifeless emerald green, the cracked pale lips and the crimson splattered upon them - Isa tumbled, tumbled and tumbled forward, never once hitting the ground.

The crackling of the bubble wrap popping in his grip startled Isa awake. He pulled off the VR, dry heaving as he grasped for the closet door and managed to pull it open in time to grab the bike helmet. He had nothing in his system, but bile, snot and tears splashed against the inside of the helmet anyway. Isa slid against the laminate flooring even with his knees and feet bare, toes digging in and trying to find anchorage against the violent heaving. By the time he was done, his spine felt like loosely stacked rocks held in place by God's grace.

Isa staggered across his bedroom for a box of napkins. He blew his nose and wiped his eyes, fixated on his window. The curtains were pulled open on only two occasions: at the Dirge and at full moon.

The sunrise colored his orange curtains bonfire.

The world outside didn't exist at this hour. It hadn't for the past three years. With the helmet out of commission and no visor to shield his eyes, he'd come out of this blind, or worse, he'd melt in the heat. Isa turned on his camera. The comforting sound of the lens focusing helped him breathe.

One swift move, and he had pulled the curtains aside. There was no time to lose. He knelt by his camera and searched the river for Jurassica. It stood in a sliver of light under the Blue Ridge Bridge in serene waters. On its sandy beach, round like a cove, stood the mess of red in a grey suit that was much too small. Isa smiled and chuckled nervously with relief and zoomed in closer to watch this stranger pace the beach with a stick in his hand.

Isa chewed on his thumb, fingers light on the shutter. Click, click, click. He'd only print one, he made himself promise, just to document the momentaneous despair on the stranger's face that looked so much like the one tormenting Isa.

"What are you doing?" Isa asked the stranger when he dragged the stick over the sand and then stomped along the lines he made.

H E L P

Isa mouthed the word written on the beach, each breath coming easier. Jurassica Island was 300 meters from the mainland, and the Liu River, though turbulous at times, reaped only its victims during floodings. He wouldn't even have to swim, just let the currents drift him back ashore if that's what he wanted, unless he couldn't cross running water.

"Dear diary," Isa said out loud as he took pictures, "I saw an alien today. He fell off the moon and almost strangled himself on his safety harness. But he's okay now and is trying to make contact. I think… I need more information-"

A knock.

"Isa?" said Aqua. "Do you need anything?"

Isa reached for his cellphone and texted: I was sick.

"Can you put it outside to clean?" she sighed and tapped her fingers against the dresser. "I'll go wait in the kitchen."

The helmet stood by the closet. He could've snuck out later and washed it himself, but parts of the dream lingered, and they could only be shaken off in one way. Isa waited for the sound of the kitchen door closing before he went and picked up the helmet. He unlocked his door and left it where Aqua so lovingly left her tray of homemade breakfast and lunch every morning.

Isa sat down by the window, nursing his camera when Aqua banged on the door.

"Isa!" her voice cracked. "What the fuck is this? Isa!"

He couldn't hear her rage because a song whose lyrics he didn't know had taken root in him, and from where he sat shielded behind curtains of wisteria flowers, he solely had eyes and ears for the only other castaway he had known.