'What the—? Not again! Not this fucking dream!'
Azren Luoming gasped in frustration and panic.
'What's up with my dream? It's getting weirder and weirder.'
He spoke, his voice low and heavy, like someone burdened with too much inside. There was frustration in the way he breathed, the way his words came out sharp, like he was tired of keeping it all in.
For the past few months, he had been trapped in a loop of strange, confusing dreams. They didn't fade away when he woke up—these were different, too real, too vivid.
Sometimes, in those dreams, he found himself inside an old creaky house. The walls were cracked, the floors made of cold wood that groaned under his steps, and silence pressed down like a heavy blanket. He was alone, not just physically but a kind of loneliness that made his chest feel hollow, like something important was missing.
Other times, the dreams were darker. He saw people burn to death right in front of him—people his heart screamed were his parents. He called them father and mother without even thinking, but the truth was, he had never seen them in real life. They weren't his real parents, and yet, in that dream world, the pain of losing them felt real. Too real.
In some dreams, he felt a deep exhaustion, like he had been running from something for days. His legs ached, his arms were sore, every breath was a struggle. And then there were nights where he felt hunger gnawing at his stomach like a beast, making him dizzy—but no matter how starved he felt, he couldn't eat or didn't want to. It was like something inside him refused to.
He was tired not just from lack of sleep, but from how real everything felt. He had begun to hate closing his eyes at night, because every time he did, it was like he wasn't dreaming at all—he was living another life. A life that didn't belong to him, yet looked exactly like him. Same face and same voice.
Sometimes, he saw strange things lurking just at the edges of his sight—monsters with eyes that gleamed in the dark, dragons soaring through skies that burned like fire, ghosts drifting silently through empty halls. And they didn't feel like just stories or illusions. They felt alive. They felt real.
'Damn it, am I having that fucked up dream again? Ah, hell nah, please!'
He pleaded, but this time in front of him there was nothing—complete darkness and a little pain around his neck.
'What is going on? Arghhh, it's hard to breathe somehow. What is happening?!'
As he struggled to move or breathe, suddenly a very sharp pain hit his neck, like someone was choking him without any mercy.
'Arghhhh wha—hurts, it hurts so much! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!'
Then—boom.
His eyes flew open, wide and soaked with tears. Tears that were the kind that burned. His eyes were red, bloodshot from too many sleepless nights. Heavy dark circles shadowed his face.
But the ache wasn't there.
It was in his neck.
It hurt—a tight, suffocating pain that made him suddenly realize that his feet… they weren't touching the floor.
He was floating.
No, not floating... hanging.
His body swayed slightly in the air. Then he noticed it—a thick, rough rope dug into the skin of his neck, wrapped tightly and tied to a dark, wooden beam above him. The rope creaked faintly with every tiny movement he made.
"Arghhh, what!"
He gasped, pain and shock hitting him all at once.
His hands—scarred, pale, and shaking—shot up and grabbed at the rope, fingers clawing, struggling to free himself. His legs kicked and flailed wildly, searching for ground that wasn't there.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, but no sound escaped, just the choking pressure of the rope squeezing tighter with every second.
Then suddenly—click.
A soft metallic click.
His hand, as if it remembered something his mind didn't, moved on instinct. It reached behind him, into the back pocket of his worn-out brown leather pants. He felt something cold, hard… and sharp.
A knife.
A small, old, rust-stained mini knife. He didn't stop to think. His fingers wrapped around the handle, and with all the strength left in his shaking arm, he slashed upward.
SLICE!
The rope gave way and he fell.
THUD!
His body hit the ground hard. The wooden floor beneath him cracked with the weight. Black dust rose in clouds, exploding around him.
"Cough! Cough! Cough!"
He coughed, hard, his chest burning. He clutched at the remaining strands of rope still around his neck and yanked them off, gasping for air. His vision was blurry, everything spun for a moment, but then slowly… it cleared.
He was lying on a cold, black wooden floor. It was old, rotted in places, covered in dust and patches of green fungi. Cobwebs hung in every corner. Beside him, a broken chair lay sideways. A table stood nearby, scratched and empty. An old cupboard leaned in the corner. Two windows let in a pale, bluish light that made the room feel colder than it already was.
He looked around, his face twisted in confusion, heart pounding in his chest.
'This place… it looked like it had been abandoned. Yet…'
"This room… this is my room…" he whispered.
But then his face tightened. "Wait, what the hell am I saying? What was that just now?! Why the hell was I hanging—"
He stopped.
His breath was shallow. His legs trembled as he tried to stand up. Weak. Everything felt so weak. Not just his legs—his arms, his back, even his head. A dizzy wave hit him like a crashing tide.
He grabbed his forehead and groaned.
"Damn it… what is this… am I still dreaming?"
He looked up again. Around the room. The broken furniture. The dust. The air thick and heavy with decay. Everything felt too real.He looked down at himself and saw holes in his old dark blue t-shirt,he was dirty like he haven't take shower in weeks.
"No… this isn't a dream. This pain, this choking… I felt all of it. And this place..." He turned his head slowly. "Why do I feel like I've been here before? This room… I know it. I know it..."
Then suddenly—a jolt.
His mind glitched.
Like a broken film reel skipping frames.
And then he heard it.
His own voice—but deeper, darker—like it was coming from inside his skull, echoing.
"Die. Die. Die. I wanna die!"
His eyes widened, a painful grin stretching across his face—part shock, part horror.
"ARGHHHH! What is this?! What am I thinking?! What the hell is going on?! This is my room! No, no it's not! My room isn't some rotting basement! My room is clean and bright! I have a gaming PC! A mobile! A soft bed! Where is everything?!"
Another glitch.
Like someone pressed rewind and fast-forward at the same time inside his head.
And then—images.
Memories.
They weren't from his life… but they were still his.
He saw his childhood—not on Earth, but in this strange world.
He saw flames, a house on fire. His parents screaming as the blaze swallowed them.
He saw himself crying alone.
He saw himself live without his parents.
He saw himself getting sick.
Hungry, but not eating.
Exhausted, but refusing to sleep.
And then… the most chilling memory hit him.
He saw himself standing on a broken chair.
Holding a rope.
Wrapping it around his own neck.
The same knife in his pocket… the same knot in the ceiling.
His heart dropped.
His lips trembled.
"I… I tried to kill myself…?"
He looked at his hands. The scars. The dirt.
"Why… why would I…? What the hell is going on…?"
Then it hit him.
The faces. The flames. The pain. The voice in his head.
"I'm still Azren Luoming... but… I'm not on Earth."
His voice cracked.
"These memories… they aren't mine, but they are. I'm… I'm in another world… In another version of myself?"
As those words slipped from his lips, it was like something inside his mind broke loose.
Glitch.
Glitch.
Glitch.
His vision flickered not in front of his eyes, but behind them. In his head. His thoughts scrambled and rebuilt themselves in an instant.
And then… everything came rushing in.
Azren Luoming.
The one from this world.
Fragments of a life he didn't remember living but now could feel deep in his chest poured into him like a storm.
"I… I was the only son of a poor family," he whispered, his voice shaking as if he was hearing it from someone else, yet speaking it from his own mouth. "Me and my parents… we used to live together in a small village. A quiet place in the Ignaros Country in the Middle Region..."
His lips trembled. Images formed in his mind, his parents faces now clear, warm, tired, loving. Their small wooden house with a roof that leaked during the rain. A field where he used to play with the neighborhood kids. The taste of stale bread and thin soup.
"We were poor… too poor to send me to school, but they never complained."
His voice cracked again, almost a whisper now. "They just… worked. And smiled."
Then....
"Five years ago," he continued, his eyes unfocused as if watching the memory unfold, "when I was twelve… our village was attacked. Vampires. Demons. They came from nowhere...with hunger and anger... The night of ember chaose..."
He saw fire. Screams. Blood.
His parents burned. Torn apart. Their final cries echoing inside his skull.
He saw himself small, shaking, covered in ash, hiding beneath a pile of dead bodies.
And then he stopped.
His eyes widened in horror.
"These memories… these are the same as the dreams I saw… all those nights. The house. The fire. The screaming… it wasn't just a dream. It was real. It was his life… no my life. This version of me…"
His breath caught in his throat.
Glitch.
And again, his mind twisted, more pieces fell into place. A memory that wasn't a memory but more like a brand scorched onto his brain.
"Twenty-eight days ago…"
He froze. A single word echoed like thunder in his mind.
Blood infected.
"…I was infected…" he murmured. "But with what…?"
More flashes, Blood on his hands. bread on his hand but throwing it away instead of eating.
"The blood… the goddess… the five symptoms of death…"
He clutched his head with both hands, his nails digging into his scalp as the pain surged again.
"My head—" he growled through gritted teeth, "It feels like it's going to explode!"
He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the broken chair behind him. He forced himself up and staggered toward the window, gasping like a drowning man.
He needed air.
Fresh air.
But when he reached the window and looked up at the sky—
His breath stopped.
His eyes went wide again, this time from shock.
Two moons.
Hanging side by side in the night sky filled with bright stars.
The first moon was large, dark violet, split with glowing blue cracks. It glowed eerily, its light soft but unnatural..
The second moon same size as the first one but faint, pale white, flickering softly.
Azren's whole body went still.
He stared, eyes trembling.
"What the hell is that…"