The Art of Doing Nothing (Magically)

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden light over the floating city of Somnia. Drifting islands hovered in the air, tethered together by cobbled bridges and shimmering threads of magic. Windmills spun at a leisurely pace, and the air smelled of warm bread, fresh ink, and the faintest hint of enchantment.

It was, by all means, a city of progress—where scholars studied, mages honed their craft, and craftsmen poured their souls into creating wonders.

And then, there was Nolas.

The self-proclaimed master of doing nothing.

Currently, he was sprawled on his floating bed, lazily hovering just outside his house. His dark brown hair was tousled, his golden eyes half-lidded as he stared at the sky, his oversized robe slipping off one shoulder. A faint snore escaped his lips, barely audible over the rustling of the wind.

“Nolas,” a voice called.

The bed drifted slightly.

“Nolas.”

The voice grew sharper.

A pillow smacked him in the face.

Nolas groaned, rolling over and pulling the very same pillow over his head. “Too early.”

“It’s midday,” Serra snapped, arms crossed as she stood on the edge of his porch. Her neatly tied auburn hair was slightly disheveled, probably from the effort of marching all the way here. “You’re supposed to be at the academy.”

Nolas peeked out from under the pillow. “Am I?”

“Yes.” Serra pinched the bridge of her nose. “Professor Vindle sent me to drag you out of bed—again.”

Nolas sighed dramatically. “Did you know, Serra, that time is just an illusion? A concept we, as a society, have agreed upon—”

“Get up!”

Pillo, the talking pillow, finally decided to chime in, its soft fabric shifting into a smug grin. “She’s very loud today. Might give you a headache.”

Nolas nodded solemnly. “It’s true. The last time she got this worked up, my ears rang for hours.”

Serra’s eye twitched. “If you don’t get up, I will—”

A gust of wind swept through the floating islands.

Nolas had fallen asleep mid-sentence.

And with that, the world tilted.

Dream Realm: Nolas’ Floating Sanctuary

Soft clouds cradled his floating bed as Nolas drifted into his personal dream realm—a place of perfect rest. Birds chirped lullabies, trees with pillow-shaped fruit swayed gently, and the sky shimmered in shifting hues of blue and purple.

His floating bed landed atop a particularly plush cloud.

Nolas stretched. “Ah. Perfect.”

“Not perfect,” a familiar voice sighed.

Nolas turned his head slightly. Master Ralden sat nearby, dressed in his usual formal yet slightly wrinkled robes, rubbing his temples as if questioning every life choice that led him here.

“How,” Ralden said slowly, “have you managed to escape your responsibilities—again?”

Nolas yawned. “Natural talent?”

Ralden exhaled. “If only you applied half your talent to actual magic.”

“But, Master,” Nolas said, rolling onto his side, “why struggle when the universe so clearly wants me to rest?”

A loud boom shook the dream realm.

A tear opened in the sky.

Something was leaking through.

Nolas barely reacted.

Ralden, however, bolted to his feet. “What did you dream this time?”

“Nothing serious,” Nolas mumbled, pulling his blanket over his head. “Probably.”

Ralden wasn’t convinced.

And neither was the massive, dream-fueled entity crawling through the tear in the sky.

The sky rippled like water, swirling into dark shades of indigo and violet as the dream-fueled entity slithered through the tear. Its form was ever-shifting—one moment a shadowy mist, the next, a massive pillow-shaped beast with glowing eyes.

Ralden’s hands twitched toward the runes sewn into his robes. “Nolas.”

“Hm?”

“Wake up and fix this.”

“Ah,” Nolas said, observing the situation with a vague sort of disinterest. “That sounds like a lot of effort.”

The entity let out a deep, rumbling yawn—a sound so powerful that the trees shed their pillow-fruits, which plopped harmlessly onto the clouds below.

Ralden’s patience frayed. “You summoned it. Get rid of it!”

“I dreamed it,” Nolas corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Ralden shot him a flat glare.

The entity—still yawning—floated lazily toward them. It had no mouth, yet its entire form radiated exhaustion.

It was, undeniably, a manifestation of pure sleepiness.

And then—it began absorbing the dream realm.

Clouds unraveled into thin mist, the lullaby birds fell asleep midair, and the trees leaned unnaturally, their branches drooping.

Even Ralden swayed slightly, his eyes half-lidding.

Nolas yawned. “Oh. That’s actually…kind of impressive.”

Ralden snapped awake and whacked him over the head. “You absolute menace—don’t fall asleep in your own dream disaster!”

Nolas rubbed his head, still unbothered. “Alright, alright. I’ll fix it.”

Ralden crossed his arms. “Well?”

Nolas flopped back onto his bed.

Ralden’s eye twitched.

Then—Nolas poked the entity with his finger.

The dream-thing wobbled like jelly.

“...You’re not going to do anything else?” Ralden asked, incredulous.

“I’m dreaming,” Nolas explained, stretching. “I don’t need spells. Just a little…” He waved his hand lazily, as if flicking a gnat away.

The entity stopped absorbing the dream realm.

Then it rolled onto its back and started…snoring.

The whole realm stabilized. The birds, mid-fall, resumed their lullaby. The trees straightened, pillow-fruits bouncing back into place. The sky stitched itself back together.

Ralden opened and closed his mouth.

Nolas yawned again. “See? Easy.”

Ralden pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly reevaluating his life choices. “That wasn’t magic, that was just—pure laziness overriding the situation.”

Nolas nodded sagely. “The secret to dream magic is understanding that most problems solve themselves if you just…wait long enough.”

Ralden took a slow breath. “I am going to have a stroke.”

A sudden crackling noise echoed from beyond the dream realm.

Then—Serra’s voice.

“NOLAS!”

The sky ripped open again. This time, not from dream magic—but from a forcibly cast spell.

Ralden immediately stepped back. “Oh, no.”

Serra appeared through the tear, dragging Garrin behind her.

She was still dressed in her practical mage attire, looking utterly furious, her green eyes burning with righteous anger. Garrin, on the other hand, looked like he had just woken up, blinking sleepily as he was forcibly yanked through the fabric of reality.

The moment Serra landed, she marched straight to Nolas’ floating bed, grabbed his blanket, and threw it off.

“WAKE. UP.”

Nolas grunted. “Serra. That was handcrafted by sleep mages in the Grand Dream Bazaar. Very expensive.”

Serra growled. “You—skipped—class—again!”

Nolas slowly sat up. “Ah, right. Class. That thing I was…totally going to attend.”

Serra’s eye twitched so hard it could probably cast its own spell.

Garrin, meanwhile, adjusted his messy blond hair, looking around lazily. “Huh. Didn’t think I’d be back in here today.”

Ralden sighed. “Why are you two here?”

Serra jabbed a finger at Nolas. “Because this disaster fell asleep mid-sentence while I was lecturing him, and instead of just lying there like a normal lazy person, his entire consciousness vanished into a dream portal.”

Nolas blinked. “That happened?”

Ralden stared at him.

Serra stared harder.

Even Pillo, still sitting on the floating bed, stared.

Garrin yawned. “Honestly, that checks out.”

Ralden pinched his nose again. “This is why I drink.”

Serra threw up her hands. “You don’t drink.”

“I might start.”

The ground rumbled.

Everyone paused.

Nolas turned toward the still-sleeping dream entity.

The entity let out a massive, reality-distorting snore—and the entire dream realm started pulling them into an even deeper level of sleep.

Ralden immediately started casting counterspells. “Oh, no you don’t—”

Serra was already trying to drag Nolas upright, but his natural state of laziness made him way too heavy to move.

Garrin, instead of panicking, sat down cross-legged and hummed. “Well. Guess we’re going deeper.”

Ralden, actively panicking, turned to Nolas. “FIX THIS.”

Nolas gave him a thumbs up—right before the entire dream realm folded in on itself, pulling them all into an even more chaotic, surreal, sleep-fueled dimension.

Ralden screamed.

Serra screamed.

Garrin sighed.

Nolas?

He napped mid-fall.

Because, honestly, what else was he supposed to do?

End of Chapter 1