I Am Not Eryx

Chapter 1: The Weight of Rest

By morning, Ivaan would wake up bleeding from a wound he got in a dream. But for now, he was just tired.

The blue light of the monitor had been carving into his retinas for six hours. Now, in the dark, the ghosts of those pixels remained, flickering behind his eyelids. His head throbbed—a rusted hammer beating a steady, agonizing cadence against the inside of his skull.

He just wanted it to stop. To disappear into the blankets and let everything go quiet.

Ivaan collapsed onto the mattress, not even bothered to pull the covers up. He closed his eyes, and the room tilted. It was that sickening vertigo—the sensation of his bed becoming a raft on a midnight sea. Usually, he’d snap his eyes open to level the world.

Not tonight.

Just let it happen, he thought, his jaw clenched. I don’t care where I go.

He ignored the lurch in his stomach and the sound of a wind that shouldn't have been there—a mournful whistle drowning out the hum of his computer fan. He felt himself sliding through a space that didn't exist.

Then, the pressure hit.

A sudden, immense heaviness landed on his chest, as if a lead slab had been dropped over his heart. His breath hitched. A swarm of "butterflies" erupted in his stomach—the frantic, fluttering electricity of a freefall.

Ivaan tried to move, but his arms felt like cooling stone. The mattress shifted. It wasn't fabric anymore. It was cold, hard, and damp with a dew that smelled of salt and ozone.

He snapped his eyes open.

He wasn't in his room. Above him, a vast, bruised sky hung heavy over the horizon. Beneath him was the gritty friction of black sand. He sat up, his heart hammering, and that’s when he saw the notification bar hanging in the air.

It didn't just glow; it hummed with a vibration that made his teeth ache. The edges flickered with static, and the text felt present, as if the interface were watching him back.

[Dream Initialized // V.01]

World: Unknown (Unstable)

Stability: 42% [▼]

Lucidity: 5

Control: 1

Fear Resistance: 2

[User Identified]

Name: Eryx

"Eryx...?"

The name felt wrong—and yet, disturbingly close to something he couldn't remember. He reached out, but his fingers passed through the light like cold smoke. The box stayed fixed, pinning a stranger’s identity to his soul.

He looked down. He had the same familiar scar on his thumb, but his body hummed with a latent energy. The migraine was gone, replaced by a coiled, electric strength. Even his clothes had changed into dark, rugged gear made of a leather-like material that felt like a second skin.

The air rippled. A sharper notification cut through the twilight in pulsing, glitching red.

[Task: Survive]

Objective: Survive for 5 minutes.

Threat: Bloodhounds approaching.

Timer: 04:59…

"This is a dream," he whispered. He knew he was sleeping, but that lucidity gave him no power over the sand or the sky. He pinched his arm, twisting the skin hard. A searing jolt of agony shot up his arm. He gasped, but the desert didn't dissolve.

The silence broke.

A low, guttural growl rolled through the dunes.

Ivaan spun around. Dark silhouettes crested a nearby dune. They didn't move like animals; their limbs bent at impossible angles, snapping into place like frames missing from reality. One gripped a jagged axe; another held a curved knife that hissed as it cut the air.

Ivaan bolted.

He pumped his legs, trying to tap into that buzzing energy, but the world felt heavy, resisting his every move. This isn't survivable, the thought clawed at his mind, cold and sharp. I'm going to die here. In a dream that feels too real to be one.

The hounds were closing the gap, their movements twitchy and unnatural. Suddenly, a flicker stuttered in his vision:

[Update]

Con—trol: 2

Something clicked. The heavy resistance of the air seemed to thin. His body responded cleaner, faster—as if the world had loosened its grip on his muscles.

The lead Bloodhound lunged. Ivaan felt the rush of cold air as the axe whistled past his ear. He didn't think; he just reacted. He threw himself to the side, his boots skidding through the grit as the blade buried itself in the sand.

The second hound swung its knife. Ivaan twisted his torso with a fluid, snake-like motion. His body moved before he could even process the threat. It worked, but his mind was screaming. I can't keep this up. Eventually, I'm going to be too slow.

[Warning: Integrity Failure]

Stability Critical.

The sky flickered to a static grey. The sand began to liquefy beneath his boots. The Bloodhounds let out distorted roars, their bodies stretching into monstrous shapes of shadow and noise.

He was running out of time.

[00:15]

The hounds formed a tight circle, their limbs twitching in broken animations. Ivaan skidded to a halt, spinning, his hands raised in a futile defense. This is it, he realized, the air leaving his lungs. I'm not waking up.

The lead hound raised its jagged axe. The others lunged.

Ivaan threw his left arm up to protect his face. The axe swung down—a brutal arc of shadow. He felt the bite. It wasn't a dream sensation; it was white-hot agony ripping through his forearm. He felt the skin part and the heat of his own blood spraying his cheek.

At that moment, the red notification shattered into static.

[System Crash]

[Forced Ejection...]

The sky imploded. The weight in his chest vanished, replaced by the sickening sensation of being slammed back into his own skin.

Ivaan’s eyes snapped open.

He was staring at his cracked bedroom ceiling. The hum of his computer fan was the only sound. His heart hammered against his ribs.

"Just a dream," he choked out, gasping. "Just a damn dream."

He reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but as he moved his left arm, a sharp sting flared to life. He froze.

Slowly, his eyes drifted down.

In the dim light of his monitor, he saw it. The sleeve of his grey pajama shirt was torn open, soaked in a deep, blooming crimson. Beneath the ruined threads lay a jagged, deep gash—a perfect mirror of the strike from the axe. The blood was warm. The pain was real.

There were no notifications here. No glowing bars. Just the copper smell of blood dripping onto his white sheets.

Ivaan stared at the wound, his mind fracturing.

It hadn't just been a dream.

And this time—it had followed him back.