Serene golden sunlight poured in through the panoramic window, casting long streaks across the sterilized gray vinyl flooring. The steady beeping of a machine was the only sound in the room, apart from the soft rustling of fabric as Lucien shifted in the medical bed.


    He turned onto his side, gazing out over the city—across the lush parks, beyond the sleek hydroponic tower stretching into the sky. The top of the tower vanished from view, obscured by the its sheer size compared to the floor to ceiling window.


    His head ached, but even worse, it itched. The gauze wrapped tightly around his temple prevented him from scratching, trapping the irritation just beyond reach. He didn’t want to touch the wound itself, just the edges, where the itching was maddeningly persistent.


    He tried rubbing the bandages, hoping for even a small sense of relief, but the sensation only sent ghostly, painful stabs through his body, doing nothing to quell the itching. With a frustrated sigh, he clenched his teeth and forced himself to ignore it.


    The city sure is beautiful in the summer, he thought, his eyes drifting across the south lane, following its path toward the industrial complex. Beyond that, where the forests and fields should have been, the curvature of the Earth blended with the morning fog, rendering the distant landscape invisible, swallowed by the horizon.


    As the sun passed behind the hydroponic tower, the light in the room shifted, filtering through the tubes filled with organic material. A soft green glow spread across the walls, turning the sterile white interior into something warmer, almost ethereal.


    Lucien sank deeper into the pillows, his mind drifting, unraveling. The outlines of his subconscious flickered at the edge of his memory, fragments of his unconscious state popping back into his mind, as he had lied bleeding out on the dirty floor.


    A figure, or perhaps an entire army had descended upon him.


    They had fought off hordes of dream denizens, their movements blurring between battle and rescue, shielding him while they dragged his limp body away from the vast, purplish plane where he had been stranded.


    The door clicked, breaking his train of thought, shattering the vivid imagery still lingering in his mind. It opened silently, slow and hesitant, and then, a woman’s head poked inside, her gaze locking onto his.


    "Mom!"


    Lucien tried to sit up, tried to reach for her, but the moment he moved, a wave of dizziness crashed over him, dragging him right back down.


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    His mother rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around him in a careful yet desperate embrace, holding him as tightly as she dared. She buried her face against him, her muffled cries rising softly between them.


    "Lucien, what happened?" she stammered, her voice trembling, her eyes shining with worry.


    As best he could, he told her everything—or at least, everything he understood. The incident. The strange dreams. The sense of something bigger looming over him.


    But as they spoke, his thoughts drifted to something far simpler.


    Something that mattered just as much.


    “It’s been so long, Mom.”


    His voice was quieter now, almost fragile. When he looked at her, there was sadness in his eyes.


    “I’ve really missed you.”


    With great effort, he sat up, leaning forward to hug her again. This time, he held on a little longer.


    They talked for a while—about everything and nothing. It had been nearly three years since he had last seen her. Lucien tried to talk to her about programming, but quickly stopped himself as he could clearly see that she was only listening out of courtesy, not interest


    She lived in another city, nearly five thousand kilometers southeast, in what had once been the Yunnan province of China. With the sheer amount of work and study they both had, there simply wasn’t enough time in the world to visit regularly—or to spend eight hours on a train just to see each other.


    Yet now, she was here.


    Lucien frowned slightly, a thought tugging at him.


    “How did you get here so quickly?” he finally asked.


    His mother’s brow creased.


    “What do you mean, honey? I’ve been here for days.”


    Lucien’s eyes widened.


    “…What?” His voice barely left his lips. “How long have I been out?”


    His mother’s face softened with sorrow, her gaze holding his.


    “Two weeks, give or take a day,” she murmured. “We all knew you’d wake up eventually, but… your injuries were severe. They had to operate. Your chip had shattered into your skull.”


    Her voice caught, throat tightening. “They spent hours… removing the pieces. They even had to refit you with a new port”.


    She lifted her shaking hands to her swollen eyes, wiping away the fresh tears. Lucien watched her closely, and for the first time, he noticed how old she suddenly looked.


    The deep furrows around her eyes.


    The silver strands creeping into her dark hair.


    A sudden realization settled over him.


    “Mom… have you stopped taking the medication?” he asked quietly.


    Her eyes darted to his, locking onto him sharply. She paused for a moment, then came a slow nod.


    “Yes… I’ve decided it’s time.”


    Lucien swallowed hard, staring at her, his own eyes starting to swell.


    "Are you sure about this, Mom? Are you truly ready to lay down your life for another?"


    She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head.


    "Arh, Lucien, don’t be such a worrywart." She waved a hand dismissively, a playful smirk crossing her lips. "I’ve easily got another fifty years before I’m actually old. You won’t be getting rid of me that quickly!"


    She laughed, grabbing his face in both hands and planting a big, smoochy kiss on his cheek.


    “But thank you for worrying, nonetheless.”


    Her eyes were full of love, as only a mother can look at her child. She sat back, watching him carefully, tilting her head.


    “Are you ready to see the doctor now?”


    Lucien exhaled, nodding.


    "Yes."


    His voice was quiet, but determined. He pressed his palms into the bed, straightening himself up as much as his body would allow.