The room smelled of disinfectant, a sterile blend of antiseptic and recycled air, doing little to mask the underlying scent of sweat and stale linens. Soft beeps from the monitors punctuated the silence, tracking Lucien’s vitals with unrelenting precision.


    Across from him, the doctor leaned back slightly in his chair, rubbing a hand over the short buzz-cut of his red hair, his brow furrowed as he tapped absentmindedly against his tablet. He looked young, mid-thirties at most, but impossible to pinpoint. Sharp green eyes betraying a mind already cycling through possible diagnoses in his mind’s eye. The stark white of his coat contrasted with his tired posture, the sleeves pushed up slightly, revealing lean, freckled forearms.


    He let out a slow breath before speaking.


    “So... You’re telling me you’ve been having continuous nightmares for four years?” His gaze shifted between Lucien and his mother, as if gauging how much of that information was new to her.


    Lucien’s mother sat stiffly beside the hospital bed, her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles had turned pale. She barely reacted as Lucien nodded.


    “And these nightmares started shortly after you moved to Edu-4 for your education?”


    Lucien hesitated before answering, glancing toward his mother. He had downplayed the details, leaving out the most disturbing elements, the feeling of something pressing into his mind, the whispers that bled into wakefulness. Yet, even with his vague explanation, she looked as if all the blood had drained from her face.


    “Why didn’t you call me?” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “You could have talked to me about this. Maybe I could have helped you. I mean...”


    Lucien sighed, rubbing his temples, feeling the faint ridge of stitches hidden beneath the gauze at the side of his head.


    “Mom, there’s nothing you could have done. There’s nothing anyone can do, I think. But I have talked to Jan, and he has been a huge help. I need to feel like an adult mom, I’m nearly thirty. I’ve also talked to a somnologist and neuroscientist, that might be able to help”.


    He caught himself before mentioning what they had planned, sparing her another breakdown, and sparing him the embarrassment of flushing at the thought of her.


    “Or... I mean, she has helped me.” He forced a reassuring smile, though it felt hollow. “She gave me some advice I’m trying to follow.”


    His mother exhaled sharply, a sound Lucien knew all too well, a mix of frustration and disappointment.


    “Lucien,” she said, her tone laced with restrained anger. “You should have told me.”


    Lucien lowered his gaze, swallowing back his irritation. She was right... She was always right, but that didn’t make the conversation any easier. His stomach twisted with frustration; a bubbling heat he knew wouldn’t lead anywhere productive.


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    “I know, Mom...” he muttered, voice flat. The words felt like a concession, something said just to end the conversation.


    The doctor cleared his throat, cutting through the tension.


    “Well,” he said, “I’ll be honest. Your head injury is my primary concern right now.” His tone had shifted, more clinical, though not unkind. He gestured vaguely to the side of Lucien’s head. “You suffered significant trauma when you collapsed. Your RFID port was shattered, which, unfortunately meant surgery.”


    The way he said it was so monotone and carefree, Lucien nearly got angry at him. But, he didn’t say anything and his fingers instinctively traced the sore area behind his ear instead.


    “We had to remove the fragments and replace it with a new unit.” The doctor paused, studying him for a beat, pointing at Luciens ear. “You’re lucky, honestly. If any of the pieces had been lodged deeper, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.”


    Lucien nodded slowly, processing the weight of those words.


    “So… I blacked out and just smashed my head into my table?”


    The doctor’s brow knit together, his fingers tapping twice against his tablet.


    “It wasn’t just a normal collapse,” he said carefully. “Your vitals were erratic when emergency services got to you. Severe elevated heart rate, muscle convulsions, resembling a seizure, though not quite textbook.”


    Lucien’s stomach sank. He didn’t remember any of that, his mother paler than ever.


    “You’re saying I had a seizure?”


    “Not necessarily,” the doctor admitted. “But something triggered an extreme physiological response. Stress, maybe. Or something neurological.” He paused before adding, “I’m more concerned about what you experienced right before it happened.”


    Lucien glanced at his mother. She was already looking at him, her concern unmistakable.


    The time dilation, space warping into impossible lengths. The voices speaking to him while awake, chanting. It had pressed into his mind like a living thing, whispering those words, he still felt the experience clearly in the back of his mind.


    Lucien hesitated. If he told the doctor that, what would they do? Lock him up in observation? Prescribe something to sedate him further? No fucking way.


    So, he swallowed the truth, carefully choosing his words.


    “I don’t remember much, Jan left, and I went to get some coffee. Maybe I simply tripped...”


    The doctor didn’t look convinced.


    “Lucien,” his mother pressed.


    He clenched his jaw. “I was just… stressed. Maybe Jan and I overdid it with the research.”


    The doctor leaned forward slightly.


    “What research?”


    Lucien immediately regretted saying anything.


    “Just eeh, some programming things for school.” He forced a small, dismissive shrug. “We’re experimenting with AI generated computer games.


    The doctor exhaled through his nose but didn’t push further. Instead, he scrolled through his tablet, glancing over something before speaking.


    “Look,” he said, “right now, I don’t want you worrying about that. Your body just went through a significant trauma, and regardless of what caused it, you need to rest. I’d suggest taking it easy for the next few weeks. No extreme stress, no strenuous work, and definitely no sleep deprivation.”


    Lucien suppressed a bitter laugh at that last part.


    “I’m serious,” the doctor continued. “Whatever this is, we need to monitor it. If the episodes continue, you need to come back immediately. Understood?”


    Lucien nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he meant it.


    His mother reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly.


    “Promise me, Lucien.”


    He forced himself to meet her gaze. She looked so much older than he remembered, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with age.


    He sighed, his voice quieter. “I promise.”


    They looked at each other, and knew there was no truth in the words.