Lorian's eyelids fluttered closed as he slowly drifted into a deep, profound sleep. As his consciousness sank, he was carried away, not by the mundane ebb of slumber, but by something far more elusive—his subconscious. He found himself in a distant place, a forgotten world, where time seemed to flow in strange currents, leaving him stranded somewhere between past and present.
In the thick fog of his dreams, faint, blurry images began to take shape, twisting and wavering like smoke. The images were distant, intangible, almost as if they were fading even as they formed. Yet, there was something about them—something familiar. His heart felt a strange tug, an invisible thread pulling him toward the warmth of a long-lost memory.
Before him stretched a garden—lush, green, and serene. The light of the sun was gentle, casting soft, golden hues over the landscape. In the distance, he saw a figure—two figures, actually—his parents. As a child, he remembered them like this, full of life and joy. He could hear their laughter floating on the wind, and the faint echo of their voices, like a melody woven into the air. The sight felt so familiar, yet distant—so distant that it almost seemed unreal.
His mother, a soft smile dancing on her lips, was setting plates on a blanket in the middle of the garden. Her hair fluttered in the breeze, her eyes twinkling with affection as she looked at him. She appeared older, but there was a warmth to her presence that immediately made him feel at home. She approached him slowly, her movements fluid, and she reached out to gently take his hands in hers.
"Silas," she said, her voice gentle, full of love. "Come on, dinner's ready, hurry up." Her words were like a soft caress, comforting and tender, wrapping him in the safety of the moment.
The name echoed in his mind—Silas. He froze. For a moment, the world around him seemed to stop. Silas? That name... who was that? He turned it over in his mind, trying to find its place, but it felt like a piece of a puzzle that didn't quite fit, like an identity that belonged to someone, but not to him. His heart began to race, a strange unease building inside of him.
His father's voice cut through the silence, warm and commanding. "Come on, Silas, we're here, food's ready," he said, his tone one of familiarity and care. His father's words were full of authority, but underneath it, there was a deep love, a sense of protection that Lorian could feel even in the dream. The sound of his voice, the way it carried through the air—everything felt like it belonged to him, like a forgotten part of his life.
But something was wrong. There was a coldness, an emptiness lurking just beyond the edges of this idyllic scene. The memory, despite its warmth, felt hollow. The pieces of the puzzle that were falling into place didn't make sense. The name Silas... it didn't belong to him, or at least it didn't feel like it. Why did it feel so familiar, yet so foreign? His mind swirled with confusion as the images of his parents faded into the background, replaced by a creeping darkness.
The wind, once gentle, began to pick up, growing colder. The peaceful scene was suddenly disturbed, and the soft rustle of the leaves turned to a deafening roar. The garden, the sunlight, the sound of his parents' laughter—all of it began to blur, slipping away like water through his fingers. His heart began to pound, and he felt a heavy weight pressing against his chest.
Lorian struggled, trying to hold on to the fleeting warmth of the moment, but it was slipping further and further out of his grasp. The dream seemed to pull him into a void, a space where there was no light, no sound, no warmth—only a cold, infinite emptiness. The once-familiar images vanished completely, leaving only darkness in their wake. He felt himself falling, lost in the void.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered. Lorian's eyes snapped open, and he gasped for breath. He was back in his bed, his body drenched in cold sweat, his heart racing in his chest. The stillness of the room was stark and unsettling. He wiped his face with his hands, trying to shake the remnants of the dream. But the feeling didn't fade. His body felt heavy, like he had just emerged from deep, treacherous waters. And his mind—his mind was swirling with thoughts, with questions, none of which had answers.
Tears streamed down his face, and he couldn't recall when they started. The remnants of the dream—the laughter, the warmth, the name Silas—still clung to him like a shadow, refusing to leave. His eyes were blurry, his vision clouded by the weight of the emotions that flooded him.
He tried to recall the name. Silas... Who was that? Why did it feel so much like his name, but not? The memory of his mother's voice, her tenderness, her love, clung to him like a fog. Silas... it echoed in his mind, a name that refused to let go, yet he couldn't grasp it. It felt like a part of him had been stolen, like a piece of his identity had been erased.
His mother's voice still rang in his ears. "Silas, come on, dinner's ready..." The warmth of her presence, the comfort of her touch—it all felt so real, yet it was fading with each passing second. The questions swirling in his mind were louder now. Why did the dream feel so real? Why did it feel like a memory, yet it wasn't?
Lorian rubbed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the overwhelming confusion. He couldn't put it into words, but something was missing. Something essential. The dream had been too vivid, too intense to ignore. But the more he thought about it, the more distant it became. The name Silas continued to echo in his mind, but it was just a sound, an identity that didn't seem to fit.
As he stood up, he staggered slightly, his legs unsteady from the weight of the emotions that had gripped him. The room was still, silent, but his mind raced. What was missing from that dream? What was missing from his past? He couldn't answer. He only knew that there was something he should remember, something that would unlock all the questions swirling inside of him. But the answers were just out of reach.
The emptiness inside him grew. The name Silas—the warmth of the dream—felt like a foreign world. His childhood, his family, his past—everything felt fragmented, like pieces of a broken puzzle scattered on the ground. The memories, though they should have been familiar, slipped further away the more he tried to recall them.
Lorian sat on the edge of his bed, breathing heavily. Tears continued to fall, but the emptiness in his heart was the hardest to bear. What am I missing? he wondered, but the question had no answer. He wiped his face again, trying to clear his mind, but it was no use. The name Silas, the dream, the warmth of his family—it was all so far away now. And yet, it was all so close, haunting him.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. But as he looked around the room, the coldness of the silence surrounded him. The dream, the warmth, the name Silas—it was all slipping away, leaving behind only an emptiness that consumed him. He didn't know who he was anymore.