Dream Labs
Dæmon stood at the threshold of a place he almost recognized.
Massive arches loomed in a ring around the chamber—doorways without destination. Through one shimmered a galaxy, rotating far too quickly to be real. In another, nothing but darkness, endless and ancient. They stood like celestial sentinels, framing the space with thresholds that led nowhere—and everywhere.
The floor beneath him hummed softly, as if whispering secrets through the soles of his feet. Light didn't come from anywhere—it simply was, suspended in the air like phosphorescent mist. Everything about this place felt impossible.
Yet it was also familiar.
“I’ve dreamt of this place before,” he whispered. “I’ve seen it so many times. But… it can’t be real.”
The Mage stood beside him, hood lowered but face indistinct in the glow.
“It isn’t.”
Dæmon looked out over the chamber. In the center of the topmost ring of an impossible tower—rings of marbled gold and silver levitating above each other, stacked smallest to largest like an inverted child’s toy—was a city. Not a sculpture. Not a hologram. A living, breathing miniature metropolis.
Tiny figures bustled across bridges and between towering mansions. The entire city pulsed with color and motion, a fractal bloom of cognition.
The Mage gestured toward the little city.
“Do you remember this?”
“I—maybe.”
Dæmon stepped closer, his breath catching.
“Each of those places—the lecture hall, the bookstore, the threshold library—they're all here. Parts of this city. It's a memory palace of sorts. A collection of them, really. Together they are the Dream Labs. Do you remember them?”
“Kind of,” Dæmon said slowly. “But I don't remember why anyone would need to perform experiments on dreams.”
“They're not for experimenting on dreams,” the Mage replied. “They're for using dreams to experiment on things that are real.”
Dæmon stared, a kind of vertigo forming in his chest.
“This isn’t a memory palace. It’s… a memory city.”
The Mage turned his gaze to the swirling galaxy.
“The Dream Labs aren’t real in the usual sense,” he said. “But they’re no less true.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means this place isn’t bound by reality. It’s bound by purpose. And that purpose is very real.”
