What are Dreams? Are they illusions conjured by the unconscious mind, crafted to please the waking self?
Are they warnings, serving as guides to prepare for the future?
Or are they simply creations born of our desires, dreams we build in hope of finding happiness?
I fall into the fourth category. Some people call it being "gifted" or having a "superpower."
But to be honest, I don't find much joy in it. My "power" doesn't help with day-to-day life. In fact, it's often the opposite.
To explain, I'll have to take you back twenty-seven years to the day of my 8th birthday.
I remember the flowers in the amber-colored pot next to the table where I sat, staring at a small cupcake with a candle.
I felt a fleeting happiness, even though no one was there to celebrate with me. My mother was a drunk, and my father, like most in broken families, was absent.
The candle on the cupcake flickered, growing dim, but not yet gone, giving me time to think about my wish.
If I had known then what I wished for, I might have thought twice.
"I wish for friends."
Four simple words. And with that wish, my fate was sealed. But I didn't realize it until I fell asleep.
My bed, a hard wooden floor with a molded mattress, lacked both a pillow and blanket—only coldness, which I ironically found comforting.
Years of practice allowed me to drift into sleep easily. But that night, something was different.
I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I found myself in a strange place. I didn't know how, but I wasn't startled, just confused.
Then I heard a voice, sweet and gentle.
"Hello, master?"
Frightened easily as a child, I jumped, only to fall back down, feeling real pain—a strange sensation, given I knew I was dreaming.
As I tried to get up, I realized the ground beneath me wasn't steel, though it was metallic. It wasn't cold but felt unnatural, a material I couldn't name.
"Oh, sorry, my lord! Are you okay?"
I looked up, trying to adjust, and found a creature standing before me— a four-foot-tall gumdrop wearing overalls and a builder's cap, holding a hammer.
Its eyes were emerald green, radiating kindness I couldn't quite place but instinctively felt.
I stayed silent, stunned, until another voice caught my attention, one that sounded exactly like the first.
Another gumdrop—smaller, almost panicked—came running. "He's awake!"
Three other gumdrops appeared as well, and they all stood in front of me, surrounding me. I blinked, stunned by their sudden appearance.
"W-where am I?" I finally stammered.
The gumdrops exchanged confused looks. But before they could speak, light began to pour into the room from four corners, blinding me.
The light was so intense, I had to squint my eyes shut, but their voices—harmonious, like a symphony—rose in unison:
"It's happening!!"
As the light faded, I opened my eyes, and what I saw next felt like magic.
Four distinct eggs were set on pedestals around the room.
The first was a light green egg with plants wrapping around it and autumn-colored leaves sprouting.
The second was a fiery red with a hint of yellow beneath it, as if it were about to ignite.
The third was a brown stone, carved with ancient runes.
The fourth egg was split in half by a lightning bolt—dark blue on top, yellow on the bottom.
I stared at the eggs, mesmerized, when the gumdrops suddenly kneeled before me.
"Hail to the lord!"
Their voices rang out, leaving me more confused than ever.
Then, I woke up—back in the filth of what I knew as my bed.
But the dream didn't end there. Every night, I returned to that strange dream world. Eventually, I grew accustomed to it, so much so that I barely thought about it, chalking it up to being "weird."
But things changed on my third return.
By then, I had explored the empty islands of the archipelago, each island representing something different—a feeling, an element, a part of me I didn't understand.
Then the gumdrops, now known to me as the Workers, came to summon me. They led me back to the castle for two reasons:
First, they wanted to give me clothes.
Up until then, I had worn the same thing to bed every night—just a T-shirt and shorts. But the Workers insisted on royal clothing, which surprised me. These creatures, more than mere builders, seemed to have a sense of ceremony about them.
The royal blue garments were simple, with an overcoat adorned with ten insignias—some familiar, like Water, Fire, and Life—but others I didn't recognize at the time.
The second reason I was summoned was more pressing: The eggs had hatched.
I was shocked. I thought it would take longer, but the Workers explained the concept of rarity. The rarer the egg, the harder it was to hatch.
Once I understood that, I was led by the Workers to the main hall, where chaos awaited.