Dreamer's Throne
Chapter 1

It wasn’t the scratchy sheets that finally convinced him he wasn’t dreaming. Nor was it the watery gruel that seemed to get thinner with every meal, or even the dull ache of his missing arm. Rather, it was the strange, movie-like dreams he had of a young man named Garrett Klein whose life scrolled out before him, unreeling in a jerky blur. With every dream, memories of his life on Earth twisted, merging with the moments of the body he had come to inhabit. After four days of drifting in and out of hazy wakefulness as his weak body tried to overcome the life-threatening blood loss he’d suffered, he finally woke up for real, a clear certainty in his mind.

He wasn’t on Earth anymore. Hearing harsh shouting outside his door, he tried to swallow, nearly choking as his sandpaper tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. There was a rough mug of water on the floor by the pile of ragged cloth serving as his bed, but as he reached for it he remembered that he lacked a hand. It had been shocking to wake up missing his right hand, but right now, getting a mouthful of water was the only thing occupying his mind. The shouting seemed to be getting louder, and as he rolled over and reached for the cup with his left hand the door burst open, shaking the room.

A burly man stomped into the room, his jaw set and his lips pressed in a grim line. Behind him, a young woman followed, trying to grab his arm and suffering a backhanded slap for her efforts that sent her tumbling into the wall with a thud. Despite the flash of pain that crossed her face, she jumped right back to her feet and rushed toward the burly man again, only to stop in shock when she saw that Garrett was awake, shakily carrying the mug of water to his lips.

Hurrying past the burly man, who had stopped in the middle of the floor, she helped Garrett lift the mug up, supporting his back as he tried to prop himself up. His waist seemed unnaturally weak, but he managed to get himself high enough to get a mouthful of water. He wanted nothing more than to pour the entire mug down his throat, but he knew from experience that, in his current state, it would do more damage than help.

Feeling the cool water trickle down his throat, he took another mouthful, holding it in his mouth and letting his parched tongue absorb as much of it as possible. Swallowing was hard, so rather than take another drink, he lay back down, his strength all but exhausted. Seeing he was done, the young woman put the mug down on the rough floorboards and turned to face the burly man.

“See! He isn’t dead!”

“Doesn’t matter if he’s dead or not, I told you, your time is up. You’ve stayed as long as your coin will last, so it’s time for you to get out. Either you leave by lunch time, or I’ll drag both of you out myself.”

Without giving the young woman any chance to respond, the burly man turned and stomped out of the room, slamming the door. Like a deflating balloon, the young woman sagged, her shoulders trembling as she slumped on the floor. Behind her, Garrett couldn’t help but raise one eyebrow, a habit brought from his previous life.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice like rough paper brushing together. “I don’t think I know you.”

No matter how he wracked the new memories that swirled through his mind, he couldn’t recall ever having seen this young woman before a few days ago when he woke up in this sorry excuse for an inn. This shouting match had repeated every day for the last few days, ending with the young lady handing over a small copper coin, but today was clearly different. When she heard his voice, the young woman jerked in surprise, spinning around to stare at Garrett, her eyes carefully tracing his pale face.

Her direct stare allowed him an equally good look at her, noting the large burn scar that ran across her nose, cheek, and half her upper lip. Her matted brown hair, cut raggedly into a bob, didn’t look particularly good on her, but he supposed its utility made up for its mushroomness. Surprise and excitement mixed with a natural wariness colored her eyes, which were so dark they looked black, but the excitement faded as she took in Garrett’s weak body.

“Telryn. You can call me Ryn.”

“Nice to meet you, Ryn. My name is…”

Trailing off, Garrett blinked. What was his name? Two sets of memories swirled around his head, merging and diverging in a dizzying mix. On Earth his name had been Paul Geller, but as of four days ago he had woken up in the body of the young nobleman named Garrett Klein. He had no idea why, but his memories from this world and the memories of the middle-aged man from Earth had intertwined, becoming inseparable. Was he Paul? Or was he Garrett? With a wince, he tried to clear his head. As always, survival was the most important thing, even if it meant reconstructing his identity. Only hesitating for a moment, he pretended to cough to cover for himself.

“Excuse me. My name is Garrett. Thank you for saving me.”

“It seems it will be for nothing,” Ryn said bitterly, shaking her head. “We’re about to get thrown out. You won’t last more than a day on the street in your condition. If the scroungers don’t get you, the rats will.”

“Which is why we need to change that,” Garrett said, his voice barely a whisper as his eyes drifted to the door. “Am I correct in thinking that you’ve used the last of your money and can no longer afford the rent for this room?”

Staring at Garrett, Ryn took a moment to answer. On top of having a strange way of talking, there was a calmness to his words that gave her pause. Most people, having woken from a terrible fever, would barely be coherent, but he was operating with a cold efficiency that took her by surprise.

“No more money,” she finally said, shrugging. “That greedy skinflint is charging us twice the normal rate.”

“I see. One of the curses of being powerless, but one we cannot change at the moment.”

Closing his eyes, Garrett appeared to be thinking, so Ryn just waited, curious of what he would say. She was feeling bitter about this whole thing, not because she wouldn’t be able to survive once she was thrown into the street, but because she had rescued Garrett thinking he would be her ticket out of the slums. Though his clothing had already been stripped when she found him by the river, his face and his delicate fingers marked him as someone of noble birth, and she’d been hoping that, once he woke up, he’d feel so happy he would give her a reward.

However, as the days passed and he continued to writhe in a feverish sweat, she’d realized just how foolish her idea had been. Even if he did wake up, what good was a young nobleman who’d been dumped into the river after his arm had been chopped off? It was more likely she was inviting trouble by saving him, but something in her heart wouldn’t let her abandon him, and with great reluctance she had spent the last few coins she’d managed to save to keep him alive.

“The first step is to extend our stay,” Garrett murmured, fighting against the exhaustion threatening to drag his eyelids shut. “You should have a secret stash. Use it to buy us one more day.”

“What? No, no way!” Ryn protested, shaking her head, only to realize that Garrett was already asleep.

Grumbling, she got to her feet, fully intending to march right out of the room, out of the inn, and out of Garrett’s life, leaving him to his fate. Yet there was something about him that made her footsteps falter. Slowing down as she reached the door, she heard a whisper behind her and turned around, returning to listen to what he was mumbling in his feverish state.

“One more day.”

Ryn bit her lip, torn. He was right, she did have a secret stash. One she had sworn never to touch except in a dire emergency. The worst thing was, it was a silver coin. Enough for a commoner to live in the slums for a full month. But if she took it out, Henrick would snatch it whole, leaving her with nothing. In vain she tried to convince herself to leave, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she would be missing out on something important if she did.

Completely oblivious to the mental struggle Ryn was undergoing, Garrett’s mind had sunk into a haze-filled space that had slowly been taking shape over the past four fever-filled days. It looked like the room he had been spending his days in, but instead of lying in a pile of clothing on the floor, Garrett was observing the room from above, almost as if he was a disembodied spirit. He could see a figure in the room, sitting in an ornate chair glowing with faint light, allowing Garrett to see every inch of its intricate carvings. It reminded Garrett of the pictures he’d seen of ancient thrones in his last life. The figure in the chair, however, was entirely fuzzy, as if they were shrouded in an impenetrable fog.

Hearing the mechanical voice echoing through his mind, Garrett couldn’t help but look around, searching for the source of the strange words. Finding nothing in the room besides the glowing chair and the shadowy figure, he tried to communicate with the voice but found himself unable to speak. After a dozen tries, he gave up and focused on the figure. There were too many mysteries, too many unknowns, but his pressing need to find a way to stay in the inn moved him to act.

The voice said I should go into my avatar. Is that the figure on the chair?

As soon as he thought about it, Garrett found his consciousness rushing forward, drilling down into the back of the hazy figure’s head. Immediately, his vision changed and he saw a window pop up in front of him.

Realizing he could select each of the paths to learn more about them, Garrett opened up the first option to examine it in more detail.

The path of the Blade appeared to be the standard warrior path, one focused on fighting against enemies directly. This feeling was confirmed as Garrett felt information appearing in his mind, detailing the two abilities the path of the Blade would grant him. The first was the creation of a weapon, while the second was the ability to accelerate rapidly. To Garrett it felt like he was in the middle of one of those video games he’d heard about during his life on Earth. Though he’d never played one himself—there had simply been no time—he was at least familiar with how they worked, and the windows he was looking at seemed to mimic them.

As nice as it would be to be able to create a sword, Garrett had no familiarity with using a sword as a weapon and didn’t like the idea of having to fight against nightmares, whatever they were, especially at close range. Apart from the high survivability, the path of the Blade held little appeal for him, so he closed the window and opened up the next option, the path of the Ghost.

Much like the path of the Blade, the focus on fighting the path of the Ghost took unsettled Garrett. He’d seen his fair share of fights during his past life, and had even participated in a number of them himself, but he much preferred settling things with other methods. As far as he was concerned, fighting was something you only did when you had no chance of losing. Just like the path of the Blade, as soon as he opened the window, information regarding the skills associated with the path of the Ghost appeared in his mind.

The first was an ability that would allow him to capture nightmares, creatures native to the Dream. He still had no idea what the Dream was, but he assumed it was this hazy world he found himself in. According to the mechanical voice it had loaded a Dream module, whatever that was, which allowed him to enter this room. The second ability would allow him to command the nightmares he controlled, with greater degrees of success depending on how strong his control was. Not thrilled with the idea of having to rely on others, even if he was controlling them, Garrett closed the window and opened up the final path.

Like a light had gone off in his mind, Garrett stared at the window, reading it over three times to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. Just the growth potential of the path was enough to make him ignore everything else and select it, but he wasn’t one to rush into anything, so he did his best to think through the choice. Apart from the growth potential, he had a particular fascination with secrets, and a path built around them immediately sparked his interest. Though it would give him no direct advantages when it came to surviving, and even boasted a low survivability, Garrett had been surviving his whole life and wasn’t about to stop now, regardless of his path.

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