His eyes were closed.
He forced them open.
The world around him burned.
Flames stretched high into the sky. Trees, buildings, the ground itself, everything was engulfed in fire. Heat radiated from all directions, yet it didn't scorch his skin. Not yet.
A massive wall stood before him, towering and endless, its surface licking with tongues of flame.
But Leon did not panic.
He immediately noticed something important.
The fire couldn't reach him.
So, if he let fear take hold now, if he hesitated, the fire might burn him.
He swallowed the rising panic and took a step forward.
He reached for the wall and began to climb.
The flames crackled around him, the heat prickling at his skin, but it wasn't pain, only a warning.
Time stretched.
The wall seemed to grow taller with every step. Hours passed, or maybe minutes. He couldn't tell. His muscles ached. His hands burned, though they were untouched.
The climb tested more than his body. It tested his mind.
Each moment he doubted, the fire seemed closer, more dangerous. His heart hammered, threatening to break the fragile barrier between thought and reality.
If I falter…
The thought nearly broke him.
Then, on the brink of collapse, as his grip slipped and his strength faded, something changed.
Something burst from his shoulder blades, cool as river water against scorched skin. Feathers caught the firelight like molten silver.
A single downbeat sent him soaring, the flames shrinking below until they were nothing but ember dust in the wind.
He soared higher, free.
And just like that, the wall was behind him.
The fire was conquered.
The third dream ended.
As the flames faded behind him, Leon caught his breath and thought back to what he'd just faced.
The fire wasn't deadly. It was something else entirely, passion. Ambition. The spark that drove the dreamer forward.
Climbing that endless wall wasn't punishment. It was progress. Every handhold, every aching step was a move toward a goal, toward purpose.
A wall built by fear and doubt. The kind of invisible obstacle that traps people in their own minds, holding them back even when there's nothing real to stop them.
And the wings?
They were the dreamer's hope. The dreamer's desire to rise above it all, to pass those imagined limits with grace and freedom.
Leon felt a quiet respect settle over him.
This dream was a journey. A lesson. A glimpse into the fight inside the man whose mind he'd entered.
As the last embers died away, a new door shimmered open ahead, a pale glow against the dark.
The fourth dream awaited.
Leon stood before a tall, ancient mirror framed in cracked silver. The room around him was dim, walls fading into shadow.
He chose to stay still, waiting. Watching.
At first, the mirror reflected him perfectly, his tired eyes, his tense posture, the faint lines of exhaustion on his face.
Then, slowly, the image began to flicker.
His face blurred and shifted. The human reflection twisted into something else, a monstrous figure with jagged teeth and hollow eyes that burned with anger.
Then it snapped back to him.
Flicker. Monster. Human. Flicker. Monster.
The images danced violently, neither one staying for long.
Until finally, the mirror's surface settled.
It showed only the monster.
No humanity.
Then the reflection vanished.
No image. Nothing.
Leon's breath caught. He tried to move, but he was frozen, locked in place, unable to even blink.
The mirror's surface rippled like dark water and then reached out.
It devoured him.
Then, he was somewhere else.
Sitting on a grand throne high above a vast crowd. The throne was cold stone, carved with sharp edges. The room echoed with hundreds of voices, angry, cursing, accusing.
The people below him shouted and jeered. Their faces were a blur of rage and disappointment.
Leon stood slowly. His voice was calm but carried clearly.
"What's your problem?" he asked.
The crowd faltered, unsure.
"I'm here to help," he said.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. A few lowered their weapons. One woman's face softened, her eyes wet.
A boy in the front row stopped shouting and simply stared, uncertain if he should step back or forward. By the time Leon reached the floor, the jeers had thinned into silence.
And just like that, the dream faded.
As he saw himself sitting high on the throne, looking down at the angry crowd, everything clicked into place.
The mirror had shown him the truth.
For so long, he had stood still in his life, frozen, unchanged.
Then, little by little, he started turning into someone he didn't want to be. Someone he tried to forget.
That's why the reflection disappeared, the part of himself he refused to face.
And why he couldn't move.
Because deep down, he feared that person.
The arrogant man who looked down on others.
The man who used people, used their health, their trust, to climb higher and take more.
The one who put money and power above all else.
But the solution was there in the crowd beneath the throne.
He had to step down from his pedestal.
To stand with them, not above them.
To meet them sincerely and offer help, not commands or demands.
Only then could he move forward.
Only then could he escape the dream.
He whispered to himself, "The real challenge starts from here."