My name is Arin.
Whenever I introduce myself to someone, the reaction is almost always the same.
"Arin? That's a nice name. What does it mean?"
"My parents said it means peace."
"Oh. That's a good meaning."
People always respond like that. They smile politely and say it's a beautiful name, as if the meaning itself guarantees a peaceful life.
But the truth is that my life had very little to do with peace.
If I had to summarize it in a few words, it would probably sound like this: Arin, twenty-eight years old, underpaid office worker and single ever since I got my heart broken at the age of eighteen.
There was nothing special about my life. I woke up early in the morning, went to work, finished my tasks, and returned home late in the evening. The routine repeated every day without much change.
If someone asked me what I had accomplished during the past few years, I probably wouldn't have a clear answer.
The only unusual thing about my life was the dreams I had been seeing for the past ten years.
For some reason those dreams never disappeared like ordinary dreams did. They continued night after night, as if I were watching a long story unfold piece by piece.
My hobby, if it could even be called that, was writing those dreams down.
I usually did it on the subway while commuting to work.
"You're staring at your phone very seriously."
In the middle of the noisy subway carriage, I raised my head reflexively. A familiar face was standing beside my seat, holding the overhead rail with one hand.
It was Shia, a colleague from the same company. The only difference was that she was a full-time employee with a bright future ahead and I, an intern who barely made enough to survive.
We weren't close enough to call each other friends, but we had exchanged greetings often enough in the hallway and during lunch breaks.
She looked at my phone with a curious expression.
"Ah, sorry," I said.
"I didn't mean it like that," she replied quickly. "I was just curious."
"About what?"
"What you're writing."
I glanced at my phone for a moment before answering.
"I am writing about dreams."
"Dreams?"
"Yes."
Shia looked slightly surprised.
"You write down your dreams?"
"Sometimes."
"That's interesting," she said. "I usually forget mine the moment I wake up."
"That happens to most people."
Just then the passenger sitting beside me stood up to leave at the next station. Shia looked at the empty seat for a moment before sitting down.
"So what kind of dreams do you have?" she asked.
"They're mostly strange," I replied.
"Strange how?"
I hesitated for a moment before answering. Telling her the full truth would probably make me sound insane. When I first started talking about those dreams ten years ago, that was exactly how people reacted.
They listened for a while, laughed awkwardly, and then suggested I should see a doctor. So instead of explaining everything, I gave her the simplest version.
"Sometimes they continue from the previous night."
"Continue?"
"Yes."
She blinked slowly before letting out a quiet laugh.
"That sounds like something from a drama."
"I suppose you could say that."
Shia leaned slightly forward in her seat, resting her chin on her hand as if the topic genuinely interested her.
"You know something weird about dreams?"
"What?"
"When you're inside one, you never realize it's a dream."
"That's true."
"Even if something ridiculous happens, you just accept it."
"That's because the brain is asleep."
"Maybe," she said.
For a moment, she stared at the dark window beside us, where the reflection of the subway carriage appeared faintly against the glass.
"But I've always wondered about something," she said after a moment.
"What?"
"When we dream, everything inside the dream feels completely real. We can see things, hear sounds, and even feel emotions. Sometimes the dream can even feel more vivid than real life."
"That's true."
"But the moment we wake up," she continued, "we realize none of it was real."
"Yes."
"So how do we know this world isn't the same?"
I looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
"What if our reality is just another kind of dream?"
"That sounds unlikely."
"Maybe," she said calmly. "But if someone inside our dream asked us the same question, we would probably say the same thing."
I didn't answer immediately. The idea sounded ridiculous, but something about it left a strange feeling in my mind.
"You think we might be inside someone's dream?" I asked.
"I don't know," she replied with a small shrug. "I just think it's interesting to think about."
"That's a strange thing to think about on the way to work."
She laughed quietly.
"I've always liked weird questions."
"That explains it."
The train continued moving through the underground tunnel while the conversation drifted naturally between us.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she asked one last question.
"So your dreams really continue through nights at times?"
"Yes."
"That must feel strange."
"It does."
"What happens in them?"
For a brief moment, the images from my dream returned to my mind: the broken sky, the ruined world, and the white-haired girl struggling against mythical beings in a world that refused to let her survive.
"It's a long story," I said.
"Like an adventure?"
"Something like that."
Shia nodded slowly.
"Then whoever is inside that dream must be trying really hard to survive."
I looked at her with my eyebrows raised.
"What makes you say that?"
She shrugged.
"I just got that feeling."
For some reason, her words lingered in my mind. The train lights flickered slightly above us, but neither of us paid much attention to them.
"You know, dreams are strange things. They can feel meaningless when we wake up, but while we're inside them, they feel like the most important thing in the world."
"That's true."
She looked out at the dark tunnel outside the window.
"So if this world really were a dream. I wonder what the dreamer is trying to see."
Before I could answer, the lights suddenly went out. The train continued moving through the dark tunnel for several more seconds.
Bzzt—
Then suddenly the entire subway carriage was plunged into darkness. Several passengers gasped in surprise as confused voices rose from different parts of the train.
"What happened?"
"Did the power go out?"
One by one, phone flashlights began turning on, casting pale beams of light across the metal interior of the subway car.
Shia beside me frowned slightly while looking around.
"That's unusual,"
Before I could respond, the subway shook violently.
A loud metallic screech echoed through the tunnel as the train brakes engaged with a harsh grinding sound. The sudden jolt caused several standing passengers to stumble while grabbing the nearest railings for balance.
The train slid forward for a few seconds before finally coming to a complete stop.
"What's going on?"
"Did we hit something?"
At that moment, the subway speaker crackled to life.
"Telling all passengers on the train."
The surrounding noise slowly faded as people waited for the announcement. I leaned back slightly in my seat and sighed.
"See?" I said quietly. "It's probably nothing serious."
"Hopefully,"
However, the voice that came through the speaker next did not sound calm at all.
"R-Run… everyone run…!"
The transmission cut off abruptly. For a while, the entire carriage fell silent as everyone processed what they had just heard.
Then the subway erupted into chaos.
"What did he say?"
"Run from what?"
A bright flash of light suddenly appeared somewhere ahead of the train, illuminating the tunnel through the front windows of the carriage.
The flash was followed by a deep rumbling sound that echoed through the underground tunnel. Something was heading this way.
At that exact moment, my phone coincidentally vibrated in my hand. I glanced down at the screen.
The clock read exactly 8:18 p.m.
The apocalypse had started at this exact moment in my dreams.
There was no mistake. I had seen that moment 1,513 times. For a brief moment, it felt as if the entire world had stopped moving.
Then a voice echoed through the darkness:
[The free service of planetary system DRM21 has been terminated.]
A second message appeared immediately afterward.
[The main scenario has started.]
And just like that, the quiet and ordinary world I had been living in until now came to an end.