Dreams are nebulous things.

I stopped walking sideways and looked at the upside down.

“This is reality, life is a dream,” spoke the whispers.

“What you are in the dark, what you are to yourself.”

I ignored them and attempted to open my eyes.

When I reached out, the world tilted, and I regained use of my senses.

I was standing in a hallway. Very ornate, with good use of greys and violet. At one end, a throne. At the other, a balcony. The walls had many locked doors, and one ajar.

Of course, it was more jarring to see what rested on the throne.

It was a black mass of darkness, with two blazing golden-brown eyes. It stretched out a tendril that looked like it might once have been a hand, and all the doors opened. Out of four came things, and then they all locked once more, except for the door that had already been open.

The darkness shifted, and I felt rather than heard the command. Kneel.

The four figures knelt, though I did not. I kneel to no one.

The darkness seemed not to care, and after a moment it moved its tendril back to the main mass, and the figures rose once more, though they did not leave.

So this is weird.

It’s probably a dream.

Why am I dreaming?

What happened?

I… I don’t remember.

I walked forward, and tripped on something. A crack in the ground, unnoticeable until my foot had hit it.

If this is a dream, or my mind, or whatever, then everything has a meaning. So this must be-

Shut up.

I looked above the throne, and saw three banners. The bottom section of each seemed jagged and torn, but it wasn’t random, it was part of the design. The center banner was a purple eye with a violet slit for a pupil, on a grey background. The right banner was a black fist on a purple background, and the left banner was a jagged black blade on a purple background. They all seemed weathered, and malevolent.

“The Eye that watches, the Hand that guides, the Blade that strikes.”

“The Shadow that rules.”

A high-pitched voice laughed in the distance, and I heard the sound of footsteps running across stone.

I turned back to the hall, and noticed more banners.

I moved to the nearest of the figures.

It was a Darkness elemental.

But it lacked a face.

I turned to the others, and they were the same, though each had uniqueness to them.

This one bore a circlet, and carried a staff. It seemed female, and wore a short skirt and a small top, both fancy, as well as boots and gauntlets.

I walked to the second one on the left side of the room. It too seemed female, though its clothes were simpler, and it carried only a small tiara in its hand.

On the other side, the nearest to me seemed male, carrying a sword and shield. Its gauntlets did not match, and it wore form-fitting armor, mobile but defensive.

The other, the final one, seemed a perfect image of me, only younger, and with long furry ears that seemed almost rabbit-like. There were other imperfections, differences that made it seem a little more androgynous.

I heard movement, and turned to see the plain one with the tiara in hand walk to the balcony.

I followed, and looked upon a battlefield.

A knight in battered, dusty, broken armor led the charge. Lemmings and pigeons followed him, ineffective alone but strong together. They flung rocks at the balcony, and at the walls.

The being at my side became a magpie, and a flock of vultures descended upon the attackers.

I turned back to the hall, and when I looked up I saw a palace of shadowed stone and glorious spires and dark, twisting storms.

I walked inside.

The battle was silent, but the laugh of the little girl and the running in the walls was not.

I took the only door that was open.

Down through the steps, down past the halls, down past the barracks, down past the armory and the treasure room and down past the dungeon with the girl crying, “I’m sorry,” and “I’m so afraid,” over and over again.

Is that me?

No. The birds aren’t me, so the girl that would apologize and feel fear with sincerity isn’t me either.

I kept walking.

Down past the banners with the black background and the golden-brown eyes. Down past the hall filled with cracks. Down past it all.

Into the cave.

Into the hall.

And then I stopped, and I was in a hall.

In a way, the hall seemed like some grotesque mockery of the knight’s mind, replacing an ornate hall with dark, cracked stone, and replacing the beautiful murals with the paintings of a child discovering finger-painting for the first time.

I didn’t recognize the hall, or where I was, or even myself.

But I did recognize the images painted on the walls.

They were dreams.

Ambitions.

Dark, insatiable desires.

On one section of the walls, a crudely-drawn woman was rising through the air, the darkness around her, as a man in simple robes gave her a sword and a cloak, and columns of armored figures knelt to her.

On another, the woman led that same army in battle against legions of multi-colored enemies, ranging from blue to red to yellow to grey.

On the third, the woman sat on a throne of bones, surrounded by rivers of fire and darkness. A crown rested on her head, crown with six gems; one for each element.

On the fourth, the woman was worshipped by thousands, little stick-figures of every color.

On the floor, a little girl sat with a paintbrush and an empty bucket. She looked up at me and asked, “Why has the paint dried up?”

The fog in my head, the malaise that made me accept all this without question, began to fade.

I blinked at her, and asked, “Are you me? Are we doing this again?”

She glared at me, and said, “Answer the question! Why is my paint gone?”

“Oh, fine. The paint is gone because you’ve drawn everything, or something like that. Seriously though, what is this? Is this my mind? Because if so, something is seriously wrong with me.”

She smirked. “You didn’t know that already? And that’s not why the paint’s gone. You did something, and now everything is changing. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! All that happened was Fitzy said something, I… fainted, I guess, and now I’m here. I honestly can’t remember it very well.”

“Then remember it! You did something, and now look!” She pointed at the walls, and I looked again.

The images were smearing. The paint was dripping, and everything was beginning to look muddied and unclear.

“I don’t remember! Look, it’s your little playground, you remember. I can’t be bothered.”

The girl stood up, and as she did her shadow darkened and she became a little bit taller. Her eyes flashed, and she yelled, “What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?”

I stumbled back, falling to the floor, and said, “I didn’t do anything! I don’t remember!”

“WHAT DID YOU DO!” she screamed, as the walls became blank and featureless.

“I don’t…“ As I said that, the walls cracked, and suddenly it came flooding back; the battle, the aftermath, and Fitzdonald declaring Drake the Champion of Darkness. I said, “It was Fitzdonald! We were playing this game of speed chess, trying different tactics, constantly reevaluating the plan, and when I thought I’d won, he completely turned it around on me. He made Drake the Champion. He beat me.”

The girl said, in a much quieter voice, “Yes, he did. So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to fix it. I’m going to somehow become Champion, kill Fitzdonald, and then I’m going to become a goddess.”

The girl nodded, and said, “Hurry. The mirror is the key. Time is running out.”

I tilted my head in curiosity and confusion, and asked, “Wait, what?””

Then, everything blurred together, and it faded away.