Proto woke to the sound of music. He was half-mouthing, half-murmuring song lyrics, as one does when no one’s watching. With his eyes closed, drifting along with those dreamy strains, he almost felt like he was still within some dream.

  When he finally opened his eyes, he observed that he was in his bed—and blinked.

  This wasn’t terribly odd on its face. He’d just woken up, after all.

  The problem was, he hadn’t gone to sleep in his bed. He’d played Illusion of Gaia through the end, lying on his couch, and he’d never gotten back up. He’d fallen asleep there.

  Normally, he might not have noticed this. The bed was mere feet from the couch. They both were comfortable, and he used them interchangeably for sleeping. Sometimes, after he woke to go to the bathroom, he’d switch from one to the other, to get that nice “cool sheets” feeling again.

  This time, though, he noticed. How could he not? He’d just had a dream that began with him waking on the couch, musing that that was exactly where he’d fallen asleep!

  Somehow or other, he wasn’t on the couch anymore.

  And yet it wasn’t such a “somehow,” was it? Proto knew exactly what had happened.

  He’d started sleepwalking again.

  Of course he had. In a sense, he’d never stopped. Sure, Flua-Sahng had given him a vision of being in Somnus’ Palace for months. And within that vision, he hadn’t sleepwalked. Which wasn’t surprising—how do you sleepwalk in what’s already a dream realm? But that vision from Flua-Sahng, in reality, had lasted only one night. There was no “gap” period when he’d stopped sleepwalking.

  Pondering this, he yawned and stretched, so the sleeves of his tracksuit slid up his arms.

  Normally, Proto wouldn’t have noticed this. He spent half his time wearing that tracksuit, and he stretched like this every morning.

  The difference today was, he distinctly remembered laying out his tracksuit last night, so he could wear it while running today. He’d gone to bed wearing his ratty old band T-shirt from the concert.

  Proto stared down at the blue Saturn emblem on his breast, almost doubting his eyes. What in the world . . . ?

  So, he’d sleepwalked last night. He had no idea where he’d gone. But this plainly hadn’t just been some bleary-eyed trip to the bathroom, or to the fridge for a midnight snack. He’d changed clothes!

  Why did this start last night? What made last night special? The fact that today’s my last day in the waking world? he wondered. Did I do something different yesterday?

  Then, an even more perturbing thought struck him: How do I know it was just last night? What if I sleepwalked on other nights too?

  He reeled at the implications. The thought seemed almost too crazy to be true. And yet, as he searched for ways to prove it false, he struggled.

  One time, when he was nineteen, his landlord had knocked on his front door, waking him from a deep sleep. The landlord, who’d come to fix a clogged drain, had demanded to know why Proto had ignored him just minutes earlier and why he’d been carrying a street sign. This had confused Proto, since as far as he knew, he’d been sleeping all morning, and without any street signs. He’d realized—somewhat disturbingly—that if he had been sleepwalking outside, he wouldn’t necessarily know about it.

  Has that been happening?

  He reached back in his recollection, trying to recall where he’d gone to bed and woken each day this week. He strove to recall what he’d been wearing. But the days mingled in his memory. With everything that’d happened this week, this was the last thing he’d have focused on.

  Further, he was distracted—and for good reason. He had more pressing things to think about.

  In mere hours, he’d go running and get knocked into a coma by a car. If he wanted to help anyone avert the Elements’ fiery pandaemonium, he’d have to do so between now and then. Meanwhile, this also was his last chance to “learn what must be learnt” to save the future.

  In short, as odd as his sleepwalking was, it wasn’t that big a deal compared to everything else going on in his life. . . . Right?

  As though in response, a memory flashed through his recollection:

  Proto pondered, then looked awry. “Why am I always being picked to make big choices?”

  “Oh, you liked the first one, and you know it! Maybe you’ll like this one too.” Flua-Sahng shrugged. “In all honesty, it’s because of how you sleepwalk.”

  “ . . . what?” Proto had felt he was starting to follow her explanation. Now, he was lost again.

  “Forget it. Like everything else!” She rolled her eyes wistfully.

  Then, like an echo, another memory followed:

  “I’m all for true love!” Flua-Sahng went on. “But for 99.99999% of humanity, I’m content to help them find it up there in the breathing world. Perhaps you wondered why I picked you to find it in the dream realm?”

  Proto felt tired of staring dumbly as people ran circles round him. “I thought you picked me because of how I sleepwalk,” he grumbled.

  She blinked and tilted her head. “Ah. You were listening. Yes, that’s the best answer. But that’s for another day.”

  Uncertainty thrilled through him. Was there something important he wasn’t seeing? He tried to wrap his head around what it might be.

  Then, he shook away the brooding. Mind in the game, Proto! If he failed to save the future, neither his sleepwalking nor the rest of his life would matter much. And if, when the Elements came, he failed to save his true love . . .

  He grit his teeth. Mind in the game!

  The glow of the CRT T.V. caught his eye. Well, time to turn it off, I guess. He normally didn’t bother. But this time, he would be gone for quite a while, wouldn’t he?

  Wistfully savoring the strains of Longing for the Past one last time, continuing to murmur those lyrics to himself, he reached for the SNES’ purple Power button—then halted, as a realization shocked through him like lightning through a flagpole.

  Wait. SNES songs don’t have lyrics! That’d been the 16-bit era. There’d been no vocals. Back then, you’d felt lucky to hear a flute instead of a sine wave.

  So . . . what were those lyrics I was singing? The words suddenly were elusive.

  Instinctively, he leaned toward the nooks and crannies of his mind where sleep still lingered, like snow in mountain crevices in the Summer. Like cool air rising from the dwindling snow, some sublimated vapors of his dream wafted up into his wakeful mind, still faintly bearing the forms of words.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  And he repeated them aloud: “Atlean University Cryogenics Facility = Safe Place.”

  He stared into space and tried to comprehend.

  Then, Proto laughed aloud at his dreamy babbling. WTF, Weirdo? Song lyrics about cryogenics? Am I living in a bad sci-fi? Mind in the game! He cast the nonsensical phrase toward the wastebin of memory.

  But at the last second, he whirled and caught it—and not only metaphorically speaking. He physically whirled toward his phone.

  Because Proto understood now.

  To be sure, he didn’t remember the significance of this cryogenics facility, apart from the fact that he’d driven past it with Black yesterday. Indeed, when he tried to think about the cryogenics facility, he drew such a blank that it felt like his memory had been wiped clean.

  Yet that was precisely why he understood. This must be one of his memories that Flua-Sahng had erased. This must be a memory from one of his Possibilities back at Somnus’ Palace—one of the choices he could’ve made during his Saturn Return.

  “Atlean University Cryogenics Facility = Safe Place.” He’d been searching for a safe place to send someone during the upcoming fiery destruction. He must’ve concluded, while visiting Mercune’s dream, that this facility would be a safe place. But how would he know it was safe unless . . . ?

  Proto’s eyes went from wide to wider.

  So, that’s where I’ll be. That’s how he would spend months, years, possibly centuries at Somnus’ Palace, staying alive in a coma. He’d be frozen. He’d be in cryogenic hibernation. His conscious mind reeled at the prospect.

  Meanwhile, the rest of his mind just felt mildly irked, like when you have to explain something to the slow guy that everyone else figured out a long time ago.

  Well, it was clear now what Proto had to do. He reached for his phone. He searched for the proper name and typed in a text. He pondered what he could and couldn’t say, and he chose his words carefully. Then, he scheduled it to be sent tomorrow morning. Done.

  He shivered as the word echoed inside him. This was it, wasn’t it? Done.

  It was mid-morning. He had a while before his run. From the vision of his car accident that Somnus had shown him, he recalled that he’d been running west with the sun in his eyes. Judging by the sun’s height and the fact that it was mid-Spring, it must’ve been around 4:15 p.m. Which made sense—he often ran at that time on weekends.

  So, Proto had a few hours left in the breathing world.

  “The breathing world.” He wasn’t even back in Somnus’ Palace yet, but already, its quirky terminology was coming back to him.

  How should he spend his last few hours? Part of him wanted to bid farewell to his friends. But obviously, that was out of the question. Who knew how it’d affect the future if he divulged such knowledge of his accident?

  Also, he felt that he’d left things with Red, Black, and all the others in precisely the right place already. His last moments were good moments—the sorts of moments that he’d want to define them in his memory, and to define their memories of him. He didn’t want to spoil that by tacking on some rushed, awkward, maudlin moments at the end.

  He could play a video game. But, again, having beaten Illusion of Gaia last night, he felt that he’d left gaming in the right place too. Indeed, Longing for the Past was still playing. The song felt like it’d defined this past week of his—at least, most of it. There’d been that odd interlude when Dream of the Shore Bordering Another World had been playing. He absently wondered if there was any significance to that.

  Meanwhile, Proto’s stomach was rumbling. He tried to shift it away, but it just rumbled again.

  Come to think of it, he was awfully hungry. Indeed, he’d already been ravenous in that dream with Wentsworth and Uberta. And the time that had elapsed since then hadn’t helped matters.

  Lifting his phone again, he ran a search for milk bread sandwiches near me; then, afternoon tea near me. Unfortunately, neither search turned up any good results.

  Oh well. He’d just have to wait for Lilac to make him those sandwiches.

  Instead, Proto decided to eat his final meal the way he usually ate, here in the breathing world: He went out and bought a quadruple smash burger. He savored the grease as he swallowed, and he savored the time he had left. And—for a few minutes, at least—he felt that all was well and would be well.

  Then, since he had to run in a few hours, he decided to walk off the giant lump in his stomach. He headed to the University Arboretum and roved beneath the shady boughs. There were no zombies and no injured campers.

  From afar, Proto did spot a guy in a red jacket that looked strikingly like Emil. It might’ve been Emil. But Proto kept his distance. Knowing his luck, he’d probably just say hi and—somehow, inadvertently—cause Emil to decide to go on that trip to the World Rood with Yemos, thereby messing up the whole course of history.

  By the time he left the woods, the sun had passed its peak aloft Midheaven, and hints of Summer’s heat had infiltrated the Springtime breeze. He let his eyelids droop shut and relished this while it lasted. He knew it’d get cooler in a few hours. He remembered running in the brisk winds.

  Then, it’d go from cold to colder. Much colder.

  Returning to his house, he headed inside and, for the first time since he’d woken a week ago, turned off the SNES and his CRT T.V. He made sure his phone was plugged in, so it could schedule-send that text tomorrow. He stretched and limbered up.

  And then the time had come.

  What a placid day it’d been, after the liveliest week of his life in the waking world! For once, everything was playing out the way it should—safely and predictably. It felt like Proto’s old life, before he’d woken in Somnus’ Palace.

  Well, a calm interlude between saving the future and saving the world wasn’t so bad, was it?

  He slipped in his earbuds, left his house and started running.

  When the first song that came on was Where’d All the Time Go?, by Dr. Dog, he smirked. Fitting. But it was good music. According to Black, it was “the sort of song that made you think the 2000s and 2010s might just live up to the 60s and 70s. Boy, did that ever go tits up.”

  As the music picked up pace, so did he. The sights of Spring passed by in a blur of green and white, pink and red. A quick blur, he mused wistfully.

  Heh. He was pretty fast, wasn’t he? And getting faster.

  He’d won a bronze medal not long ago—just a few weeks, in fact. Not exactly something to write a memoir about, but he’d felt proud when they’d called his name. He’d felt affirmed in his way of life—patiently bettering himself and his position, each day a slight variation of the last, plodding toward life goals that forever loomed just beyond the horizon.

  Boy, did that ever go tits up, smirked the Visitor-turned-Seer, soon to be frozen in a coma, charged to save the future and the world.

  These thoughts were light, but they beckoned him toward a gloomier place. Especially as he saw a group of costumed teens, joking and meandering together toward the downtown. They were wearing motley robes and armor and raiment of all sorts, wielding wooden and plastic weaponry. A guy dressed as Calamity Calamari was speaking and gesturing with his cane, and the others were laughing. One girl in particular, dressed as a fairy with monarch butterfly wings, was regarding him with gleaming eyes.

  What a cozy life. It seemed so dear, now that he was losing it. Even when he woke—if he woke—the world where such a life was livable would be gone. He felt a strange urge to slow down and join those kids.

  Or, better yet, he could call up Yemos. He could suggest they join Red and Ausrine at the cosplay convention. They might be out of VIP passes, but not normal tickets. What a day it’d be!—the sort of day he’d had, again and again, this past week. The sort of day he now wished he’d had more of.

  He’d never asked for this load on his shoulders. Why not the shuck the burdens that unjust Fate had heaped atop him and, light and free as a breeze, go forth to live his life?

  True, the Elements would come in a couple years. There was no preventing their pandaemonic rain of fire. But he could escape it. He knew a safe place now—that cryogenics facility and, presumably, the area around it.

  He could live out every young man’s dream of being the guy who correctly anticipated the apocalypse and prepared for it. He had money. He could buy a plot of land near the cryogenics facility. He could hire someone to dig him a deep underground bunker, with a steel door as thick as a bank vault. He could fill it with non-perishables—salty, preservative-laden stuff that’d last fifty years. And, perhaps, he could bring someone there with him.

  As the thought of that someone flashed through his head, he felt almost blinded by beauty, as when glimmers are strewn along a river by the sinking sun.

  But the prospect soon dwindled in his mind’s eye, leaving just that group of costumed teens.

  A moment later, Proto passed them and left them behind. And there, as well, he left his fond thoughts of calling up Yemos, his friends, and that someone.

  The next thing he noticed was a station wagon in a driveway, with magnolia petals on its roof. It looked a lot like the one he’d woken in as a kid, after that night of sleepwalking—blue with wooden side-paneling and a rear-facing back seat.

  This made him wonder again where he’d sleepwalked last night. Wherever it was, at least it wasn’t anything that weird, right? Count your blessings, Proto.

  The whistling of a sudden wind, slipping beneath his earbuds, sounded almost like laughter. But he turned up the volume and kept running.

  Reaching the downtown, he passed the hockey arena and the convention center across the street, and their associated crowds—one wearing jerseys and jeans, the other wearing colorful getup of all sorts. He saw the sign that Mannus had mentioned, with the spiky blue-haired guy wielding an axe.

  Come to think of it, Mannus was probably at the hockey arena right now. Red and Ausrine were likely in the convention hall, dressed up as who-knew-what. He felt a sudden longing to go inside and find out what—even just to see them from afar.

  But he kept running. And then they were behind him too.

  For a while, his thoughts were wordless and ambiguous, wistful and wispy, as he ran to the rhythm of Go Your Own Way. He felt like he’d already halfway-left the waking world.

  Then, he saw a car about to hit someone.