The Dream

 Raindrops struck the muddy ground, washing over the gravestones. A young boy with jet-black hair and lifeless eyes sat in a wheelchair, facing two freshly dug graves. A group of mourners, dressed in black, stood behind him, watching in silence. The scent of damp earth mixed with the faint aroma of funeral incense, lingering in the heavy air.

 "Is that him? Benedict?" a man whispered to the person next to him.


 "Yeah. Poor kid. Not only did he lose his family in the car accident, but his legs ended up like that too. The doctors say he might never walk again," a middle-aged woman responded in a hoarse voice.


 "So what will happen to him? Does he have any family to take care of him?" the man asked.


 "He has relatives, but I doubt any of them will take him in. Maybe they'll hire a servant to look after him," the woman replied.


 The man sighed and gazed into the distance. "I knew his father. He was a good man. It's a shame this happened to him. I hope his son can find a way to move forward."


——————————————————————


 Benedict stared at the framed photo of his family, lost in memories of the past.


 "Hey, Ben. What do you think of this new chapter?" asked a middle-aged man, his face expectant.

 "The art is great. The fight scenes are amazing. But why is the battle dragging on so much? Weren’t you supposed to wrap up the story faster?" Benedict replied, flipping through the pages with a puzzled look.


 "The editor suggested extending it. He said we should stretch the story a bit since the next manga isn't ready yet."

 "You should become a mangaka too. I'll train you under my wing," the man said proudly.

 "I want to be a soccer player. To begin with, I don’t have any of your drawing talent," the boy replied, stretching his arms behind his head.

 "Talent doesn’t matter. It's all about effort," the man said with a laugh, patting the boy's back.

------

 Benedict lay on his bed, staring blankly at the television. His eyes were swollen and red, making it difficult to see clearly.

 "And now, the headlines:

 "Unfortunately, we have received news that mangaka Keita Ryusaki and his British wife have tragically lost their lives in a car accident."

 "Ryusaki was known for his work on 'bouken no michi.' With his passing, the manga series will now remain unfinished forever."

 Benedict turned off the television and threw the remote across the room. Then, curling himself into a fetal position under the blanket, his muffled sobs filled the silence.

 "Why did you have to go? Why did you leave me alone? Why didn’t you take me with you?" he whispered, his voice breaking. He wept until exhaustion pulled him into a deep sleep—deeper than he could have imagined.

---------

 Benedict opened his eyes, still seated in his wheelchair.

 "Where... is this place?" he thought.

 He was on a stone path that cut through a dense forest. The distant call of a hoopoe bird echoed through the trees. The wind rustled the leaves, tousling his hair. The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air.

 "Am I dreaming? But this feels too real for a dream! Is this what they call lucid dreaming?"

 Taking a deep breath, he realized how long it had been since he had felt this refreshed. He pinched his cheek.

 "It hurts... This is way too real."

 In the far distance, towering, white-capped mountains stood tall. Among them, an immense tower shaped like a hand, from the elbow to the fingertips, stretched towards the sky.

 His gaze locked onto the very tip of the tower. A royal crown rested upon its extended index finger. Suddenly, his vision blurred, and a voice echoed in his mind:

 "Come to the top of the tower, and you shall obtain what you desire."

 His parents' faces flashed through his thoughts.

 "What was that? Does this mean... if I go there, I can see my parents again?" he wondered, lowering his head in shock.

 "I have to go. I have to find out the truth."

 He gripped the wheels of his wheelchair and started moving forward.

 The road was paved with stones engraved in a  clover pattern. After a few minutes of travel, he reached a crossroads with three signs:

 Left: Blue Goose Swamp – Warning: Bandits Ahead

 Straight: Dungeon of Memories

 Right: City of Ferdesion

 "If I want to reach the tower, I should go straight… but it might be better to gather some information first. I should head to the city."

 He turned his wheelchair towards the right, unaware that, hidden among the trees, a shadow was watching him. A shadow with a blue seven-petaled flower dangled from its ears.

 As he advanced, he noticed changes in the environment. The trees grew shorter. The air became more humid. Frogs croaked incessantly. Moss covered everything.

 "Something's not right. I don’t see any signs of civilization. Am I lost? Should I turn back?"

 Just as he was about to turn his wheelchair around, he noticed three figures sprinting towards him.

 "Who are they? Maybe they’re from the city?" he thought. He could make out two men and a woman, accompanied by a white crow.

 But as they drew closer, he realized his mistake. Their faces were covered in scars, their clothes were tattered, and they carried weapons.

 There was no way he could escape. If he tried to flee in his wheelchair, he would only tire himself out.


 "Excuse me, do you know which way the city is? I think I might have taken a wrong turn," he asked, relying on luck.

"Well, well… Looks like we caught ourselves a lost lamb," said the short man with curly hair.

 "Told you this trap would work," the woman carrying a spear chuckled.

 "I didn’t think anyone would be dumb enough to fall for something this obvious," the tall, burly man scoffed, adjusting his eyepatch.

 Benedict immediately realized the signs had been switched. The city was actually in the other direction. But it was too late.

"Wait a sec… He’s in a moving chair. Could he be a Dreamer?" the short man said, his voice laced with concern.

 "Yeah. If he’s a Dreamer, we’re in serious trouble," the spear-wielding woman added.

 The tall man frowned before smirking. "Leave him to me."

 He took a menacing step forward, casting a massive shadow over Benedict.

"Where did you come from?" he asked, tapping his axe against his palm.

"They mentioned 'Dreamer' . They seem terrified of them. And I appeared here after falling asleep... So maybe I’m one of these 'Dreamers' too. I need to figure out why they’re so afraid of them," Benedict thought.

 "You... know what I’m capable of. Don’t you?" Benedict said in a firm, steady voice, locking eyes with the man.

 The tall man hesitated. "This guy... He isn’t scared at all. Not even a flinch. Could he be the real deal?"

 His expression wavered. "Yeah. I know. Sorry for bothering you. Let’s go!"

He hoisted his companions by their collars and turned away.

 "What are you doing?!" the short man protested.

 "We need to run before we get torn to pieces! That chair of his is a Dream Item. If it hasn’t disappeared yet, that means he’s a strong Dreamer! We can’t risk fighting him."

 Benedict sighed in relief. Just as thought he was safe, the white crow suddenly attacked, pecking at his head while cawing.

 "OW!" he yelled in pain.

 The bandits stopped and grinned before slowly turning back toward him.

 "Well, well, well… Looks like we’ve been tricked," the woman said, resting her spear on his shoulder.

The short man continued: “You’re not a dreamer, are you?”  

Benedict was speechless. He had no way to defend himself.  
The tall man grabbed Benedict by the throat and lifted him off the ground.  
Benedict gasped for air—then the man hurled him aside. Benedict writhed on the floor.  

 “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?” Benedict struggled to speak.

 “What do we want? If you’d handed over everything from the start, it wouldn’t have come to this. Now, unless you wanna be chopped to pieces, give us every coin you’ve got—fast.” the tall man said.

 “I don’t have any money! I was asleep—I woke up here!”  
Benedict knew his situation was hopeless, so he tried telling the truth.  

 The tall man kicked him hard in the gut and growled, “Think we’re stupid? Still playing the dreamer act?”  

 As Benedict curled up in pain, he muttered, “Damn that crow! Everything was going smoothly…”  

 “Hey, this chair’s good quality. Might fetch a price at the city’s junk market.” the woman, inspecting the wheelchair, chimed in.

 The tall man: “Hurry, sell it in town before the shops close. Tonight, we’re eating like kings.”  

 Now, it was Benedict’s turn. The tall man hefted his axe onto his shoulder and asked, What should we do with you?" 

 the tall man clamped a hand around Benedict's throat, hoisting him into the air as if he weighed nothing.

 "Now, what should we do with you?" he asked, raising his axe.
 "Brother, this boy is telling the truth. He has no money on him!" said the short man.

 "Well then, I guess we should just get rid of him. He’s seen our faces, and if he reaches the city, he’ll be trouble for us," said the tall man as he prepared to swing his axe at Benedict.

 Benedict stared hopelessly at the glint of light reflecting off the axe’s blade.

 "I couldn’t even do what I wanted in my dreams. I couldn’t even be with my parents… not even in my sleep." He thought as he closed his eyes.