“You home?” Aisha’s voice crackled through the comm, her holo-projection flickering to life. Elena sat cross-legged on her apartment floor, surrounded by the playful turmoil of her dream-born cats. The cream-colored one—whom she’d started calling Pippin—nuzzled her knee, purring like a tiny engine, while the black cat, Shadow, batted at a stray sock. The tabby, Mischief, sprawled atop a stack of research papers, his crooked grin daring her to move him. Outside, the city’s neon pulse flickered through her windows, a reminder of the confusion beyond her walls—dragons, crystalline trees, and caped figures that shouldn’t exist. Her comm device lay beside her, its screen dark, but the weight of the lab’s urgent briefing lingered in her mind.
She’d left the lab hours ago, Aisha’s sharp words about hard data still ringing in her ears. But Elena couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just neuroscience. The global manifestations—her cats, Aisha’s burning city, the knight in London—felt too personal, too tied to the dreamer’s soul. She reached for a chipped mug of tea, now cold, and her gaze fell on the CD player tucked in the corner of her cluttered shelf. It was an antique, a relic from her father’s collection, its scratched surface holding memories of late-night music sessions before he’d passed. Last night, she’d played a disc from an obscure composer, a twelve-song cycle she’d found in a secondhand shop. The music had been haunting, its notes weaving through her dreams like threads of light.
Pippin leapt onto her lap, startling her. “Hey, you,” she murmured, scratching his ears. His warmth grounded her, but the question gnawed: had the music triggered her dream? The cats were too vivid, too real, to be coincidence. She set Pippin down, ignoring his indignant chirp, and crossed to the CD player. The disc’s cover was plain, the composer’s name—Lukas Varn—printed in faded ink. She’d chosen it for its obscurity, a nod to her love of forgotten artists, but now it felt like a clue.
Her comm buzzed, Aisha’s name flashing. Elena answered, the holo-projection flickering to life. Aisha’s face was taut, her dark eyes shadowed. “You home?” she asked, her voice clipped.
“Yeah,” Elena said, glancing at the cats. “What’s up?”
“We’ve got new data. EEGs from affected subjects are showing synchronized theta spikes, like they’re all tuned to the same frequency.” Aisha paused, her brow furrowing. “It’s weird, Elena. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Elena’s pulse quickened. “Synchronized how? Like… collective dreaming?”
Aisha sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. “You and your myths. Maybe, but it’s not enough. We need a cause, not a theory.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping. “Anything strange on your end? You were cagey earlier.”
Elena’s gaze flicked to Pippin, now chasing Shadow across the rug. She wanted to tell Aisha—about the cats, the dream, the music—but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she said, “Just thinking. I’ll be back at the lab soon.”
Aisha’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “Hurry. Victor’s breathing down our necks.” The call ended, the holo fading to black.
Elena grabbed the CD, its plastic case cool against her palm. She had to know. She returned to the lab an hour later, the disc tucked in her jacket, the cats left to their antics with a bowl of synth-milk. The institute was a hive of activity, scientists hunched over screens, corporate suits hovering like vultures. Aisha was at their shared workstation, her tablet glowing with neural scans.
“You’re late,” Aisha said without looking up, her tone sharp but not unkind.
“Got held up,” Elena replied, sliding into the chair beside her. She hesitated, then pulled out the CD. “I need to tell you something. Last night, before I dreamed… I listened to this.”
Aisha glanced at the disc, her expression skeptical. “A CD? Really, Elena?”
“It’s not just a CD,” Elena said, her voice steady. “It’s by Lukas Varn, some obscure pianist-composer. I played it before bed, and then…” She trailed off, the memory of the cats’ warmth flooding back. “I think it’s connected.”
Aisha’s skepticism deepened, but she took the disc, turning it over in her hands. “You’re saying a random album caused your dreams to turn real?”
Elena nodded, bracing for pushback. “Just hear me out. The music—it’s different. It felt like it was pulling me somewhere, like it was alive.”
Aisha sighed, setting the disc down. “We’re chasing brainwaves, not fairy tales. But fine, let’s test it. If it’s nothing, we move on.”
They moved to a soundproof testing room, a sterile cube with a single speaker system. Elena’s heart raced as Aisha loaded the CD, her fingers deft despite her obvious doubt. The first notes spilled out, soft and lilting, like a whisper of starlight. Elena closed her eyes, the melody stirring memories of her dream—the meadow, the cats, the impossible joy. But there was something else, a low hum beneath the notes, almost imperceptible, that made her skin prickle.
Aisha stiffened, her tablet forgotten in her lap. “This… it’s intense,” she murmured, her voice unsteady. The music swelled, notes cascading like water, and Elena felt it again—that pull, as if the sound were weaving itself into her thoughts. She opened her eyes, meeting Aisha’s gaze. Her colleague’s face was pale, her breath shallow.
“Turn it off,” Aisha said suddenly, her voice sharp. Elena hesitated, but Aisha lunged for the controls, cutting the music mid-note. The silence was deafening, the air heavy with unspoken tension.
“What happened?” Elena asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Aisha didn’t answer immediately. She stared at the speaker, her hands trembling. “I saw it again,” she said finally, her voice low. “The fire. The city burning. It was… closer this time. Like it was trying to break through.”
Elena’s breath caught. “You mean it manifested?”
Aisha shook her head, but her eyes were wide, haunted. “Not yet. But it felt real. Too real.” She grabbed her tablet, pulling up her own EEG data from the session. The screen showed a jagged spike in theta waves, identical to the global reports. “This isn’t random,” she said, her voice tight, eyes locked on the EEG data. “Your CDs behind it.”
They returned to the main lab, the disc now a burning weight in Elena’s pocket. Victor was briefing the corporate reps, but Aisha interrupted, her voice firm. “We have a lead. It’s this music—a composer named Lukas Varn. It’s triggering the manifestations.”
The room fell silent, all eyes on them. Victor’s brow furrowed. “Music? You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” Aisha said, holding up her tablet. “The EEGs don’t lie. It’s altering brainwaves, syncing them somehow. We need to investigate this Varn guy.”
Elena nodded, her mind racing. “He’s obscure, but I can dig into his background. If he’s still alive, we need to find him.”
Victor hesitated, then gave a curt nod. “Do it. But keep it quiet until we know more. The last thing we need is a panic over a CD.”
As the team dispersed, Elena felt Aisha’s gaze on her. “You were right,” Aisha said, her voice softer now, almost apologetic. “But this scares me, Elena. If this music is the key, what else can it do?”
Elena didn’t answer, her thoughts drifting to the CD’s haunting notes. She’d felt them too, that pull, that promise of something beyond. But now, with Aisha’s fire and the world’s upheaval pressing in, she wondered if they’d stumbled onto something they couldn’t control. The cats, the music, the dreams—they were all threads in a tapestry she was only beginning to see. And Lukas Varn, whoever he was, held the needle.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10
