A loud hum buzzed in Cedar's ears, stirring her to wake. It couldn't have been morning yet. Not with the lethargy she felt and besides, her alarm hadn't gone off. Hazy dreams swirled in her mind as she drifted back to the brink of sleep, only to be jolted awake by an unforeseen calamity outside her bedroom door.

  Muffled shouts followed by a rumbling that made her bed shake, forced Cedar to clutch her mattress and pray for her parents who must be scared witless. Earthquakes were unheard of in Connecticut.

  Outside the window, the sky shone a crimson twilight—a queer light that bathed her bedroom in a chronological confusion, not being able to tell if it was night or day. On her bedside table, her phone, displayed a series of nonsensical symbols where the time should have been.

  As Cedar snapped alert, a vital memory resurfaced—she had something urgent to do, but couldn't remember what it was. The commotion outside her bedroom caused her to scan the room in search of a potential weapon, a means to defend herself.

  "It's happening. Where is she? It's happening." Cedar heard a man's voice, tinged with panic.

  ?

  Cedar reached for the metal bat that she kept beside her nightstand and watched her room's doorknob, poised to spring into action at the slightest sign of movement.

  "She's in here. Just stay calm," another man's voice reasoned. She knew that voice. Just as Cedar lowered her guard, a recognizable man threw open her door.

  "Cedar, you okay?"

  It was Ari. She remembered now. She was trapped inside a collapsing simulation, a gossamer wing away from the labyrinth of her own subconscious. She will have to navigate through the dense, tangled maze of her thoughts and fears until she reached the other side, ascended.

  "Ari?" Cedar questioned through blurred vision.

  "Remember what I told you?" he asked.

  "Math," she recalled. "I have to do math."

  Cedar's head felt foggy and her eyelids heavy with sleep. In this state, attempting any sort of calculation seemed like an insurmountable task, far beyond the grasp of her weary mind.

  "Don't fall back to sleep," Ari warned.

  "I'm awake," Cedar said, focusing her attention on Ari. She heard Nachi and Everly in the next room talking frenzied to each other. Her head swam as more information registered. Too much was happening for her to remain focused.

  "Don't forget to rub your palms together," instructed Ari.

  Cedar began rubbing her palms together, focusing on the friction it caused. She honed in on the small details in her bedroom; a chip of paint on the wall, the zig-zag pattern on her lampshade, the folds in her blanket.

  "Stay with me, Cedar."

  "I'm here."

  Cedar really feel like she was there, fully present, not about to go anywhere. The earthquake died down and everything began to settle until a sliver of fear crept in. Fear that she wouldn't remain lucid.

  The fear hadn't reached her conscious mind until it was too late. She looked at Ari's face—a sucking and a sizzling sound occurred as his face began to freeze over, followed by her room. Her bedroom, once alive and malleable, began to crystalize, becoming stagnant and hardened. Shortly thereafter, her surroundings and everything in it, fizzled to black. The images she once saw, fell away to darkness.

  She now found herself in the void, yet different from the one she encountered during the flower ceremony. This void offered no answers, nor did it cradle her with a sense of serenity. It was merely dark, as if she had only closed her eyes. Cedar attempted to feel for her body, curious about her position. According to her proprioceptors, she was sitting back in a reclined position unable to move.

  , she thought.

  Cedar tried with all her might to open her physical eyes, but failed. Her eyelids were stuck, as if someone had glued them shut. The rest of her also had succumbed to a type of paralysis. All she could do was lay back and view the dark screen behind her closed lids, but for how long? Even if she will herself to wake, she wouldn't be able to ascend. All her training would not only be for nothing, but the world, the universe as she knew it, would end.

  Her newfound greatest fear was waking up from virtual rehabilitation. She kept that fear at bay, vying to meditate it away through acceptance and the practice of letting go.

  Time slowed while in virtual rehabilitation. The entire process spanned no more than five minutes, but Cedar felt close to awakening. No longer did she feel submerged in the deep underbelly of her subconscious, and she wondered if her perception of time was now aligned with that of the outside world. At any moment she could wake up, facing the doctors and guards who captured her.

  Left with no other option, Cedar resigned herself to sleep. It was the only way she could reunite with Ari and the others. This meant that she had to let go of her lucidity, a concept that, only moments ago, ran against everything she had just learned. At least it was under terms. She had full autonomy over the situation; she controlled the timing and manner of her surrender. With any luck, she might be able to drift off without losing consciousness, a feat made possible by a technique Ari taught her prior to the collapse of the program.

  The trick was simple; all she had to do was look into the darkness and watch for any shapes that may appear. She was to observe these shapes—not to interfere with their formation or will them into being. This required patience and a clear mind. She only had to watch and wait, allowing the process to unfold naturally.

  Reclined in darkness, unable to move, hear, or see, Cedar recalled a previous trip to a sensory deprivation tank. She understood that both auditory and visual hallucinations may occur. These hallucinations, breakthrough manifestations of her subconscious, could potentially serve as a gateway—a sort of passport granting her entry into the dreaming landscape.

  It wasn't long before the first image materialized. A pair of scissors, their outline perfectly defined. Cedar wondered, More details came into view: a chalkboard, a chair. Was it a classroom? As the outlines filled with color, she suddenly found herself seated at a desk in her old homeroom. It was her senior year of high school, and Cedar had no idea where her next class was. The sound of the school bell, signaling the end of homeroom, brought her classmates to their feet, gathering their belongings and filing out the door towards their next class.

  Cedar decided to head to the office to retrieve her schedule, which she seemed to have misplaced. A wave of embarrassment gutted her. How could have forgotten her schedule? The humiliation compounded with each step down the hallway, making her legs feel useless and rubbery. She dragged herself along, using the wall for support to steady her gait. Upon reaching the office, she collapsed onto a bench in the waiting area. As she sat there, trying to compose herself, a Spanish-speaking freshmen approached her.

  "Venga conmigo," the boy said to her.

  "I need a print-out of my schedule," Cedar replied. "I've lost it."

  "Si, puedo ayudarle," said the boy, gesturing for her to follow him.

  Cedar trailed the boy out of the office and down a meandering hallway, leading them into a back alleyway outside the school. It looked like a place of ill intension.

  "Where are we? Is this still part of the school?" Cedar asked, eyeing the dilapidated buildings that effectively blotted out the sunlight.

  Garbage littered the ally along with blood splatter that grew in density the further along they traveled.

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  "I need to get out of here," said Cedar, her heart pounding with unease.

  "Tienes que soltar tus deseos para conseguir lo que quieres," said the boy. Translated, his words meant:

  Cedar didn't question her newfound ability at understanding Spanish, nor did she question anything for that matter. She accepted the reality that she was placed in—as though cotton filled her mind, muffling her thoughts along with all reason. She forgot about her main objective, to procure her class schedule.

  "Estarás segura aquí," the boy said as he opened a weathered, white-painted door at the end of the ally.

  "I'll be safe in there?"

  "Si."

  Without question, Cedar entered.

  The boy remained outside, closing the door behind Cedar and locking her inside the building. At the far end of a decrepit kitchen stood a tall, slender man with a crushed top hat and pointed mustache, brandishing a machete.

  "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," said the man. "Allow me to introduce you to my menial vassal, Chinga. Chinga, come here, Chinga."

  A sullen woman in her later years appeared from an adjoining room. Years of abuse had etched a permanent scowl on her face, marred with sorrow and hopelessness. She wore a soiled yellow dress with lace trim ensconced around her neck. From the look of it, Cedar guessed it was the same dress the woman worn when she first met her captor, the man in the top hat—possibly on a Sunday morning on her way to church.

  The man didn't frighten Cedar, but seeing the old woman ignited a seething anger within her so powerful that it became her world. She reached for the nearest weapon she could find—a shoddy wooden chair coated in spider webs and dirt. With all her strength, Cedar hurled it at the man in the top hat.

  "Run!" Cedar commanded, reaching for another chair. "Get out of here!"

  The chair shattered against the man's shoulder, failing to cause significant damage but buying time for Chinga to escape. However, the old woman remained motionless, standing in place without making any attempt to flee. Her expression was unchanged, still reflecting the same unyielding servitude as before.

  "What's wrong with you?" Cedar exclaimed, advancing towards the tall man and smashing another chair against him. "Leave! Why won't you leave?" She yelled at the unresponsive woman.

  In that heated moment, a sliver of realization dawned deep within Cedar's psyche, giving rise to a pressing question: Why wouldn't this woman leave?

  More questions surged her mind, each gaining clarity and substance. A latch seemed to unhooked within her reasoning, and among the influx of queries, one question stood out: Is this really happening?

  Cedar halted, her thoughts racing, as the tall man seized the old woman by the elbow and pressed the machete close to her throat.

  "This isn't real," Cedar concluded. Her rage gave way to rational thought. "You're not real. I'm dreaming."

  "I assure you, that's not the case," the tall man chuckled, his laugh revealing worn, nubby chowder teeth. He slid the blade across the old woman's neck, causing her head to lurch backwards like a broken Pez dispenser.

  "If it's not true than kill me," said Cedar.

  The tall man flinched with doubt. His face contorted with a mixture of malice and fear, morphing into an expression of genuine terror. His eyes darkened, filling with a bile-like substance that caused the capillaries to bulge, creating a network of spidery dark veins across his face.

  His jaw dropped and he let out a howl. The sound was not just a scream but a sonic blast, its force lifting Cedar off her feet and hurling her through the air.

  Cedar remained airborne, hurtling through walls that had not been there before. This experience of evil was unlike anything she had ever felt—not in the hell dungeon, nor at any other point in her life. It was an unadulterated, primitive form of malevolence, a kind of evil that didn't exist on Earth or anywhere in the known universe, but in a realm beyond physical reach or measurement. It was an evil that resided only within herself.

  Splinters and debris orbited around her as she continued her involuntary flight. Shockwaves jolted her body with each collision, yet, Cedar found a sense of relief in this rapid retreat from the tall man. The swift motion provided the most effective means of creating distance between them. The speed was overwhelming, and Cedar kept her eyes tightly closed, hoping the momentum would persist. The impact of crashing into wall after wall didn't bring pain, only a forceful pressure against her back with each successive impact.

  With a curious, slightly open eye, Cedar glimpsed her surroundings. She was still inside the building, now facing an endless stretch of decayed, ramshackle apartments. The absurdity of the situation made her question why she hadn't woken up yet. Clearly, this was a night terror, but one far more intense than any she previously endured.

  One question led to another, building a chain of reasoning that slowly reactivated the part of her brain holding a crucial memory: she was inside a prison rehabilitation program.

  "Damn it," she muttered, the words barely leaving her lips before her flight abruptly ended. Cedar collided with an impenetrable wall, and with a pronounced crunch, her body crumpled to the floor.

  "Son of a bitch."

  She didn't immediately stand up. Instead, she leaned her back against the wall, drawing her knees to her chest and encircling them with her arms. She rocked gently, her thoughts wandering to Ari. He was supposed to be there with her, supporting her.

  "Ari?" she called out.

  But then, she reconsidered, she felt embarrassed for needing him and didn't want him to see her in this state—disheveled and rattled—she was stronger than this. She buried her head in her arms and closed her eyes, imagining a more hospitable environment.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the tall man, to how his rage seemed to amplify when she showed him no fear. It was almost as though he had pushed back against her defiance.

  Cedar pondered the nuances of their interaction: In confronting her fear, had she inadvertently unleashed something more sinister? Was it possible that by resisting it, she had intensified the essence of evil lurking within her?

  Cedar ruminated deeply on this. Her subconscious, seemingly a bastion of the most vile and wicked evil, appeared to be provoked into full revelation by her absence of fear.

  She couldn't fathom it—she was not an evil person, so how could such wretchedness reside within her? The contemplation of such profound evil unsettled Cedar. She became increasingly agitated, fearful of plunging into another sinister scenario.

  This fear grew so intense that she now found herself too terrified to even open her eyes, lest she confront another daunting, nefarious reality.

  Taking a deep breath, Cedar raised her head to discern if anything changed with the dilapidated apartment complex. She was greeted by utter darkness. Feeling her way along the wall behind her, she moved to the adjacent wall and gave it a tentative knock. It was solid.

  "What the hell?"

  A sense of dread crept over her as she realized her worst nightmare: the other wall was a mere inches away. She was enclosed in a tight space. The walls were equidistant—approximately three feet apart, three feet high, and three feet in length. She found herself trapped in a perfect cubic prison.

  She swallowed her fear, reminding herself that giving into it would only worsen her situation. She resumed her previous position, curling up with her knees drawn to her chest, trying to maintain composure in the confining darkness.

  , thought Cedar.

  She refrained from voicing the word, fearing that by saying it aloud might solidify its reality even further. Yet, the truth was stark—it was already real.

  Closing her eyes once more, the image of the tall man invaded her mind's eye again. Through her recovery from PTSD, Cedar had learned that the most effective way to overcome a mental block was to analyze it thoroughly. The tall man was that mental block for her. His haunting image clung to her consciousness, refusing to dissipate. Despite her full mental acuity, her thoughts were inexorably drawn to the man with the machete.

  She realized that his malevolent aura became tangible only after she recognized he wasn't real. This led her to an intriguing hypothesis: if evil was indeed a manifestation of fear, then the tall man's emergence as a figure of evil coincided with him feeling threatened by Cedar's awareness. In essence, his evil—or fear—surfaced in direct response to his sense of being endangered.

  I'm

  She attempted to recall one of Ari's lengthy discourses on fear. "Fear is the ego," he had said. "The ego fights to preserve itself."

  , thought Cedar.

  It all boiled down to an unwillingness to let go. In this scenario, she was only battling with herself, so overpowering the man physically seemed illogical. Even if she to engage him in physical combat, he could blow her away again.

  Was it control that she had to let go of? Ari always told her to let go and to trust.

  She continued to rock herself as she processed this information. The advice of the Spanish boy drifted into her thoughts, echoing his cryptic advice: 'You have to let go of your desires to get what you want.'

  How could these paradoxical concepts be possible? Not only did she have to let go, but she had to somehow let go of the desire to let go?

  This meant embodying emptiness.

  An ever-so-brief moment of emptiness impregnated Cedar's psyche before a new insight prompted her to search for an opening. Her myriad of thoughts converged into one lucid insight: seek, and you shall find. It was as if the answer lay in the act of searching itself, in the journey rather than the destination. This realization sparked a determination in Cedar to look for an opening, a way out of the suffocating enclosure.

  She relinquished control over her situation, entrusting it to a higher power. She recognized that if such a formidable evil existed within her, there must also be an equally powerful force to counterbalance it—her free will. Surrendering control, essentially her ego, was the key to achieving liberation. By doing so, she believed a solution would emerge, manifesting from within her and onto the dreamscape. This required her to remain in a state of emptiness and fearlessness, trusting that the solution would reveal itself in due time.

  Her only task was to seek it out. This revelation hadn't originated from her own reasoning; it felt imparted to her, resonating as an undeniable truth.

  As Cedar's hands glided over the box's smooth surface, they encountered a rectangular indention. She kept her mind free of expectations, not anticipating what she might find or how it could aid in her escape. Gently pressing against the indentation, it gave way, sliding open.

  All of a sudden, the box started to shake and then plummet. Cedar was enveloped by a sensation of weightlessness, her stomach lurching into her throat as she entered a free-fall.

  For a moment, the realism of the experience made her forget she was in a dream. This was the power of fear: it could lull a person into a state of unconsciousness, a sleep-like trance. But Cedar reminded herself of her reality—no matter what happened, she was not in mortal danger.

  With a song of trust in her heart, she accepted the free-fall along with her fate.