Chapter 233: Deja Vu Dreams

The ocean spread endlessly beyond the railing. Bioluminescence pulsed beneath crystal-clear water, visible even under full daylight.

Blues and violets and silvers dancing in impossible patterns, too bright, too vibrant.

Kane’s gaze drifted toward the volcano.

No smoke rose from its peak. The mountain sat pristine and dormant, as if it had never harbored magma or sealed creatures or ancient secrets.

The beach below lay empty. No vendors setting up stalls, no morning joggers, and no distant voices carrying on the breeze.

Just them. Paradise stretched perfect and untouched.

The hatchling purred against Kane’s palm, a sound like distant thunder.

Everything felt right.

After breakfast, Kane cradled the hatchling against his chest while Cyrus drove the golf cart down the winding cliff road.

The market materialized as they rounded the final bend—vibrant stalls and fluttering banners appearing where empty sand had stretched moments before.

Vendors called out cheerful greetings, waving them closer to displays of grilled fish and crystallized fruit.

Kane blinked.

Had those stalls been there yesterday?

The baby dragon chirped, amber eyes tracking a butterfly that definitely hadn’t existed in this exact spot three seconds ago.

"Cyrus." Kane’s voice came quiet. "When did the market open?"

"It’s always been there." Cyrus parked the golf cart, expression neutral.

The market stretched before them like a watercolor painting—vivid and slightly smudged at the edges.

Kane shifted the hatchling to his shoulder, the dragon’s small claws digging into fabric. Cyrus walked beside them, one hand resting protectively on Kane’s lower back.

The noon sun beat down, but somehow the lanterns still glowed amber against the daylight.

They passed the squid vendor first. Same weathered face, same perfect smile splitting his features.

"Four skewers?"

Kane blinked. "Yeah. How did you—"

But the vendor was already handing them over, charred tentacles smoking.

Kane bit down. Salt, lime, chili oil.

Perfect.

Exactly like last time.

He took another bite. Identical texture, identical flavor profile. Like his taste buds had gotten stuck on repeat.

The hatchling chirped, nuzzling against Kane’s neck.

They wandered deeper, and Kane’s ears caught the music drifting from the beach musicians—the same melody that had played last night. Same tempo, same instrumental arrangement.

He hummed along without thinking, predicting each note before it landed.

"This place..." Kane paused, watching a family pass with children clutching candied fruit. The mother’s smile never wavered, frozen in permanent contentment. "It feels different."

"Because you’re happy." Cyrus’s thumb traced circles on Kane’s spine.

Kane frowned, trying to remember feeling unhappy here.

The memory slipped away like water through cupped hands.

"I don’t remember being unhappy."

Cyrus stopped walking, turning Kane toward him with gentle pressure. Crimson eyes met amber, and something flickered there—too fast to name.

"Then don’t."

The words settled over Kane like a weighted blanket. Comfortable but suffocating.

He glanced toward the beach, where fire dancers were setting up their equipment despite the glaring noon sun. Drums pounded the same rhythm from last night.

Kane’s gaze drifted skyward.

The sun hung suspended over the western horizon, painting everything in late afternoon gold.

Late afternoon. Again.

How long had they been walking? An hour? Two?

The sun hadn’t moved. Not even a fraction.

The hatchling’s purr rumbled against his collarbone, and Kane forced himself to look away from the frozen sky.

After their tour of the markets, Kane sits alone by the shoreline while their baby dragon plays nearby.

The dragon chased wavelets across damp sand, pouncing on foam that dissolved beneath silver claws.

Kane sat cross-legged, nine tails fanned around him, tracing lazy spirals in the sand.

Perfect. Everything is perfect.

He glanced up, watching the dragon tumble through shallow water—

The wave stopped.

Mid-crest, suspended in crystalline stillness. Droplets hung motionless in air, catching light that no longer shifted.

Kane’s hand froze mid-pattern.

Silence pressed against his eardrums. No crash of surf, no distant gulls, no wind through palm fronds.

Nothing.

The hatchling remained frozen mid-pounce, one paw lifted, amber eyes fixed on water that refused to move.

Kane pushed to his feet, heart hammering against ribs that suddenly felt too tight.

Colors bled wrong—gold dripping into crimson, blues bruising purple at the edges. The sky pulsed like something alive and watching.

"Cyrus!"

His voice died in thick air.

"I’m here."

Kane spun.

Cyrus stood three feet away, expression calm, hands loose at his sides. No wind had brought him. No footsteps marked the sand.

Just there.

"Cyrus... where did you go?"

"I never left."

Kane gestured toward the frozen ocean, the suspended world around them. "The tide stopped."

"You’re imagining things."

"The sun hasn’t moved." Kane’s voice cracked. "Not once. Not since—"

Silence stretched between them.

Cyrus’s crimson eyes held steady, unblinking. "It doesn’t have to."

Kane’s heart stuttered.

The warmth radiating from Cyrus—that protective heat he’d craved—wrapped around Kane’s ribs like constricting bands.

Suffocating.

He stepped back.

His shadow remained planted where he’d stood, nine tails spread across sand that no longer shifted beneath his feet.

Kane looked down.

His shadow stared back, amber eyes glowing from a silhouette that refused to follow.

"Cyrus." Kane’s voice came distant. "What did you do?"

A line split the horizon.

White light bled through the sky like a wound opening, slow and inevitable. The tear widened, spilling brightness that hurt to witness.

Kane blinked.

The sand beneath his feet crumbled. Ash scattered where pristine beach had stretched seconds before, coating his ankles in gray powder that smelled of sulfur and burnt offerings.

The hatchling flickered.

Silver scales blurred into static, then empty shell fragments, then back to living dragon—amber eyes bright, then hollow, then bright again.

The creature’s purr distorted into mechanical grinding before snapping back to organic warmth.

Cyrus stood motionless.

That frozen smile remained locked across perfect features, expression caught mid-reassurance.

Crimson eyes stared without blinking, without breath, and without the subtle micro-movements that marked something alive.

A voice whispered through dead air. Soft, layered with harmonics that echoed inside Kane’s skull.

"Stay. The pain will end here."

"There’s nothing waiting if you wake."

I wasn’t Cyrus’s voice. Too many speakers, too many frequencies bleeding together—male and female and something between, something ancient and desperate.

The illusion itself was speaking.

Cyrus flickered.

Warmth bled into static, solid form dissolving into fractured pixels before resolving again. He stepped forward—movement too smooth, joints bending wrong.

Sorrow carved lines into that beautiful face.

The dream itself wearing his shape, reluctant to release its hold.

"Why fight it?" the dream whispered through Cyrus’s mouth. "You could stay. You deserve to."