Lucas Saint jerked awake, heart pounding against his rib cage as if desperately seeking escape. The echo of guttural roars and screeching metal still rang vividly in his ears, remnants of a nightmare he couldn’t quite shake. But Lucas knew better—it wasn’t a nightmare. It was a memory. A fragment of another life, another world.

  Because Lucas wasn’t truly born here. He had crossed into this parallel universe only months ago, his consciousness flung into this body after a blinding storm of chaos and light. And ever since that night, the dreams—visions, really—had never stopped. His classroom slowly came into focus, rows of bored faces turned toward him with amused smirks and raised eyebrows. At the front, Mr. Anderson stood, glaring behind thick-rimmed glasses.

  "Lucas Saint, do you find general studies so dull that you’d rather dream through my entire lecture?" Anderson’s voice sliced through the room, sharp and accusatory.

  Lucas straightened up, trying to blink away the lingering fog of sleep. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

  "You’re failing both your martial theory and literary comprehension. If you keep this up, you'll end up cleaning streets—if you're lucky." Mr. Anderson adjusted his glasses with disdain before resuming his lesson on today's material.

  Beside him, Kevin Bright chuckled quietly. "Another nightmare?" he whispered, leaning close enough that Lucas could smell the overly sweet candy he perpetually consumed.

  "Yeah," Lucas muttered, shifting uneasily. It wasn’t just nightmares—they were visions, surreal glimpses of some dark future he didn't understand. Each dream felt disturbingly real, more like lived experiences than imagined terrors.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  The bell rang, mercifully ending Lucas's humiliation. He grabbed his bag, ignoring Kevin's attempt to draw him into another arcade session. Outside, the city pulsed with its usual frantic energy, streets lined with high-tech billboards promoting martial enhancement supplements and specialized Vitality Index tests.

  In this world, students faced a crucial decision by their final school year: take the Martial Exams and strive to become a certified martialist, or settle for the Civilian Track and pursue the Literary Exams. Both paths were legal, but only one promised security, status, and access to fortified cities. The other? A quiet, fragile existence behind unreinforced barriers, where even basic safety was never guaranteed.

  Lucas glanced at a large holographic screen displaying rankings. Each citizen’s Vitality Index, a numerical measure of physical and martial potential, determined their status. Students trained relentlessly for the final Martial Exams at eighteen, where their futures were irrevocably decided: martialist or civilian.

  His own Vitality Index had been declining for weeks, dipping precariously lower with each nightmare. Lucas clenched his fists in frustration. He couldn't let his family down—not his father, David, whose body bore scars of hard labor, nor his mother, Jennifer, who tirelessly maintained a household stretched thin by financial pressure. And especially not his sister Lucy, who was already showing potential that far exceeded his own.

  Determined to push past his limits, Lucas quickened his steps homeward. Tonight, he would intensify his training, push his body further. Perhaps he could reverse the deterioration of his Vitality Index before it was too late.

  Yet, deep inside, a quiet voice whispered the truth he feared most: these were no ordinary nightmares. And soon, his waking world would catch up with them.