I used to love sleeping.

  I never had trouble with it. I’d fall asleep fast, dream about something random or comforting, and wake up feeling rested. Sleep was the one part of the day I always looked forward to. During the summer, if my mom didn’t wake me up, I could easily sleep until early afternoon. Once, I even slept for almost a full day straight. My friends didn’t believe me, but it happened.

  My point is.

  I really liked sleep.

  That changed tonight.

  The day itself had been normal. Too normal, in hindsight.

  I went to school, paid attention, took notes without much effort. School had always been easy for me. If I listened, things just made sense. I didn’t stress over grades or study for hours. I just got it.

  After classes, I drove home. I’d gotten my license last year, and being able to drive myself during my junior year still felt good. The roads were quiet. No traffic. No near misses. Just another uneventful drive.

  At home, my little sister talked my ear off about something I only half heard. I nodded in the right places, but my mind was somewhere else. Mom came in a little later carrying takeout, again. She’s been working double shifts nonstop, too exhausted to cook by the time she gets home.

  I’ve wanted to help her for a long time, but she’s as proud as they come. If I stepped in, help with the bills, groceries, anything, it wouldn’t feel like support to her. It would feel like failure. So she keeps pushing herself, and I keep pretending not to notice how tired she really is.

  Can’t blame her, though. We’re the same way, both of us wired to tough everything out alone. Afraid of failing. Afraid of asking for help. Afraid that needing anything makes us a burden. Afraid of letting anyone down.

  Mom looked at me the way she sometimes did, like she was checking if I was okay without asking outright.

  I gave her the same practiced smile I’d perfected over the years.

  The one that meant: I’m fine. Don’t worry.

  I wasn’t sure when that smile became automatic.

  Maybe after Dad died.

  Maybe after I realized someone had to keep it together for Mom and Ellie.

  “Anything interesting happen at school today, Mike?” she asked.

  I swallowed a bite of fried chicken. “No. Same as usual.”

  “Baseball practice start yet?”

  “Next week.”

  She nodded. “Good. You need to get out of the house more. I don’t want you cooped up playing video games all the time.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  After dinner, I cleared the table. I’d learned not to ask Mom whether she needed help; she’d only wave me off with that tired smile of hers. So I just did it. She headed upstairs for a shower, and I knew she’d be asleep soon after, those double shifts drained her more than she ever admitted.

  “Ellie, need help with your homework tonight?” I asked.

  “Nah, I got it,” she said with a grin, already pulling out her notebook.

  I nodded and went upstairs. I showered, brushed my teeth, and got into bed. A heavy exhaustion settled over me as I lay down, heavier than usual, like something pulling me under. I noticed it, and for a moment I wondered why I was so tired, but I didn’t think too hard about it.

  I glanced at the clock on my nightstand.

  9:59 p.m.

  Nice. Plenty of sleep.

  The moment it flipped to 10:00 p.m., my eyes closed.

  Not slowly.

  Instantly.

  When I opened them again, I wasn’t in my room.

  I was sitting at a metal table in a dark space, lit only by a single hanging lamp above me. Two chairs. One on each side. The rest of the room was swallowed by shadow, like an old detective interrogation scene.

  I looked down at myself. Same clothes. Same body.

  I stood up. Took a few steps. Clenched my fists.

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  “…Okay,” I muttered. “That’s new.”

  It felt real. Too real. My thoughts were clear, sharper than any dream I could remember.

  I sat back down.

  The chair scraped softly against the floor.

  The second I did, an almost robotic, voice spoke accompanied with sounds you only hear in a slot machine when hitting the jackpot.

  “Congratulations! You have been chosen to enter the Dream Dungeon.

  Please place both hands on the table to begin.”

  I blinked.

  “Dream Dungeon?”

  Probably some weird lucid dream. I’d been playing fantasy games lately. My brain was improvising.

  Still…

  I was curious.

  I placed both hands flat on the metal table.

  Energy surged through my palms.

  I gasped as it spread. Up my arms, across my chest, through my entire body. It wasn’t painful, but it was deeply uncomfortable. Like static crawling beneath my skin.

  It felt real.

  I tried to pull my hands away.

  They wouldn’t move.

  They were locked in place, as if magnetized.

  After several long seconds, the sensation stopped.

  My hands released.

  “Analyzing…

  Please wait.”

  I lifted my hands immediately.

  Symbols were burned into the center of both palms. I didn’t recognize them, but they pulsed faintly, like embers beneath the skin.

  Before I could examine them further, something materialized in front of me.

  A translucent screen.

  Name: Miguel Valencia

  Age: 17

  HP: 50

  MP: 20

  Class: None

  Vitality: 10

  Strength: 10

  Endurance: 10

  Dexterity: 10

  Wisdom: 10

  Charisma: 10

  “…Wow,” I whispered. “A stat screen.”

  It vanished the moment I thought about it disappearing.

  I frowned.

  Then thought about it reappearing.

  It did.

  Okay.

  That was impressive.

  I dismissed it again.

  When I looked up, someone was sitting across from me.

  I flinched.

  It was humanoid. Roughly my size. Completely white. No hair. No clothes. No face. Like a mannequin carved from polished bone.

  Its hands rested on the table. Perfectly still.

  “Uh… hello?”

  “Hello, Human,” it replied in the same mechanical voice. “You have been granted the appropriate dungeon interface.”

  “My stat screen?”

  “Correct.”

  “Right,” I said slowly. “So what exactly is going on?”

  “I will explain. Please listen in full.”

  I leaned back slightly and crossed my arms.

  “Earth has not yet been inducted into the multiverse,” the figure said. “The Dream Dungeon exists to evaluate select individuals prior to planetary integration. Do not misunderstand. When I say ‘select individual,’ I do not mean you are special. You were merely, as your species would say, picked out of a hat.”

  “That hurt,” I muttered. “But evaluated for what?”

  “For survival viability.”

  My stomach tightened.

  “You will enter the dungeon whenever you sleep, or at 10:00 p.m. at the latest,” it continued. “Your performance will determine Earth’s placement in the multiverse.”

  “Okay. This is officially the weirdest dream I’ve ever had.”

  “Damage sustained within the Dream Dungeon will carry over to your physical body,” it said. “Severe injury may result in death.”

  My heart stuttered.

  “Wait. So if I die here…”

  “You will not wake up.”

  The words settled like a weight on my chest.

  I stared at the faceless figure. “When does this start?” I asked quietly.

  Its head tilted slightly.

  “Do you have any further questions?”

  “Well… not right now, but”

  “Then it begins now.”

  The chair vanished.

  The floor dropped away.

  I fell.

  Cold air rushed past me as I looked up at the shrinking hole above. The humanoid leaned into view, staring down with its expressionless face.

  It raised one hand and gave a slow, deliberate wave.

  “Good luck,” it said.

  “You’re going to need it.”

  Darkness swallowed me.

  Then, I stopped.

  Suspended a few feet above solid ground.

  A second later, whatever held me released.

  I hit cold stone hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

  I groaned and pushed myself upright.

  Stone walls.

  Iron bars.

  Damp air thick with mildew and rust.

  A medieval dungeon cell.

  “Taking the ‘dungeon’ part literally, I see,” I muttered.

  Either this was the most realistic dream of my life, or the fate of the planet was now in my hands.