Kael stepped forward. His legs—strong here, perfect here—planted themselves in front of the broom. “No. I want the weight. I want the ache. That’s mine. That’s hers. You can’t have it.”
Kael followed the sound to the central plaza. There, beneath the frozen clock tower, stood a figure. It wore a long coat the color of erased chalk, and its face was smooth as an egg—no eyes, no mouth, no nose. Only the suggestion of a tired smile pressed into the blankness.
You will remember the facts, the Yumeost said gently. But not the feeling. That is the cost of dreaming. To dream deeply is to wake hollow. I am not cruel, Kael. I am kind. I spare you the weight of a thousand lost worlds. yumeost
Not the dreams, the Yumeost corrected. The dreams have already ended. I take the ost—the leftover, the hollow, the ache of waking. Every dream leaves a residue. A wish that cannot come true. A face you’ll never see again. A place you cannot stay. I sweep it away so you can dream anew.
“Because if you sweep it away, I’ll forget the way she laughed. I’ll forget the smell of her pancakes. I’ll forget…” Kael stepped forward
“You,” Kael whispered. “What are you?”
The city of Yumeost didn’t appear on any map, which was strange, because everyone had been there. I want the weight
It existed in the hollow space between sleep and waking, a sprawling metropolis of impossible architecture: staircases that spiraled into starless skies, libraries where the books whispered your name, and a great, silent clock tower whose hands spun backward or forward depending on who was dreaming it.