Ollie stood still, contemplating the eerie dark figure behind the glass counter.

  He possessed a macabre elegance, his lean body draped in a flowing black cloak, his features hidden behind an ominous white porcelain mask. Ollie stared at the dark figure, his eyes drawn to the painted lines that formed an unsettling smile—teetering between mockery and joy.

  "What is a Dream Merchant?" Ollie asked, breaking the unsettling silence.

  The white porcelain mask shifted slightly, a faint twitch suggesting it had heard, but for reasons unknown, chose not to respond.

  "I asked a question," Ollie insisted.

  *It’s just a dream, he can’t do anything to me.*

  With a slight nod, a voice drifted from his unmoving painted lips—soft and ethereal.

  "As my name implies, I am a merchant. I sell dreams and promises of happiness."

  Ollie almost laughed. What an absurd and marvelous idea.

  "All I see are sweets and candies." Ollie glanced at the colorful treats around him. "Where do you keep the happiness?"

  "I said promises."

  Ollie stared at porcelain mask, waiting for more, but more did not came.

  "What is a promise of happiness?" He asked.

  "A dream."

  When Ollie was sure that he would say no more, the Dream Merchant spoke again.

  "A dream is a most precious thing, is it not? Something invisible, yet you see it every time you close your eyes to what is real. Something intangible, yet you yearn to possess it, for it holds the treasures of all the things you don't have. Something immaterial, yet you long to inhabit, for only there can you find shelter for the wrongs and worries that haunt you." The Merchant leaned forward. "That is what a dream is... that... is what I have to offer you."

  "Can you do that? Can you... give me that?"

  "The treats are free for your delight. However, the path to your dreams... _that_... will come at a price."

  "I would give anything for a good dream."

  The Dream Merchant nodded.

  Ollie’s eyes landed on a shelf lined with cookies, each one wrapped in colorful silk paper and adorned with golden icing. They looked more like delicate works of art than something to be eaten. He wanted to taste one, to feel the sweetness melt on his tongue, but the thought of ruining such perfection held him back.

  "May I ask you a question, Ollie?" The Merchant rested his palms on the glass counter between them. "One I ask all the customers who enter my domain."

  *He knows my name. That's proof I'm dreaming.*

  Ollie shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

  "Where does the promise of your happiness lie?" The Merchant leaned in slightly. "In what you have? Or in what you lack?"

  Ollie felt a twitch in his eye. What a stupid question.

  He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t even want to think about the answer. But the silence of the Dream Merchant pressed on him, demanding a response. He had to say something.

  "Why can't it be both?"

  The white porcelain mask tilted slightly. "You want to know why you can't have everything?"

  Ollie felt a knot in his stomach. He wanted to say no—it was obvious one couldn’t have everything—but he couldn’t. It felt wrong to admit such a thing.

  "Why not?" he snapped. "If I can have nothing, why can't I have everything as well? Isn’t that fair?"

  The porcelain mask shook slowly.

  "Why not?" Ollie pressed.

  "There is no fairness at the crossroads... now and again, there will be one waiting for you, and there, each time, you must choose..." He opened his right hand. "The path where you keep what you have..." He opened his left. "Or the path where you seek what is missing."

  *I have nothing.*

  "That's silly," Ollie scoffed. "In my life I don't get to choose. What I get and what I don't, that is something others get to decide for me."

  "How fortunate for you, then... for we're no longer... in their world."

  Ollie laughed. At first, it was soft, but then it turned into a strained chuckle.

  The Dream Merchant remained still, indifferent.

  "You can't help me," Ollie muttered under his breath.

  "Are you sure?" The ethereal voice whispered.

  "There is no dream," Ollie looked around the dazzling candy store. "This is the dream." He faced the hollow eyes of the white porcelain mask. "You are the dream." He smiled, a sad melancholic smile. "Whatever I find here... will be lost by the light of day."

  "What would you say, then?" the voice asked in a soft, spectral tone. "If I told you this dream is something more?"

  "It doesn't matter what you say. I've had dreams like this before. Once I found a coin that meant the world to me. I knew it was a dream because I had lost it, but I wanted to believe that I could have it," Ollie's voice trembled with a mixture of longing and bitterness. "So, I held onto it as tightly as I could. I thought that if I wanted it badly enough, I'd wake up and it would still be in my hand." He clenched his fist. "But when I woke up, my hand was empty." He opened his palm, revealing the marks his nails had left in his skin. "You have nothing to offer me." His voice softened to barely more than a whisper. "I can't hold onto my dreams."

  "If what you want, cannot be held by you, then... perhaps it must be given, by another."

  "You? You are not real."

  "Did you pray for something real, Ollie? or did you cry and begged, for anyone..." He tilted his porcelain mask." Or anything... that would listen?"

  "You heard me cry?" The question held no surprise, only shame.

  "Many times."

  "I want to believe you." Ollie glanced at the luxurious candy store. "But this is too much, where is my house? Can you answer me that?"

  The Dream Merchant remained immovable, as if within, there was nothing and no one.

  "You can't, can you?" Ollie lowered his snout. "How can you alter reality? Where did you come from? If you have all this power, why in the abyss would you come for me?" He faced the hollow eyes with bitter disappointment. "Dreams stop making sense when you think about the details, they're like fairy tales, they enchant you until you realize how stupid they are, how stupid you were, for ever believing in them."

  _Now it's over, now that I know it's a dream, I'm going to wake up. I don't want to wake up._

  The white porcelain mask tilted, just slightly.

  Ollie felt a dread, he feared that he would blink, close his eyes, only to open them again and find himself back in his room. He wished that the Dream Merchant would say something, anything to keep the dream alive just for a few more moments.

  Yet he knew that he would not, he could not. But then...

  "Your house remains in the same place, Ollie." The ethereal voice now held a spark of amusement. "Along with your bedroom and your sleeping body." The Merchant drew back from the counter, towering over Ollie, who instinctively stepped away from the display. "As for where I came from, you found me as much as I found you. As to why I chose you, I already told you—I am a merchant of dreams, and you possess one. One precious dream that I endeavor to claim... for myself."

  Ollie shivered, horrified that his words might—or might not—be true.

  *I have no dream.*

  "I don't believe in you," Ollie said, stepping back. "I'm dreaming."

  The Merchant leaned over his glass counter. "Then, to whom does this dream belong?"

  "What?"

  "To whom does this candy shop belong?"

  "It's just a dream. It belongs to no one."

  "Dreams without owners are the owners of those who dream."

  "What in the abyss are you talking about?"

  "The details, Ollie. When the details don't make sense, that means that you're dreaming. But when those same details go unnoticed or are misunderstood by you, what do they tell you then? That you are dreaming, or that you are the dream?"

  "I don't understand."

  "Exactly."

  *I'm too stupid to know what's happening, but how can I be too stupid to understand my own dream? How can I imagine what I cannot conceive?*

  Ollie stared at the luxurious candy shop. He had never seen or read about anything like it. The shelves were filled with sweets he couldn’t name, and the air was thick with unfamiliar aromas. How can I imagine something so real?

  He perked up his ears and looked at the Merchant. "This is not my dream, is it?"

  "This shop belonged to a young female Ape named Nira," the ethereal voice carried traces of melancholy. "In her childhood, her father rarely had time for her, but on her birthday, he would come. They would meet in this magnificent place and spend the day together. Sometimes he was late, but she didn't mind, for she knew that he would always come. And he did... until one day... he did not—leaving her standing here, alone, in tears."

  "He forgot?"

  "He died."

  "Am I in this girl’s dream?" Ollie asked.

  "No." From the hollow void of the mask’s eyes, a cold, pale yellow gleam flickered. "This shop belongs to me now."

  "That’s impossible." Ollie frowned. "You can’t own memories. Memories aren’t places, and no one has the power to buy and sell dreams."

  "My customers don’t come to me in search of the possible," the Merchant said with a slight nod. "They come not for the treasured memories they cherish, but for those they yearn to possess."

  "Are you telling me you're a god?"

  "Does it matter who answers your prayers?"

  "It matters. I need to understand."

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "How about magic? Magic could explain everything."

  "But it doesn’t, not really. It explains everything by explaining nothing."

  "Why ask for an explanation," he gestured carelessly, "when you could be asking what it is I have to offer you?"

  "Because If you're lying, you have nothing to give me."

  "In this world, nothing is the birth of creation. Here, your 'nothing' takes shape—your longings become paths, and the life not lived rises as buildings. And all the unspoken desires will scream and offer you everything... from the nothing within."

  "In this world, nothing is the birth of creation. Here, your 'nothing' takes shape—your longings become paths, and the life not lived rises as buildings. And all the unspoken desires will scream and offer you everything... from the nothing within."

  "You can do that?" Ollie asked, his wanting overcoming the doubt.

  "Me?" The cold porcelain mask shook softly. "You misunderstand my nature. Here, in this domain, you are the god, Ollie." He touched his chest. "I'm but a worm, feeding on the crumbs of your unacknowledged power."

  "What are you..." Ollie’s voice trailed off as a spasm of realization hit him.

  A monstrous idea took root in his mind—so absurd and sordid that he almost vomited. It was something so odious, so repugnant, it could be nothing but the cruel truth.

  "You're the centipede." Ollie spoke with a certainty he couldn’t explain. "It wasn’t a dream. You followed me, invaded my room. You’re the centipede that crawled into my nose."

  The Dream Merchant nodded, just once.

  Ollie’s ears perked up. "What in the abyss are you?"

  "I'm not a centipede. I'm one hundred and thirteen centipedes." He raised his long black finger, tracing slow, deliberate circles in the air. "In your world, I exist scattered across nations and cultures, always seeking those who call for me without knowing my name. In your world, I am many. But in mine, I am one. Here, I exist as the Dream Merchant."

  "So, you’re like the dream of the centipedes?"

  "I am their dream?" The lifeless voice asked. "Or are they mine?"

  "How can I trust you? How can I trust a creature like you?"

  The mask remained motionless, empty and indifferent. "You can't."

  "What are you doing in my head? Are you eating my mind?"

  "My centipede is not a parasite." The pale yellow light of his hollow eyes glowed brighter. "Yours is the choice of what is taken and what is given."

  "So if I say yes," Ollie muttered, a mix of wonder and terror in his voice, "if I say yes to your offer, the creature will change me? Is that how I can take something from this dream?"

  "All sales are final."

  "You think I'm going to accept something from you?" Ollie asked, uncertain. "Now that I know how it works? Look at you, look at this place. Why would I make a deal with a monster?"

  "Because a monster is all you have." He tilted his mask. "You already accepted my offer."

  "I have not."

  "No?" The long fingers pointed beyond Ollie. "Look behind you."

  Turning, Ollie saw the door, and beyond it, his room.

  "Yours is the choice." The ethereal voice flickered with a hint of joy. "Go back now, and this encounter will be just another dream, forgotten like all the others."

  I can escape. I can run back to my life.

  Only he didn’t, for the very idea of waking up to his world filled him with nausea.

  What life do I have?

  Ollie turned his back to the door and faced the Dream Merchant once again.

  Stepping toward the counter, he asked. 'What do you have to offer me?'"

  The Merchant placed a glass dome on the table.

  "I offer you the path, Ollie—all the things you want but believe you cannot have." He rested his hand over the dome. "The pathway and the key, for one of your dreams."

  Inside the dome sat a delicate red candy shaped like a heart.

  "Is this it?" Ollie frowned. "A red candy?"

  "No." The Merchant gently closed the dome. "This is but your offering."

  "My offering?"

  "Dreams require sacrifices. Sacrifices require offerings."

  Ollie frowned, his mind racing. "Are you saying my dreams... eat candies?"

  "Your dreams are hungry. They will consume everything you have to offer."

  Ollie’s heart skipped a beat as the Merchant’s words sank in. "What are they?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "What are my dreams?"

  The Merchant pointed to a door to Ollie’s left.

  "Do you see that door?"

  "Where did that come from?" Ollie’s breath quickened as he glanced at it.

  "A better question would be what awaits you on the other side."

  A shiver ran up Ollie’s spine. "What’s on the other side?"

  "Everything," the ethereal voice answered softly. "Everything that is missing."

  The door was ordinary—so ordinary it was almost invisible. No details or adornments hinted at its purpose or what lay hidden beyond. Yet now, knowing something precious awaited on the other side, its simplicity became mysterious. Its plainness was a disguise for treasures and possibilities beyond imagination, waiting and promising fulfillment in a single, vague sensation captured by two words. My dreams.

  Ollie turned to the Dream Merchant. "Are you for real?"

  Silence. His fingers twitched as he awaited a response that never came.

  "How many dreams do I have?"

  "Everyone has five," the voice whispered faintly.

  *I have none.*

  "I accept."

  Ollie approached the glass counter, extending his hand to take the heart-shaped candy, but his fingers trembled as they reached the dome.

  "No," the Merchant said, closing the dome again.

  "Why not?" Ollie asked, unable to hide the desperation in his voice, his pulse quickening.

  "Dreams are debts, Ollie, and debts must be paid."

  His chest tightened. "What do you want from me?"

  "A dream for another."

  "But I don't have..." His words trailed off as he glanced around the candy shop, his eyes narrowing. Then he turned back to the Merchant with a bitter laugh. "You want my memories, don't you? The happy ones from my childhood, like the ones you took from the girl Ape." He laughed again, the sound sharp, as if trying to fend off the tension building inside. It should have been horrible, but because it was so terrible, it felt absurdly funny. "If that's the case, you picked the wrong person. I don't have any dreams or good memories to sell."

  "I disagree," the ethereal voice replied, a faint tremor of longing woven into each word. "For me, you have something of precious worth."

  Ollie frowned, his brief amusement turning into a storm inside him.

  "If you're in my head, then you know that isn't true."

  "Sometimes we only realize the value of what we have once it's given away."

  "Take whatever you want, then." Ollie shrugged, his shoulders heavy with indifference. "Give me what I want—something real, something good. I don’t care what you take away."

  The Merchant pointed to Ollie's pajamas. "Put your hand in your pocket."

  Ollie hesitated, then obeyed.

  His pocket should have been empty, but something metallic and cold met his fingers. Something round. Something familiar. Something that could only exist in a dream.

  Ollie lifted the object before his eyes.

  It was the coin.

  Not just a coin, but the coin he had mentioned before. The one he had lost. The one he found in the dream, only to lose again upon waking.

  A white coin with the face of a Lion on one side and a crown on the other.

  "This is my coin," Ollie said, a mix of astonishment and indignation in his voice.

  "No, Ollie," the Merchant intervened. "This is how you pay for what you want."

  "You want my coin for the candy?"

  "Not just the coin," the Merchant shook his white mask slowly. "I want your story."

  Ollie clenched the coin tightly in his hand. "What story?"

  "You know."

  Yes, Ollie knew what story it was—a story he had buried, but one that no matter how hard he tried, always found its way back to the surface.

  "But that's not a good memory," Ollie said, his voice tight.

  "I know it's not," the Dream Merchant nodded slightly. "And I know it is."

  "I don't want the coin," Ollie said, holding out the White Lion. "You can have it."

  "First," the Merchant lifted his long finger, "I want to hear the story."

  "Why?" Ollie asked, frustration rising. "What difference does it make?"

  "All worlds, above or below, have their rules—rules that sustain the illusion of what you call reality." The Merchant pointed downward. "Rules that here, determine that I can only receive what you are truly willing to give away."

  Ollie contemplated the white coin. The small coin weighed heavy with memories of the past, memories he wanted to silence. Yet his silence wept, tears of pain and lament for the sad parts, unbearable sobs of agony for the cruel memories tied to moments of joy.

  The words came out, bleeding through the silence of his sorrow.

  "A few years ago, when my father still lived with us, he took us to visit Skhargora." Ollie let out a sigh filled with lament. "There, I met a girl..." His voice caught in his throat. "I met a girl who gave me this coin."

  Ollie stared at the Dream Merchant, as if that were enough—as if there was no need to continue. But the silence told him otherwise. The story had only just begun.

  "The Hegemony created Skhargora, their great achievement—a vertical city built inside the largest mountain of Morserus." These were the same words the Rat tour guide had told him years ago. Words he had forgotten, now freshly returning as if he'd just heard them. "At the end of the Era of Shadows, the Hegemony had to abandon their empire, their cities, their Domesticated Species. They fled to the Eternal Desert and left us to die in an endless winter."

  This part of the story didn’t hurt him as much.

  "Skhargora became the cradle of our civilization," he continued, "where various species survived together during the Hermitage until..."

  "I don’t care about the story of your world, Ollie."

  "I don’t want to talk about her," he muttered, lowering his ears. "I don’t want to remember."

  "Remember so you can forget." The Merchant extended his skeletal, gloved hand. "Tell me your story, suffer one more time, and I will take all that suffering away, with me."

  Ollie lowered his eyes to his bare feet. "Her name... her name was Seffia." His voice trembled under the immense weight of his melancholy. "She was too good for me..."

  "Don't stop." The ethereal voice whispered with palpable longing. "Finish, my story."

  "Seffia was my age. She was a Pig like me, but nothing like me. She was prettier, smarter, more confident." His snout twisted into a bitter smile. "I was ashamed to be with her—she was so much better than me—but she had no shame being by my side. She took my hand and led me everywhere. While our families attended the Merchant House lectures, we were forgotten, free to explore an unknown world."

  "Yes, precious moments filled with adventure and excitement," the Merchant’s mask moved with delicate, harmonious fluidity. "Times when everything seemed imbued with purpose, and the future gleamed with the celestial light of infinite possibilities."

  The smile faded from Ollie’s face.

  "She took me to the Bank of Giants, where we found this coin—a replica of the first coin minted by the Pigs, made to serve their new masters at the beginning of the White Lion Dynasty." Ollie opened his mouth, but no words came out. This was the part that hurt the most.

  "Don’t stop now. Not so close to the end." The flames from the lamps flickered across the white porcelain mask. "Please, finish my story."

  "On the Gods' Balcony, the world looked so small." Ollie’s voice became a distant whisper. "On our last day, she kissed me—my first and last kiss." He squeezed the coin, not with attachment, but with resentment. "She lived in the Nation of Cats, and I in the Nation of Rabbits. I told her it was the end, that we’d never see each other again." He shook his head. "I cried. I already knew I’d lose her the moment I saw her, yet I cried."

  "Yes, yes," the empty voice spoke, filled with enjoyment. "Please, continue."

  "That’s the end of the story."

  "No." The Merchant’s white porcelain mask shook slowly. "The story ends with the coin."

  Ollie looked down at the coin, frowning. "I hate this coin." He stared at the Merchant, his eyes full of grief and mistrust. "If you already know everything, why do I need to say it?"

  "What you don’t tell me is what you keep for yourself." In the black void of his mask, faint yellow stars flickered once more. "What you speak is what you give away."

  "I don’t want to."

  "Then walk away."

  "I can't." Ollie looked at the Dream Merchant, pleading. "What are you going to do with the memories? Will you be with her?"

  "Yes."

  "No." Ollie spoke with rising indignation. "This belongs to me."

  The Dream Merchant remained unchanged. If he was offended, dissatisfied, or annoyed, nothing in his rigid posture or empty mask betrayed it. "Yours is the choice."

  "My kiss," Ollie whispered, his voice trembling. "Will I forget my only kiss?"

  The Dream Merchant nodded once.

  Ollie’s eyes widened in terror, his voice thick with emotion. "This is wrong."

  "Is it wrong for you to lose what you don't want?" The Merchant placed his hand on the glass dome. "Or for you to lose what you long to have?"

  Ollie stared at the heart-shaped candy, his expression devoid of joy as he nodded.

  *I don’t have a choice.*

  He lowered his head. "When I cried, Seffia smiled." The words came out with the relief of someone letting go of an unbearable weight. "She placed the coin in my hand." He looked at the White Lion. "I told her I had bought it for her, but she refused. She said this coin would be our wager, that I should keep it with me. And if I was right—if we never saw each other again—then the coin would be mine forever."

  The words hung in the air. He took a deep breath, trying to contain the emotions threatening to escape from his chest and pour through his eyes.

  Ollie managed to imprison his pain.

  "However," he continued, "if our paths crossed again, I would lose the bet. The coin would be hers. Her reward for believing that our destinies were intertwined."

  A long silence took over the room. Ollie waited for the Dream Merchant to break it, but it was he who resumed speaking.

  "I won the bet, but months later, I lost the coin." Ollie forced out a hollow laugh. "It’s like I can’t stop losing."

  "Very well." The Dream Merchant extended his hand. "You can offer me the coin now."

  Ollie looked at the heart-shaped candy, his prize for the sacrifice.

  He stepped forward. "Seffia has surely forgotten about me, forgotten she made that silly bet." He placed the white coin in the Dream Merchant's left hand. "I want to do the same. I want to forget about her too."

  The Merchant closed his gloved hand over the coin. With his other hand, he opened the glass dome containing the red candy shaped like a heart.

  Ollie took the candy, half-expecting something magical to happen. "I still remember her."

  "When one of your dreams consumes this candy, then our transaction will be complete."

  The small candy was light and warm, with a pleasant and familiar fragrance.

  The Merchant walked around the counter and approached, placing one hand on the young Pig's shoulder. With the other, he gestured toward the simple door.

  "Your journey begins," the Merchant said, awakening Ollie to what was to come. "And your dreams await you."

  Ollie didn’t move, but the Merchant gently pressed his shoulder, urging him forward.

  In front of the ordinary door, a terrible notion crossed Ollie’s mind.

  You’re accepting candy from a stranger and following him to a strange place.

  What if there were no dreams waiting on the other side? What if, after crossing that door, no one ever knew of him again? What if the Dream Merchant was just a centipede, devouring his mind while he hallucinated a happy ending?

  What difference does it make now?

  Ollie touched the cold, round metal doorknob.

  A voice inside him screamed not to continue—that once the door opened, there would be no return. He looked over his shoulder at his room at the end of the shop. There was still time to give up. He could run from this place, forget the coin and the dreams.

  All he had to do was not open the door. All he had to do was run back to his room.

  Ollie lowered his head, uncertain.

  "Your dreams wait for you," the Merchant said softly.

  Ollie turned to the impassive porcelain mask. "Are you going to hurt me?"

  Silence stretched between them. When it became unbearable, the Merchant's ethereal voice finally emerged. "I will not hurt you." His empty voice carried an unexpected tenderness. "But that doesn't mean you can't be hurt here."

  "A nightmare I can’t wake up from, is that it?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you at least tell me what awaits me on the other side?"

  "Dreams and consequences."

  Ollie lowered his ears, disappointed with the answer.

  He stared at the door, imagining the unimaginable dangers awaiting him on the other side. But he didn’t need to look back to know the dangers of returning. On one side, the false promise of joy, on the other, the certainty of misery.

  *Sometimes there is no choice. Sometimes life makes the choice for you.*

  With a long sigh of resolve, Ollie opened the ordinary dark door.

  He then crossed into the unknown in search of something worth keeping.

  **